The Last Deep Breath

12

Christ, another maniac. There must’ve been some ancient curse woven into the wedding vows, you kissed the bride and bloody murder passed between your tongues.

Grey couldn’t do much more than stare at the guy, wondering why it was everyone thought he was a killer. Did he really have a baby face that somehow looked mean? He caught his reflection in the glass and thought he looked like anyone else. The secretary walked by and gave him a grin. Would she do that if he looked like a killer?

“You’ve got a gun,” Monty said.

“I’ve got your gun, you moron.”

“I’ll get you another one. Shoot her with the other one.”

“I’m not shooting anyone with anything.”

But Monty thought he was being suave again and put on a Cheshire smile, like he thought he had Grey by the nuts. “You took my gun for a reason. You’re going to kill Harvey Wallbanger!”

“I’m not going to kill him either,” Grey said, thinking, Well, not unless he’s Johnny. Unless he put a four-inch blade into my sister. Then yeah.

“You stole from me. You owe me.”

“Monty, you can only leverage someone you’ve got some kind of control over.” Grey tried to be reasonable. “You ever think of, you know, marriage counseling as a first measure here? Or maybe just get a divorce?”

“That bitch isn’t getting a dime off me. Now, I need you to do this job for me.”

“Go hire a hitter.”

“I looked into it. You know how much they cost?” A deep whine worked itself into Monty’s voice. “They’re expensive!”

“Do it yourself then.”

When things started spinning this far out of control Grey would try to imagine what Pax would do in his place. It was a futile exercise because Grey couldn’t get beyond the fact that Pax would never allow himself to get into this kind of situation. Still, he tried to see it. Pax in the room, sitting where Grey sat, staring over at Monty, talking about killing the wife. But it broke down and faded in his mind. Pax would never find himself here.

Grey got up and stepped over to the desk. When Monty tried to hurl himself on top of the porn list Grey tapped him lightly on the jaw. Monty flew backwards into his chair as if he’d been shotgunned.

“You punched me, you prick! I’ll sue!”

Grey grabbed the pages and read Harvey Wallbanger’s info. Real name: Paul Avon. No home address listed. Shit, he should’ve realized the contact info would be through the actor’s representation.

Monty Stobbs.

“You little goddamn weasel,” Grey said.

“Paul is a highly valued client of mine. If you snuff him, I lose a lot of money.”

“I told you, I’m not snuffing him or anyone. If he’s a valued client then you must’ve known my sister when she performed as Eva Rains.”

“I met Eva, yes.”

“Okay, then. Talk to me.”

Grey threw the listing on the floor, put a foot on Monty’s chair and shoved him to the wall. Monty sat there sort of pinned, tried to hold on to his cool but couldn’t keep his gaze from twitching all around. Grey waited, letting his silence speak for him. Sometimes you couldn’t say how serious you were, you just had to let the other person feel it.

Monty finally met Grey’s eyes and that was all that was necessary.

“Tell me about her,” Grey said.

“There’s not much to tell, really. I only started repping Harvey about a year ago. He and your sister were almost done by then. They had been something of a team but he wanted out. She was too deep into the shit and it was starting to show in her performance and her looks. He said he’d tried getting her help but it wouldn’t take. So he was going it alone. I met her at a Christmas party at their place. She was drunk and high but seemed like a nice kid. She didn’t realize he’d cut her loose yet, I suppose. Harvey got a new apartment and became my client. That’s it.”

No reason to believe any of it was a lie. “Where is he now?”

“Lives in the valley.”

“I mean right now, this minute.”

“On a shoot in Van Nuys.”

“I want to see him.”

“You can’t disrupt a shoot! Security will throw you out!”

“Let me worry about that.”

Clucking and groaning, Monty wrote the address out for him and Grey walked out of the fish bowl, got down to his car and re-entered the blazing sunlight.

When he got back to the apartment Kendra was stretched out on the bed waiting for him. No small talk, no can I fix you a sandwich. No how was your day, dear.

”I think you should find a new agent,” he told her. “Get dressed, you’re showing me how to get to Van Nuys.”