Murder With Sarcastic Intent Page 4

“Sixty.”

  “Fifty-five.”

  “Deal.”

  Kurt held out his hand, and the man counted out the cash.

  “Who says big-time Hollywood deals aren’t being done anymore?” Mary said.

  Kurt and the man looked at her.

  “Can I get a receipt?” the man said to Kurt.

  “I don’t know, can you?” Kurt said.

  Jason giggled.

  Kurt turned to Alice. “Let’s get out of here.” He spotted a small blob of cotton candy on the side of her mouth. “Is that cotton candy or herpes?”

  Eleven

  “Boy, if I had a penny for every time someone wanted me to do a porn film,” Kurt said. He winked as a waitress put a glass of water in front of him.

  They had stopped on the way back to Santa Monica at a Thai restaurant Mary liked. The place wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but the food was good.

  “No one has ever asked you to do porn,” Alice said, after the waitress had taken their order. “But if they did, a penny is about what they’d offer.”

  “I watch porn,” Jason said. He looked around, like the cops were going to slap cuffs on him any minute.

  “Studying the cinematography?” Mary said.

  Jason looked at her with a blank expression.

  “Never mind,” Mary said, then turned to Kurt. “So can you help me or what?”

  She had briefly explained the situation to Kurt: that she wanted him to pose as a director of pornographic films in order to try to get some information out of the agent whom Nina Martinez had supposedly been seeing.

  “What’s it pay?” he asked. “I’ve got a lot of gigs coming up.”

  “I guess a double shift at In-N-Out counts as two gigs,” Alice said.

  “You sound a little crabby, Alice,” Kurt said. “How many years has it been since you’ve had some in and out?”

  Jason snorted water out of his nose.

  “Trust me, you don’t want the answer to that question,” Mary said, picturing her aunt with Sanji the yoga instructor.

  “Are you seriously going to haggle with your niece over this job?” Alice said to Kurt. “I’m sure your bank account needs as much help as your stand-up material.”

  Jason giggled. “Good one, Aunt Alice.”

  Kurt looked at his son. “You’re a good boy, Jason. No matter what everyone else says.”

  “I’ll be happy to pay you, Uncle Kurt,” Mary said. “How’s twenty bucks an hour sound? That’s more than minimum wage. Plus, I’ll be able to write off your services.”

  “Or lack thereof,” Alice said.

  “Can I come along?” Jason said.

  Kurt sighed. “Don’t you have a job or something?” he said.

  Jason shook his head. “No. I’m in a band,” he said. “But we don’t have any gigs for the rest of the year.”

  “It’s March,” Alice pointed out.

  Jason looked at her. “It is?”

  Mary’s patience was wearing thin. “Okay, I’ll hire you too, Jason. You can be a production assistant or something. Maybe it’ll keep you off the streets for a few days,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Jason said.

  “No problem,” Kurt said.

  Mary rolled her eyes.

  “This is going to be so cool, I always wanted to be a private detective,” Jason said.

  “You’re not a PI, trust me,” Alice said, then gestured at Mary. “Neither is she.”

  “So what do I have to do, exactly?” Kurt said.

  Mary laid out the situation. “I need you to pose as a director of adult films. Jason here can be your star. I’m a former star turned producer. We’re going to meet with an agent tomorrow, and I need to get some information from him. Specifically, an actress he supposedly represents. I need to find out if he knows where she might be. She’s missing.”

  “I’m going to put a big sausage in my pants,” Jason said. He had a big smile, as if he’d just nailed a big idea.

  “What else is new?” Kurt said.

  Mary checked her watch.

  “Let’s meet at my house tomorrow at nine a.m.,” Mary said. “Sharp.”

  “What should I wear?” Kurt said. “A beret?”

  “You need to come across as a sexist egomaniac,” Mary said, “only concerned with making money off of questionable material.”

  Alice looked at Kurt.

  “So just go as yourself,” she said.

  Twelve

  Mary looked through the steam rising from her coffee cup toward the Pacific. Her condo in Santa Monica had a nice view. It wasn’t one she appreciated very often, despite frequent self-reminders to do just that, but this morning, checking the clock and waiting for Uncle Kurt and Jason to arrive, she had a minute.

  She wondered about Jake, about how he was doing, and whether this break in their relationship would turn out to be a good thing.

  There was no getting around it: Mary had not taken his betrayal well. When he had slept with Lieutenant Davies well over a year ago, Mary’d been hurt and pissed. His excuse had been that he was drunk and wasn’t sure about the status of their relationship.

  Mary knew he was such an overgrown Boy Scout that he probably wasn’t lying. Which gave her a twinge of guilt over how hard she’d repeatedly raked him over the coals.

  But it was just a small twinge.

  Now, her mind turned back to the case at hand. Nina Ramirez.

  She had done her research and located the talent firm located in the building at the corner of Ocean and Wilshire. It was called Global Talent Management, and they had an agent named Trey Williams. She called and explained she was a producer embarking on a new film project and wanted to talk with him about some of his talent. Williams agreed to the meeting.

  Now, she took her coffee over to her computer, booted up the machine, and logged into her email.

  Voila.

  A message from her “technical assistant,” as she liked to think of him. Okay, he was her hacker. But it was harder to claim a hacker as part of your employment team than a technical assistant.

  Mary skimmed the note until she got to the good stuff, an itemized list of Nina’s social accounts and email addresses with their corresponding passwords. Or, as Mary noted, password. Every account had the same one: cuddlybear12.

  To Mary, it didn’t seem like the kind of password a girl involved in pornography (if she was) would use. Then again, maybe some women liked that coquettish behavior before slipping on the trashy lingerie and getting in front of a camera.

  Mary logged onto Facebook, entered Nina’s email and password, and studied the home page when it came up.

  There was virtually no activity on Nina’s page. A few innocuous status updates, a few messages from friends, and that was it. The most recent update was almost two weeks ago and that was from a girl asking about going to the mall.

  Well, that was disappointing, Mary thought.

  She closed Facebook and opened Nina’s email account. It was filled with junk mail. Mary had to scroll down almost three weeks’ worth of messages to get to an actual real person.

  It was from an email address called GagMan@gmail.com.

  GagMan.

  Cute, Mary thought. What was he, some kind of Porno Super Hero?

  She opened the email. It was simply an address with no message.

  Mary jotted down the address on a note pad.

  She checked Nina’s Twitter account and another email account, both of which yielded no useful information—other than the fact that Nina had been discovered by nearly every pornographic spam account there was. Mary had never seen so many porn products and penis enlargement emails in her life.

  She was so sheltered.

  Mary closed down the computer just as her cell phone rang.

  “Mary, come and pick me up,” Kurt said. “From work.”

  She checked the clock. It was only 8:30 in the morning. Awfully early for a comedy club to be open.

  “Where?” she said.


  “You know that Ralph’s Supermarket on Lincoln, about a half mile from your place?”

  “Yeah,” Mary said. “Is there a club near there?”

  A pause.

  “Would you like paper or plastic?” Kurt responded.

  And then a dial tone.

  Oh, Mary thought.

  Thirteen

  Kurt emerged from the Ralph’s Supermarket wearing dark slacks, a red polo shirt with the Ralph’s logo, and a black apron.

  He got into Mary’s car.

  “I don’t even want to hear it,” Kurt said.

  “Is this some kind of work-release program?” Mary said. “Do they pay you in produce?”

  “Hey, I need the cash,” Kurt said. “And they were hiring, without much in terms of background checks. End of story.”

  Mary decided to let it drop.

  “So where’s Jason? Does he have some kind of secret part-time job too? Manning the perfume counters at the mall?”

  “He did go through a phase …” Kurt said, but then stopped himself. “No, he’s going to meet us there. How are we on time?”

  Mary glanced at the car’s dashboard clock.

  “We’ve got time,” she said. “But now we have to stop at this clothing store up here, unless you’ve got some explanation why an international pornography director is walking around in a Ralph’s Supermarket shirt.”

  Kurt contemplated for a moment. “Maybe I’m filming an orgy in the produce section,” he said. “You know, cucumbers being used as sex toys, pieces of ham being made love to.”

  “I so enjoy hearing you brainstorm,” Mary said. “It’s like watching Einstein solve equations, but I’m not buying any of it.”

  She turned into the clothing store’s parking lot and shut off the car.

  “Time for your makeover, Grocery Boy.”

  Fourteen

  The structure was a towering, white office building, one of the few in downtown Santa Monica. It stood on the corner of Ocean and Wilshire.

  Mary stood with Kurt and Jason on the sidewalk in front, the bright, direct light from the sun making her “cast” look even more pathetic. She gave each of them one last look.

  Kurt was dressed in a maroon velvet blazer, knockoff designer jeans, and pointy shoes made of purple imitation leather. Mary thought he looked like a gay mental patient.

  Jason had on his normal clothes: jeans, a dark-blue T-shirt, and the stench of pot. The only thing they’d added was a shiny sport coat from the Magic Johnson collection. The coat’s tails went all the way down to the back of Jason’s knees.

  “Jesus, you guys look like a Vegas lounge act gone terribly wrong,” she said.

  “Oh yeah? Look at you,” Kurt said. “You look like an overworked and underpaid Holiday Inn hooker.”

  Mary did glance at her reflection in the windows of the office tower’s foyer. She had on a tight, black leather skirt, stockings, red platform shoes, and a red leather half-jacket.

  “More like an upscale escort, working in Beverly Hills,” Mary said.

  Jason snorted.

  “Where do you take your johns, the Four Squeezin’s?” Kurt said.

  “Oh Christ,” Mary said. “Let’s go.”

  She led them inside and punched the elevator to the twenty-third floor.

  “Just follow my lead,” she said. She looked directly at Kurt. “No improvising. I’m working here, not fucking around.”

  Kurt nodded. “Got it. You’re the boss. The Head Hooker.”

  The elevator doors opened, and Mary found the front desk of “Global Talent Management.”

  She asked the young male receptionist, dressed entirely in black with a Bluetooth earpiece, to see Trey Williams.

  “You have an appointment?”

  “Yes, I do. Please inform him Tati Rivers is here to see him,” Mary said. She had decided to skip the Italian accent. “He is expecting me.”

  The young man nodded and said into his earpiece, “Tati Rivers is here to see you.”

  Kurt whispered in Mary’s ear. “Tati? Tati the Hottie?”

  “Shhh,” Mary said.

  The young man stood.

  “Right this way, please,” he said.

  Mary followed the man first. She noticed the framed certificates on the walls. Grammys. Emmys. Photos of celebrities with people she assumed were the agents. You could tell because the stars were good-looking, the agents, not so much.

  They were led into a surprisingly small office where a man in a black suit stood with his back to the door, looking out the windows that made up ninety percent of the office’s wall space. Over his shoulder, Mary could see the Hollywood Hills.

  “Mr. Williams,” the secretary said, “your three o’clock is here.”

  Trey Williams turned to face Mary. She was shocked. He looked like he was about twelve years old. He had short, brown hair, a baby face, and a watch so big she wondered how he was able to lift his arm.

  “Come in,” he said.

  Mary took the chair directly opposite his desk. Kurt sat to her right, and Jason to her left. She glanced at the various piles of paperwork and folder on the desk. They were all neatly arranged and separated into groups.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr. Williams,” Mary said.

  “My pleasure, Ms.-”

  “Tati Rivers,” Mary said. She gestured toward Kurt. “And this is my director, Patrick Bishop,” she turned to Jason, “and my lead actor, Austin Lee.”

  “Nice to meet you all,” Williams said. “I understand, Ms. Rivers, that you’re looking to cast a new film?”

  “Please call me Tati,” Mary said.

  “The hottie,” Kurt said.

  “Okay. Tati.” He smiled at her.

  Mary felt like taking this kid’s milk money and hiking his underwear up.

  “We are about to embark on an incredibly tight production—-” Mary began.

  “Here is my vision!” Kurt said, leaping to his feet.

  Mary cursed silently. She should have known this was a bad idea.

  “I picture morning dew on lillies in a vase perched by the side of the vibrating bed,” he said. He had his fingers joined to resemble a camera’s viewfinder.

  “How did the dew get inside the house?” Mary asked.

  “The camera pots down toward the floor,” Kurt continued.

  “I think you mean pans, not pots,” Mary said. “The camera pans down.”

  “To the most beautiful ass the world has ever seen,” Kurt said. His eyes grew wistful.

  “I told you, Patrick, I’m not going to be in this one,” Mary said.

  “We move up on the ass like the Allies at Normandy—”

  “Can we back up for a moment?” Williams said. He looked at Mary. She sensed he thought she was the safest bet in the room.

  Williams said, “As excited as I am about your director’s visual treatment, what are your casting specs exactly? And did you bring a copy of the script?”

  “We’re looking for the actress, of course,” Mary said. “She is the hinge upon which this production will swing. Italian and French actresses are out of the question, of course, as we are not allowed to work in Italy anymore … really, all of Europe.” She pointed a thumb at Jason. “My star actor here got drunk in Brussels and thought he was making love to an obese barmaid. Turned out to be a farmer’s prize milk cow.”

  “Wait, a minute,” Jason said, a confused look on his face. “Are you saying—”

  Kurt held his hands out for silence.

  “In order to continue, I’m afraid I need a beer and some chocolate,” Kurt said, an imperious tone in his voice. He glanced back at the office door, looking for the secretary. “Can that be arranged?”

  During Kurt’s rant, Mary had taken the opportunity to read some of the names on the files upside down. One of them seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it.

  Williams turned his attention from Kurt back to Mary. “I love working with you creative types,” he said. “But I d
on’t believe I have anyone currently on my roster who would be a good fit for what you have in mind.”

  “What about Nina Ramirez?” Mary said. “Her head shot created quit a stir in our office.”

  “And in my pants,” Jason said, warming up to his new role.

  “Nina Ramirez?” Williams said. His boyish innocence was suddenly gone, replaced with a slightly flustered look.

  “I’m not sure I’m familiar with her work,” Williams said, with a noticeable lack of confidence.

  “Well, you should—everyone knows you’re her agent,” Mary said. “Now is she available for a screen test? Can she read for us?”

  “I represent hundreds of actors,” Williams said. “Why don’t you leave your script with me along with your casting specs, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “But we really had our hearts set on Nina,” Mary said.

  Williams checked his massive watch. “Like I said, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Come on,” Kurt said. “We’ve been sporting wood for this chick for a year—in the moviemaking sense.”

  “Yeah, where is she?” Jason said, warming up to the idea of putting Williams on the hot seat. Mary was surprised by his perceptiveness, factoring in the ganja haze.

  “Gentlemen, and Ms. Rivers, I’m afraid I have a conference call I simply can’t miss,” Williams said. He was suddenly a bundle of nervous energy. He pressed a button near his phone, and the secretary arrived moments later.

  “Thank you so much for thinking of me for your project,” the young agent said. “I’m sure it will be an amazing production.”

  Mary stood.

  “Thank you for your time,” she said. “I’ll buy you a drink sometime. Once you turn twenty-one.”

  Fifteen

  “What part of ‘follow my lead’ did you two Neanderthals not understand?” Mary said.

  They stood outside, the hot southern-California sun making Mary wish she was not in a ridiculous outfit that weighed ten pounds. Now she knew how a sausage felt being stuffed into a highly restrictive casing.

  “What part of fucking awesome do you not understand?” Kurt said. His big face carried a big, lopsided grin. “That shot I described was incredible, totally cinematic! And it was right off the cuff! Holy shit, I should’ve been a director!”