grinned. ‘But I’m going to have to go in tomorrow and make my resignation official if Sweeney actually comes up with the goods. I don’t feel like burning too many bridges.’
‘ So let’s go see the man.’
Charlie looked at his watch. ‘Too early. He said this afternoon.’
B art woke to insistent hammering on his front door. He threw on the now too large bathrobe and padded barefoot to the front door and peered through the side glass. He grunted and pulled open the door. ‘Saul. What’s the fucking emergency?’
‘ Okay. You’re alive.’ The short balding middle-aged man, perpetually sweating, wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
‘ Why in the hell wouldn’t I be?’
‘ The cleaning guys were by here at 9:00 and nobody answered the door. I thought - I was afraid, maybe something happened to you.’ The lawyer pushed into the house and wrinkled his nose. ‘I’ll call them and tell them to come back.’
‘ 9:00? What time is it?’
‘ A bit after 11:00. You sleep well?’
‘ First time in fourteen months I wasn’t worried about getting corn-holed. I slept like a baby. You have money for me?’
Saul pulled an envelope from his inside suit pocket. ‘Two grand, as promised. I’ll add it to my bill.’
Bart opened the envelope and fanned the bills. ‘You’re a lifesaver. I’m running out of J&B.’ He looked at Saul. ‘And food, of course. And I need a haircut and a new set of clothes. I can actually see my dick now.’
‘ Lucky you. Have you called them?’
‘ Who?’ Bart peeled five hundred off the pile and slid it into his wallet. The remaining was placed inside an unread copy of Keith Richard’s “My Life”.
‘ The backers for the indie. I talked to them last night and told them you were interested, but they’d like to talk to you directly.’
‘ I need a haircut and some clothes. Like I said. You drive me to Northridge Plaza and I can be ready by 2:00, at the latest. Call them and confirm while I shower.’
Saul watched his client walk to the bathroom, wondering when he became his manager. ‘Prison didn’t change him. He’s still a motherfucking dick.’
T he man the media would soon be calling ‘The Killer’ smiled to himself. His heart pounded with the excitement. Years of plans not brought to fruition and today the puzzle pieces all fell into place. Well and truly fell. It couldn’t get any better. It was the perfect vengeance storm. Means and opportunity were handed to him. Motive was years old. And a fall guy dropped in his lap. A firm believer in the adage that the more prepared you are, the luckier you get, the Killer silently thanked himself for his obsessive preparation.
It was time. It started today.
M arty dialed Ellie’s number again. ‘Come on, girl. I need to talk to you.’ He looked at the desk phone while the speaker burred the ringtone of an unanswered phone. Then to voicemail. ‘This is Ellie. The beep is your cue.’
Marty punched a button and lifted the handset. ‘Ell, it’s Marty, your ever faithful and extremely concerned manager. You’re not trying to duck me are you? I want to talk to you. I know Sweeney’s release has freaked you out. Don’t let it. You’ve got a huge day tomorrow. Your success, if I may be frank, is of huge interest for me, since fifteen percent of your success ends up in my bank account. Call me. It’s really, really important.’
He dropped the handset in the cradle and leaned back in his chair. ‘Chloe?’
His PA stuck her head in his office. ‘What’s up, boss?’
‘ Try and track Ellie down will you? I can’t reach her. Make sure she’s okay.’
K ent and Charlie spent three hours killing time along the Venice boardwalk.
Charlie’s stomach rumbled. ‘Need food, mate. And I’m on rationed cash. Any ideas?’
‘ I do. Follow me.’ Kent led them back to the breakfast cafe. ‘Go with whatever I say, okay?’ He stepped up to the counter. ‘Emily, right?’
She looked at the
‘ So let’s go see the man.’
Charlie looked at his watch. ‘Too early. He said this afternoon.’
B art woke to insistent hammering on his front door. He threw on the now too large bathrobe and padded barefoot to the front door and peered through the side glass. He grunted and pulled open the door. ‘Saul. What’s the fucking emergency?’
‘ Okay. You’re alive.’ The short balding middle-aged man, perpetually sweating, wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
‘ Why in the hell wouldn’t I be?’
‘ The cleaning guys were by here at 9:00 and nobody answered the door. I thought - I was afraid, maybe something happened to you.’ The lawyer pushed into the house and wrinkled his nose. ‘I’ll call them and tell them to come back.’
‘ 9:00? What time is it?’
‘ A bit after 11:00. You sleep well?’
‘ First time in fourteen months I wasn’t worried about getting corn-holed. I slept like a baby. You have money for me?’
Saul pulled an envelope from his inside suit pocket. ‘Two grand, as promised. I’ll add it to my bill.’
Bart opened the envelope and fanned the bills. ‘You’re a lifesaver. I’m running out of J&B.’ He looked at Saul. ‘And food, of course. And I need a haircut and a new set of clothes. I can actually see my dick now.’
‘ Lucky you. Have you called them?’
‘ Who?’ Bart peeled five hundred off the pile and slid it into his wallet. The remaining was placed inside an unread copy of Keith Richard’s “My Life”.
‘ The backers for the indie. I talked to them last night and told them you were interested, but they’d like to talk to you directly.’
‘ I need a haircut and some clothes. Like I said. You drive me to Northridge Plaza and I can be ready by 2:00, at the latest. Call them and confirm while I shower.’
Saul watched his client walk to the bathroom, wondering when he became his manager. ‘Prison didn’t change him. He’s still a motherfucking dick.’
T he man the media would soon be calling ‘The Killer’ smiled to himself. His heart pounded with the excitement. Years of plans not brought to fruition and today the puzzle pieces all fell into place. Well and truly fell. It couldn’t get any better. It was the perfect vengeance storm. Means and opportunity were handed to him. Motive was years old. And a fall guy dropped in his lap. A firm believer in the adage that the more prepared you are, the luckier you get, the Killer silently thanked himself for his obsessive preparation.
It was time. It started today.
M arty dialed Ellie’s number again. ‘Come on, girl. I need to talk to you.’ He looked at the desk phone while the speaker burred the ringtone of an unanswered phone. Then to voicemail. ‘This is Ellie. The beep is your cue.’
Marty punched a button and lifted the handset. ‘Ell, it’s Marty, your ever faithful and extremely concerned manager. You’re not trying to duck me are you? I want to talk to you. I know Sweeney’s release has freaked you out. Don’t let it. You’ve got a huge day tomorrow. Your success, if I may be frank, is of huge interest for me, since fifteen percent of your success ends up in my bank account. Call me. It’s really, really important.’
He dropped the handset in the cradle and leaned back in his chair. ‘Chloe?’
His PA stuck her head in his office. ‘What’s up, boss?’
‘ Try and track Ellie down will you? I can’t reach her. Make sure she’s okay.’
K ent and Charlie spent three hours killing time along the Venice boardwalk.
Charlie’s stomach rumbled. ‘Need food, mate. And I’m on rationed cash. Any ideas?’
‘ I do. Follow me.’ Kent led them back to the breakfast cafe. ‘Go with whatever I say, okay?’ He stepped up to the counter. ‘Emily, right?’
She looked at the
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