“We told you all we knew last night,” I said.
“Maybe,” he said, “maybe not. But right now I’m interested in opinion. Boston tells me you’re a real hot shot. What do you think?”
“I think a lot of what you think. That Franco hauled Felton out of there last night and brought him here and blew him away because Franco was confident Felton would spill everything he knew and some he could make up when folks got to chewing the fat with him, so to speak.”
“Yeah?”
“And I think Franco is an employee. He’s mean enough, but he’s small-time. The thing that Candy’s trying to uncover is big-time. Franco’s the kind of guy that will shake down whores and unconnected bookies and Mexicans with forged green cards.”
Samuelson nodded. “So who employs him?”
“Directly I don’t know. Indirectly I would guess the head of Summit Studios.”
“Hammond,” Samuelson said. “Anything more than you told me last night?”
“No,” I said. “He should have known about the offer from Felton either way. He said he didn’t. He was too helpful and too innocent and too outraged. He’s in it, I’ll bet you dinner at Perino’s.”
“Make it Pink’s,” Samuelson said. “It’s what I can afford if I lose. What about Brewster?”
“I don’t know. I only met him once. He could be involved. Any guy who got to where he is can’t be too meticulous about things.”
“And who’s doing the extorting? Who’s the money going to?” Samuelson said.
I shook my head. “This is your neighborhood, not mine. Any guesses? How about the guy Franco used to collect for?”
“Leon Ponce? Naw. He’s too small-time. Shaking down an outfit like Summit, or Oceania… Leon hasn’t got that kind of connections. Or that kind of balls. This is a bib game operation.”
Across Wilshire a woman in a pink robe came out onto the balcony of her apartment and watered her plants. She had a transparent plastic bag on her head. Probably just colored her hair.
“Wait a minute,” I said. Samuelson looked at me.
“Shaking down a major movie studio is a big deal, isn’t it,” I said.
Samuelson nodded. “I just said that.”
“But it’s not being run like a big-time operation,” I said.
“For instance,” Samuelson said.
“For instance it’s a goddamn mess,” I said. “They’ve beat up a TV reporter and murdered two people including a movie producer. I never heard of Felton, but he can’t be totally anonymous.”
“Yeah?”
“And sending a lumper like Franco around to collect cash from a producer on location? And being spotted? If the Mob owned Roger Hammond, would they work that way?”
“No,” Samuelson said. “Nope, they’d have some stock in the company. They’d have credit transfers and paper transactions I don’t even know the names of, and it would take five C.P.A.‘s five years to figure out who was getting how much.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“Maybe we been thinking too big,” Samuelson said.
“Maybe Franco’s starting his own business,” I said. “Maybe that’s as high as it goes.”
“What about that gut feeling about Hammond,” Samuelson said. “The dinner you were going to bet at Perino’s?”
“I thought it was a chili dog at Pink’s,” I said.
“That’s when I thought I’d lose,” Samuelson said.
I shook my head. “Maybe I’m wrong on that. I’ve been doing this too long to think I don’t make mistakes. Hammond is guilty as hell of something. I don’t know what. But whether it’s got to do with Franco…” I shrugged.
“Well,” Samuelson said, “we’ll start chasing paper. If Felton was paying Franco regularly, the money came from someplace. I’ll have someone start on that in the morning. I don’t think I’ve got enough to start digging into Summit’s books. All I got is your guess. I’m not sure the courts in California are willing to accept that.”
“No wonder,” I said, “there’s a crisis in our courts.”
Chapter 19
CANDY AND I were lunching at the Mandarin in Beverly Hills with a guy named Frederics who was the news director at KNBS. Candy and Frederics both had minced squab. I was working on Mongolian lamb with scallions and drinking Kirin beer. Everything was elegant and cool, including Frederics, who was slicker than the path to hell. His dark hair was parted in the middle and slicked back. He had on a white-on-white shirt with a small round collar and a narrow tie with muted stripes and a white crocheted V-neck sweater tucked into tight Ralph Lauren jeans. The jeans were worn over lizard-skin cowboy boots. I was trying to figure out where he carried his money because no wallet would fit in his pants pocket.
Frederics was drinking white wine with his squab. He took a sip, put the glass down, and said to Candy, “So, after talking with Mark Samuelson and others, the station management-and. I agree with them-feels that there’s really no further story, and no further danger to you. Mark says you agree with that, Mr. Spenser.”
The minced squab was finger food, served in a lettuce leaf, that you picked up and nibbled. Candy nibbled on hers while I answered.
“You’re not the Frederics of Hollywood, are you?”
Slick as he was, Frederics was, however, not a kidder. He shook his head briefly. “Do you agree with Mark?” he asked.
“Mark, huh?” I looked at Candy. She was still nibbling. “Yeah, I agree with Samuelson that she’s probably not in any danger. I’m not sure what I think about there being a story.”
“Well, that’s a news judgment we’ll have to make,” Frederics said.
“Yeah.”
“So we’re taking you off the story, my love,” he said to Candy.
“It’s still there, John. It’s a story that we should be staying on. There’s more to it than the police think. Isn’t there, Spenser?”
“Of course he’d say so,” Frederics said. “His fee is in the balance.” He looked at me. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t blame you, but you’re hardly a disinterested observer.”
I asked, “Where do you carry your wallet?”
He said, “Excuse me?”
I said, “Your wallet. Where do you keep it? Your pants are too tight to carry it on your hip.”
He said, “Spenser, I invited you to lunch because Candy asked me to. I see no reason to be uncivil.”
“Yeah, of course. It’s just that you’re so damn adorable that I’m jealous. And maybe a little because she busted her ovaries on this thing, and you won’t let her clean it up.”
“That’s a business decision,” Frederics said. “And a matter of professional judgment.” He looked at Candy. “The judgment has been made and it’s final.”
I shut up. It was Candy’s career, not mine. She looked at the table and didn’t speak.
Frederics said to me, “We’ll pay you through this week. You’ve done good work and you deserve a bonus. Expenses, everything. Take a few days and have a good time before you go home.”
“I resign,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“I resign. Now. Today. Now. This minute. I don’t work for you anymore.”
“You don’t want the money?”
“Boy, you do have news instincts, don’t you,” I said.
“You don’t want it?”
“That’s true,” I said.
We were all silent. At the end of the lunch Frederics asked Candy if she had a ride. She said she did. Then Frederics signed the check and we left. I never did see where he carried his wallet. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe if you’re that slick, you just signed everything. Somebody always had a pen.
Candy said, “You drive.”
I said, “You want to go someplace and get drunk?” She said yes.
I drove east on Wilshire to downtown and found a parking space on Hope Street. The whole way Candy was still silent. The wind ruffled her hair, and she stared straight ahead through the windshield.
I said, “There’s a bar on top of the Hyatt-Regency that’s nice.”