‘Probably. Why?’
‘They could come in handy,’ I said, casually, but noting how off the ball she was, in that she didn’t follow me. Task number one, Blackstone: get her off the drink so that her brain can work properly again. ‘So, what about the money?’ I knew that this was going to be bad: the guy was a con-man, and she’d let him take over her financial management. ‘What have you got left?’
‘I’ve got half a million, invested in an annuity that doesn’t mature till I’m fifty-five and that I can’t touch before then. I’ve got two hundred and fifty thousand in a Swiss account that, fortunately, I forgot to tell him about, and I’ve got the flat. Everything else is gone, sold or cashed up in the month before he left.’
It was my turn for the heavy frown. While Prim and I were together we’d amassed a right few quid, some jointly, some from the generous points arrangement on my first movie, and a hell of a lot from my shareholding in the GWA, after it went public. When we split up, so did the money, more or less straight down the middle: on the figures she’d quoted me, allowing for even modest capital growth, the guy had fleeced her, and how.
‘He took around two and a half million?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, but that’s not the point: he’s got Tom, Oz, he’s got Tom.’
I got up, fetched myself another beer from the fridge, and walked towards the open doorway to the garden. I stood there thinking, letting the evening breeze cool me. After a while, I turned back to face the girls. ‘Okay,’ I said: that was all.
‘What are you going to do, Oz?’ asked Susie.
I looked at her, smiled, then shrugged my shoulders, just like Nicolas Cage in one of my favourite movies, and stole his best line. ‘What am I going to do?’ I replied. ‘I’m going to save the fucking day, that’s what I’m going to do.’
Chapter 9
The trouble with the grand statement was that I had no idea how I was going to make it happen. I knew one thing for sure, though: I wanted to meet Paul Wallinger. Arguably, the guy had a right to his own kid, but the money that he’d stolen from Prim had once been mine too, and I took a seriously dim view of that.
Actually, the financial side of it begged a lot of questions, but I decided to put them on hold for a while. Prim was strung out, no doubt about that, but she was also drinking way too much. When we were a couple, we’d been what I’d call normal thirty-something users of alcohol. We took it socially, and while often enough it would end the day, it never, ever began it; it worried me that my former wife had turned into someone who looked as if she put Bacardi on her corn flakes.
When I glanced at my watch and said that I’d fix dinner, Susie read my mind. She took Prim off to her room and talked her into sleeping off her latest cargo for a couple of hours.
I was in Ready, Steady, Cook mode, so I didn’t spend too much time in the kitchen. I chopped some Chinese leaves into strips and mixed them with feta cheese, olives and red chillies, seeded, as a salad starter, then blended tomatoes and some coconut cream, and added a few mushrooms, baby corn, and whatever spices my hand fell upon, to create Oz Blackstone’s celebrated impromptu pasta sauce. I set it simmering, cut some monkfish and salmon fillets into cubes, to be added later, and went back to the office. No, I did one other thing before that. I checked that we had plenty of bottled water, still and sparkling, in the fridge: there was going to be no more booze on offer that evening.
Back at my desk, I switched on my computer. Right at the top of my box was an e-mail from Roscoe, reporting progress on my three deals. I sent him an instant message asking if he was available for a face to face; a few seconds later a box popped up on my screen inviting me to switch on my web-cam.
It’s my favourite means of communicating with my agent, other than across the desk: with both of us on high-speed broadband, the quality of both sound and vision is pretty good. I could see from the view through the window behind Roscoe that the LA weather was as usual. He was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt, and in the background I could hear the sound of air-conditioning at full hum.
‘One of the offers we turned down,’ I began, ‘was from the Global Wrestling Alliance. Right?’
‘Yes, it was, but the money was insufficient and there was no guarantee of distribution. They need you more than you need them, I’d say. It wouldn’t have advanced your career, Oz.’
‘Would it do it any harm, though?’
‘The script itself read pretty well, and I rate Santiago Temple, the director. Liam Matthews has done well in the Skinner movies he’s made with you. It would be okay if all other things were equal, but to be honest, they’re offering way below your market value, and they don’t have the financial flexibility to meet it.’
‘I’m not worried about the money, Roscoe; Everett Davis is a very good friend; you must know that.’
‘I do, but sometimes part of my job is to protect you from your friends.’
‘I appreciate that, but I owe him, and this time I feel I have to do it. He wants me in Vegas in ten days. I’d like you to get back to him, cut the nicest deal you can without screwing him financially, but make it work.’
I could see him think. ‘How would it be,’ he said slowly, ‘if we did it for no fee but a sizeable percentage of the gross, say five points? With your name on the marquee, Mr Davis will be guaranteed a distribution deal, so you wouldn’t be robbing him.’
‘Whatever it takes, make it happen for me, and tell him I want the top suite in the Bellagio.’
He grinned. ‘They tell me New York New York is pretty good.’
‘I prefer the real version. See you.’ I closed the program and he disappeared.
I opened my contacts file and began to scroll down; I stopped at ‘K’ and dialled a number.
There’s this guy I know called Mark Kravitz. I met him a few years ago through Miles Grayson, who hired him as my ‘personal assistant’ on my first movie project. Actually he was my bodyguard, but that’s another story. I don’t know exactly where he comes from, or what his background is, but I’ve made some guesses that I reckon are close to the mark. Whatever he was in the past, he’s heavy duty now, and has connections all over the place; I don’t use him as a minder any more, I use him to find them. He recruited Jay Yuille for me, then helped Jay find Conrad and Audrey and, in each case, did a damn fine job. He provides other services, though.
He was at home when I called. ‘Hi, boss!’ (He still calls me that sometimes.) ‘What’s up? Nothing’s gone wrong with Connie and his missus, I hope.’
‘No, they’re great. But something’s happened and it’s just a bit outside Conrad’s job description. There’s an American guy by the name of Paul Wallinger. .’ I spelled it out for him. ‘. . who’s in my bad books.’
‘What’s he done?’
I gave him a quick rundown.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Anything there is; whether he’s got any previous form for openers. I’d like to know whether the FBI might want to speak to him. I’d like to know whether he’s still in the Minneapolis area. I’d like to know whether Wallinger’s his real name.’
‘I’d bet that it is.’
‘Why so sure?’
‘Work it out: he went to Grosvenor Square to have the child added to his passport; he’d hardly have done that if it was a phoney. That probably tells you that he isn’t on anyone’s wanted list either. But leave it with me: someone who pulls a con like this is not a beginner, believe me. I’ll get something on him.’
‘Soonest?’
‘Soon as I can. What are you planning to do?’
‘I’m planning to help Prim get her money back, and her kid, if I can.’
‘By any means necessary?’
‘What does that imply?’
‘This guy’s outside the law, Oz. He’s hardly in a position to complain to the police if, let’s say, someone used basic methods to persuade him to cough up the child and the cash.’