Charlie sighed. “Okay, Gary. Let’s stop fucking around. What do you want?”
“A small piece of the pie, an opportunity to dip a crust of bread into the gravy train, a…”
“Can you cut the crap? I get it. What do I have to do to get you and Werner to go away?”
“We don’t really want to go away, Charlie. A big star like you should have an entourage.”
Charlie snapped his head back and forth. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“Sure it is. We figure we can testify at these seminars about how we were terrible criminals, corrupt to our very souls, until you helped us find our inner lights.”
“No way.”
Gary’s affable demeanor faded away. “Do you know what plagiarism is? Werner and I feel that you plagiarized our lives. That’s a crime, Charlie, and you know what they say: ‘If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.’ There’s also ‘Crime does not pay.’ It all boils down to the fact that there are consequences for bad acts. The consequence in your case is a tax on profits. You’ll pay a bit of it now and we’ll tag along to keep an eye on the receipts so we can decide how much the tax will be in the future.”
“I’m not gonna do it. You go to the Times and see what they say. Who’s going to take your word over mine? I’m a hero, Gary. I saved a guard’s life.
“And how are you going to prove I made this stuff up? A reporter will want specific facts about murders, armed robberies, and other crimes that would send you away forever. But say they believe you committed these crimes. That wouldn’t prove I made up the incidents in the book. I’d just say that my crimes were different from what you say you did. In my introduction I said I made the events vague and changed names and places to protect myself from getting charged with the crimes. So do your worst.”
Gary turned red, which meant he was pissed off. Charlie had forgotten for a moment who he was dealing with, but he remembered now. Gary leaned across the table and lowered his voice.
“If you think talking to a reporter is the worst thing I can do to you, you must have forgotten some of the things you’ve seen me do. Fuck with me and you’ll have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of your life.”
Gary leaned back and let what he’d said sink in. “I’m going to forget how rude you’ve just been. We’ll see you tonight at your seminar at that fancy country club. That’ll give you a few hours to think.”
Gary nodded to Werner, who vacuumed down what was left of his pie.
“Pick up the check, will you?” Gary said.
Charlie watched them leave. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled. How could he be so stupid? He’d been so full of himself lately that he’d forgotten what the world was really like. People like Sally Pope lived in Camelot, but he lived in the jungle, where he was prey and people like Gary and Werner were predators.
CHAPTER 14
Are you out of your mind?” Moonbeam asked Charlie, who was in the bedroom of his hotel suite, killing time before the seminar at the Westmont Country Club by quick-drawing a Ruger.357 Magnum Vaquero revolver. The engraved, stainless steel, ivory-handled gun weighed more than two pounds, had a six-inch barrel, and was a gift from the twentysomething wife of a septuagenarian Texas oilman. She had given it to Charlie after a night of intimacy following an Inner Light” seminar in Austin.
“Relax, Moonbeam,” said Charlie, who almost choked whenever he used her “mystical” name.
When they were in New Haven, Charlie had told “Moonbeam” that she could come to Oregon with his entourage. Now he deeply regretted the words he’d moaned in the heat of passion and he had decided to dump her when they moved on. “Moonbeam” might be great in bed but the rest of the time she was a bossy pain in the ass. The broad had also shaved her head, because she’d concluded-for reasons Charlie never understood-that her hair was impeding her spiritual growth. Charlie was definitely not turned on by bald women and he’d said so.
“You’re an ex-con,” she persisted. “Having a gun violates the conditions of your parole. What if someone sees you?”
“Do you think I’m stupid enough to carry in public? Delmar totes my piece when I’m out and about and he’s licensed to carry.”
Charlie’s bodyguard was slouched on the sofa reading a sports magazine with an NBA star on the cover.
“Haven’t you heard of the right to bear arms, bitch?” Delmar asked without looking up from the article he was reading. “Or didn’t you study the Constitution at your fancy Ivy League college?”
Before Moonbeam could answer, the door to the suite opened and a waiter rolled in a serving cart with Charlie’s dinner. Charlie froze in mid-draw. The waiter stared at the gun. Charlie whipped it behind his back.
“Don’t they teach you to knock?” he shouted at the flustered server.
“I’m sorry, sir. I did knock on the door to the suite. The man said I could…”
“Yeah, yeah, just leave it,” Charlie said. Mickey Keys was out in the sitting room. “Have my agent sign for this.”
“Thank you, sir,” the waiter said as he backed out of the bedroom.
“Have I made my point?” Moonbeam asked. “If he talks to your parole officer, you’ll be putting on your seminars for the prisoners at the state pen. And there’s something else. You have to stop sleeping with that woman.”
“Whoa, who I fuck is none of your business. I warned you I wasn’t a one-woman man when you insisted on following me out here.”
“I know, Charlie, but it doesn’t look good. She’s married and she has a kid, not to mention that her husband is a powerful politician who can seriously mess you up.”
“How do you think we got this gig at the Westmont? I’m just using her for her connections, baby. If you’re too jealous to see that, maybe you should just go back to your rich friends.”
Moonbeam looked frightened. “Don’t send me away, Charlie. I only want to help.”
“Well you’re not helping by nagging my ass every five minutes.”
Moonbeam moved close to Charlie. “I’m sorry. You know I’m just worried about you.”
Charlie felt the heat and remembered what the girl looked like naked, hair or no hair. He glanced at the clock and saw that there was still time before they had to leave for the country club. He put his arms around Moonbeam.
“I know you care about me, baby,” Charlie said in a voice that oozed concern. “Just don’t worry so much.”
Moonbeam looked down and Charlie lifted up her chin until he could see her eyes.
“You don’t have anything to worry about. Sally can’t touch you in bed, and that’s what counts between a man and a woman.”
Charlie released the girl’s chin. “Why don’t you take five, Delmar?” he said as he fondled her small, firm breasts.
The bodyguard looked at his watch. “We’re heading out in three quarters of an hour.”
“That’s cool. See you then.”
Delmar left. Charlie scooped up Moonbeam in his arms and carried her to the bed. His timing was perfect. When his bodyguard rapped on his door three quarters of an hour later, Charlie was refreshed, fed, and ready to bilk the members of the Westmont Country Club.
CHAPTER 15
Shortly after sunset, on the evening Congressman Arnold Pope Jr. was murdered, Sally Pope stood next to John Walsdorf, the manager of the Westmont Country Club, and watched a line of expensive cars drive toward the entrance to the Westmont’s sprawling fieldstone clubhouse. The caravan snaked along a wide, tree-lined lane that ran by a few of the golf holes. There was no moon, so the lush emerald green of the fairways was left to the imagination.