“Anyway, he starts going on about all the things he’s done in his life, like how he’s worked down the mines, picked grapes with the wetbacks in Napa and Sonoma, written songs for a famous band whose name he can’t remember, driven a cab in Frisco, published his poems, traveled around South America with nothing but a few dollars in his pocket... You get the message? He goes on and on and on, and nobody really knows why he’s telling us all this, or even whether he’s putting us on. But there’s something in his tone that makes us keep quiet and listen till he’s finished.
“Then he says something about people making a joke out of his life, belittling what he’s done, and suddenly we all know what this is about. Uh-oh. This guy has been sitting brooding about Jim’s stupid joke all night. All fucking night. Can you believe it? So Jim says something to ease the tension, like he didn’t mean anything by it, but Mitch isn’t hearing by now, and he just reaches over, really fast, pulls Jim by the collar and hits him right on the bridge of the nose. Blood everywhere. Jim’s nose is broken. Next thing, the hotel manager comes over and throws a fit and Mitch decks him as well. One punch to the side of the jaw and he’s out.”
“What happened?”
“Gary smoothed things over.”
“And did Gary let him stay around after that?”
“Gary said he had a word with him and, to be fair, Mitch never did anything like that again. But things didn’t feel the same any more. We all gave him an even wider berth. You have to understand, though, that Mitch would do anything for Gary. Anything. He loved the guy, hero-worshipped him. And Gary’s ego was never so well stroked it couldn’t do with a bit more.”
“What about Sally?”
“He was very protective about her. Very courteous. A real gentleman. Funny that, isn’t it?”
“Did he ever come on to her?”
“Not that I know of. It wasn’t like that. Everyone else treated her like a tart, but Mitch treated her like gold. He opened doors for her, that kind of shit. He even used to have pet nicknames for her.”
The hairs on the back of Arvo’s neck prickled. “Like what?”
“Oh, just cute stuff, you know. He’d call her ‘The Lady,’ for example. ‘The Lady’s carriage awaits,’ he’d say when the limo arrived. Or ‘Princess.’ ‘Little Star.’ Names like that. Look, if Sally’s been getting threats, they’re not from Mitch. He worshipped the ground she walked on.”
But Arvo was no longer listening. He put his glass down and sat up.
“Do you know where he went after the tour ended?” he asked.
“Haven’t a clue, man.”
“Mind if I use your phone?”
“No,” said Buxton, looking puzzled. “Not at all. No, don’t get up. Stay where you are. I’ll get Bella to bring it out to you. Bella!”
32
Stuart and Sarah ate a hurried lunch at a table opposite Brentano’s in the open plaza of the Century City Shopping Center. Sarah nibbled at a corned beef on rye she’d got from the deli and Stuart sucked at his Diet Coke and tucked into a Johnny Rocket burger with the works.
Sarah was still in her Anita O’Rourke costume from the morning’s shooting — this time a navy-blue business suit over a pearl silk blouse — and one or two shoppers stared and whispered as they walked by, recognizing her.
It was almost three o’clock and the lunch hordes had gone by then. When she was filming, Sarah often didn’t get a lunch break until two or three. Today, Stuart had taken pity on her and brought her here just to get her out of the gloomy studio atmosphere for an hour or so. At least that was what he told her. She knew Stuart well enough to know he had another agenda, too.
It had been a tough morning’s filming, especially given the mood on the set over Jack’s murder. The director wanted to do a few fill-in scenes and solo Anita scenes — the female cop at home feeding her cat, eating her breakfast and so on — basically just about anything he could get away with shooting without Jack.
The whole affair gave Sarah the feeling that the network was some sort of gigantic perpetual motion machine and, whatever happened, it must not be allowed to wind down. Sarah had found it difficult to concentrate and felt annoyed with herself because they had to do simple scenes over and over again. Usually she prided herself on her professionalism, but today she’d been like some kid fresh out of drama school. Worse, a high-school play.
Between mouthfuls, Stuart was telling her about the morning’s meeting he had attended, but she found her attention wandering. Even in public, in broad daylight, she felt jumpy. She kept wondering if the dark figures she saw coming toward her out of the corners of her eyes meant to do her harm, if one of them might be him. It was hardly paranoia, she assured herself — someone really was after her — but somehow the thought didn’t offer much comfort.
She had slept badly, hearing noises in the dark, worrying that the killer would find her there and kill Stuart like he had killed Jack. She even worried again for a moment that it might be Stuart and that he was lulling her into a false sense of security before the kill. Of course, that thought made her feel guilty.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
“Pardon? Oh, sorry, I was miles away. Forgive me?”
“Sure. Just try not to brood on it, huh? It won’t do any good. Let the cops handle it. It’s what they do.”
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to help but worry. But please go on. I promise I’ll listen.”
“I was only talking about your future, that’s all. And mine. Hell, maybe even the fucking network’s future.”
Sarah smiled. “Oh, so it’s nothing very important then.”
“Right. Well, the main thing is they’re not giving the show the ax just yet. We’ve got a few episodes in the can, and then there’s reruns we can always throw in for a few weeks. Come February and March nobody notices anyway. Half the country’s covered with snow and ice and shit like that. People watch anything just to avoid looking out their windows.”
“And Jack?”
“We’ve got to find a replacement. Sooner the better. You know the network. They want someone new in before the fucking ashes have settled in Jack’s urn. Shit, I’m sorry, honey.” He ran his hand over his silvery hair. “I can be an insensitive bastard sometimes. Maybe the pressure’s getting to me. Anyway, they know that it’ll take time if we want to get it right. And it’s got to be right. That’s why they’ve given me a week.”
“A week? To find a replacement for Jack?”
“Yup. Can you believe it? And you’ve got to help, too. You and Jack had a special kind of chemistry, and I don’t think we should even try to duplicate that, but it’s got to be someone you can work with. I mean, it has to be someone you have some sort of rapport with. You’ve got to meet some of the possibilities. Maybe dinner, cocktails, whatever. I’m sorry.”
Sarah nodded, pale. “Don’t worry. It’s okay. And in the meantime? How do they explain Jack’s absence?”
Stuart paused to glance around, then slurped some Diet Coke through a plastic straw, leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Remember that scene you did when you both entered that suspect’s apartment in the dark and someone fired a shot? The cliffhanger they were saving for later in the season?”
“Yes.”
“That’s how Jack gets killed on screen.”
Sarah pushed her paper plate away. “But that’s sick.”
“No. That’s network television, honey. I don’t mean to sound hard here, but a lot of people have got a lot of money invested in Good Cop, Bad Cop. And it’s not just this season, either. Sure, we could hobble through that, even without a replacement. But what about next year? The year after? We’re talking about a high-rated show here. Real high. And the challenge is to keep pushing up the ratings without Jack. Sad as Jack’s death is to them, it’s not as sad as losing their jobs or their Bel Air homes. Not as sad as losing the beach house, either, or finding yourself out of work. Think about it.”