Beaming and doing a little rabbit hop of joy, Kendra repeated everything he said. “A six-week shoot. Twenty K a week and a cut off the back end. Start on the 1st in New York.” Kendra smiled but there was something else clouding her eyes. “What? What’s wrong, Monty?” She listened for a moment and let out a gasp. “What? No. No. You did what? You didn’t, Monty. You couldn’t have.”
She met Grey’s eyes and he got a seriously bad feeling. She almost let the phone fall from her hand but he grabbed it, heard Monty crying on the other end. He looked at Kendra and she said, “He told me he killed his wife. He said he bashed her head in with a 3-iron.”
Grey turned his face from her, focused on Monty on the other side of the phone. Could imagine him there in the fish bowl, sobbing. Major celebrities walking by in the halls peering in at him. The cops would be there soon.
“Monty, listen to me-”
“If only you’d done it.”
“Have you ever heard of a man named John Raymond?”
“You told me to do it! You said I should do it myself!”
Christ, Monty was right. Grey had said it. But who the fuck would’ve expected him to go through with it? Here, everybody he came across looked at him like he was a murderer, and some slick little shit without a plan winds up grabbing a golf club and taking out his wife.
“John Raymond. He called himself a manager. You ever heard of him? He the real thing?”
“You think a brain is solid,” Monty said, “like, I don’t know, like meat, but it’s not. It’s like egg yolk. It runs. It spatters!”
There was a buzz of activity as Grey heard men entering Monty’s office, cops identifying themselves, and Monty being wrestled to the ground. Someone picked up the phone and gruffly asked, “Who is this?”
Grey hung up.
Kendra said, “Is it true?”
“Yes. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He grabbed the .32, went out to the curb out front, and smashed the gun to pieces. Then he got in the Chevelle and drove out to the freeway and scattered them for miles.
17
Three in the morning Pax called. “Sorry about the time, but this was my only chance to phone.”
“I was up.”
“I’ll be back in two weeks. Wait for me.”
Grey explained about Reno, Kendra, L.A., the Hollywood sign, Killing Time, Harvey, the hot tub, Monty, the murdered wife, and John Raymond.
Pax let his silence talk for him, the same way Grey often did, the way they’d been taught to do as kids.
Finally Pax took a breath and said, “You’ve been busy.”
“Running in circles mostly.”
“It’s not easy finding someone who doesn’t want to be found. What’s your next move?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Ellie could be dead, you know. From the knife wound in New York. You never did check the morgue or the hospitals or the police. That should’ve been your first stop. Maybe this Johnny tried to ice her again.”
“She’s not dead,” Grey said.
“She could be,” Pax insisted. “She could’ve died twenty steps outside your front door and you wouldn’t have known it. If it’s true, and she is dead, are you going to be able to handle it?”
The question offended Grey. He wet his lips and his mouth worked for a moment before he found his voice. “You just keep blowing up insurgents, right? Leave family matters to me.”
18
He drove back to Judy the casting agent’s place. She was auditioning two actors that Grey recognized from a couple of indie films he’d really enjoyed. They were doing a comedy scene about two guys on the road with a stolen gorilla being hunted by neo-Nazis and a pre-op tranny CIA agent. They played to the little tripod camera, screamed and ran around the little area like the gorilla or the chick with a dick was after them. Grey sat in the corner again thinking, Jesus, what these poor fuckers have to do to make a buck.
They finished up and walked past him without a word, their heads hanging.
Judy bustled up and said, “I’m glad you came back. I wanted to offer you the part of the hit man in Killing Time.”
Grey said, “What? I’m not even an actor.”
“You’re a natural. I’ve interviewed more than a dozen men for that role and you were by far the most authentic and appealing. We want you for it.”
“Who’s we?”
“All of us.” She gestured to the empty room like it was full of people. “I showed the digital video to our director and writer and they loved you as well. You won’t even need to do a call-back.”
Grey took a step away, drew his chin in like he was in a fight with enemies all around. “No, no, that’s not what this is about. Listen, have you ever heard of a manager named John Raymond?”
She waved her hands in the air again, doing the nail thing. “Tell me he’s not repping you!”
“No, he’s not, I’m not an actor, but I need to get in touch with him.”
“Who is representing you?”
“No one. Listen, I-”
“I know just the person. Kendra’s agent. Monty Stobbs. Have you met him yet?”
“I have, but Monty, he’s-”
“I think you two will work magnificently together.”
Nobody in this town ever heard a damn word you said.
“Look, about John Raymond-”
“He’s a bottom feeder. Small time with aspirations. He doesn’t protect his clients; he uses and wastes them.”
“He’s here in L.A.?”
“He has offices here and in New York, from what I recall, but please, if this film means anything to you, don’t bring him on board.”
The film didn’t mean anything to him but he wasn’t getting anywhere this way. “I won’t, I promise. Killing Time is far too important.”
“It is, it truly is!”
“But I need to talk to him. He’s been trying to lure Kendra away from Monty with promises of television work in New York.”
“That bastard will ruin her!”
“I think so too,” Grey agreed. “So I need to see him face to face in order to…dissuade him.”
Grinning, Judy got that look in her eye, the one that said she knew he was capable of great violence and wanted him to stay the course. “I’ll get his address for you.”
She vanished into her small office and Grey stood there wondering where Ellie was right at that second, and if she had any idea at all what he was willing to do to find her.
Judy returned with a Post-it note scribbled with John Raymond’s L.A. address and phone number.
“Nothing for New York?” Grey asked.
“No.” She touched his wrist with a little extra something, rubbed the back of his hand. “I can’t wait to work with you.”
Her wedding ring was a wide band of gold with deep-set diamonds. She backed up toward the wall where he and Kendra had pawed each other. The fire in her eyes filled the rest of her face. A bead of sweat dripped down her cleavage. He smiled and thanked her, thought of her husband, wished the poor fucker well, and walked out.
19
He called the number but got no answer and no voice mail. He had to stop into three gas stations to get the directions down to Raymond’s office. He was in a shit part of town but Grey liked the liveliness of it. A lot of people out on the street, gangs of punks yelling and fucking around, drunks laughing, homeless pushing carts. Raymond’s office was in the middle of the block bookended by a pawn shop and a liquor store. He imagined how tenuous Ellie’s grasp on the world must’ve been for her to believe Raymond could do anything for her besides put her to work on the street.
The lettering on the front window read STARMAKERS INC. The lights were out, the door was locked, and there was a sign glued to the glass saying the building was for lease. He put his face up to the window and saw that there was still a desk, chair, some photos on the wall, phones, and a computer inside.