Aaron pried the fingers loose. Book's neck remained pallid. Guy's body was so starved, he couldn't even bring blood to the surface.
“Mason, there's another girl. Caitlin.”
“Who?” said Book.
“Blond, twenty, worked at Riptide.”
Book's brow creased. Twenty seconds of what looked like sincere contemplation.
Head shake.
“Caitlin Frostig,” said Aaron. “Rory's girlfriend.”
“Rory. He's my P.A.”
“Gofers for you.”
“Yeah.”
“He have your PIN number, too?”
“No, he uses the petty cash.”
“For what?”
“Buying what I need.”
“That include blow and ice and stuff?”
Book frowned. “He shouldn't be in trouble.”
“Why not?”
“He's a good P.A.”
“There when you need him.”
“Yup.”
“Caitlin Frostig was his girlfriend.”
No answer.
Aaron said, “Long blond hair, twenty, went to school with Rory-”
Book said, “The hostess.”
“You know her.”
“Cute,” said Book. “I like girls to be blond and tall.”
“Ever party with her?”
“She wouldn't want it.”
“How do you know?”
“She liked Rory. Rory said they're in love.”
“I'm sure you've partied with lots of girls who have boyfriends.”
“Yeah,” said Book, “but you can tell which ones are going to step out.”
“Rory ever talk about Caitlin?”
“Just that.”
“Good P.A., huh?”
“His dream is to agent. I said I'd help him when he's ready.”
“When will that be?”
“When he finishes school. He wants to finish school.”
Aaron sat back down. “Mason, is there anything you want to tell me about Caitlin Frostig?”
“Like what?” The guy was an actor, but Aaron was sure he wasn't performing. Visions of Mr. Dmitri's scowling face filled his head.
“Like anything, Mason.”
“We-ell,” said Book. “She was like that David Lee Roth song- ‘California Girls.’ But not ripe to party.”
“Why not?”
“You can just tell.”
“Bet you can, Mason-okay, I need to get you out of here. In case Ax comes back.”
“He's at his dad's. I sent him there. Sent everyone away.”
“Who's everyone?”
“Rory. Kimora.”
“Who's Kimora?”
“She cleans.”
Wanting to be alone for his final swan dive.
Aaron said, “I still want you out of here. Let's get some clothes on.”
In the huge, slovenly dressing room of a huge, slovenly bedroom topped by a vaulted skylight, Aaron found silk jockey shorts from a Savile Row shop, size 29 Rock & Republic jeans, a black Gucci sweatshirt, thousand-dollar alligator loafers. Book dropped his robe without embarrassment, stood there again, rubber-limbed, as Aaron dressed him. The jeans were too big; Aaron cinched a python-skin belt around the actor's waist.
“Looking sharp, Mason.”
Book laughed.
“What's the code to open the gate?”
“Don't know… Kimora does it.”
“Where can I find it?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Show me.”
A card next to the kitchen phone listed a series of gate controls and various service numbers. Aaron chose an option that would hold the gate open indefinitely. If anyone asked, he'd claim he found it that way, no trespassing had taken place.
That failed to explain why he'd made his way up the drive, just happened to be there when Book nearly plunged to his death. But this was about murder and he'd saved a life and he figured he was pretty safe.
“Okay, pal, let's boogie.”
Book didn't budge. Fool was staring at the chrome Traulsen from which he'd taken the can of supplement.
Then it came to Aaron: attempted last meal. Book had seen himself as a prisoner. Still couldn't bring himself to go out with a full stomach.
“Want anything before we go, Mason? A snack? Maybe something to drink?”
Book stepped back from the fridge while shaking his head slowly.
“Your angel thinks you should eat something, Mason.”
“Uh-uh,” said Book. “Not there yet.”
“Not where, Mason?”
The actor repeated the pincer-grasp of neck-skin. “Too fat.”
CHAPTER 42
Talk about the money shot.
Aaron framed it mentally like the prize photo it was, even as he experienced it.
Mason Book shuffling down Swallowsong Lane, arm in arm with an “unnamed companion.” Not a paparazzo in sight.
How much could I sell this to the tabs for?
Book stumbled.
“Easy, Mason.”
Unnamed black companion. No doubt they'd assume he was a bodyguard, maybe with an ominous past.
Aaron could live with that.
Book didn't fuss as Aaron put him in the Opel's passenger seat.
Muttering, “Nice wheels. They driving this in Heaven?” and promptly falling asleep.
Aaron poked him to make sure he wasn't faking, then belted him in. Fishing out the plastic wrist ties, he used three: linking both of Book's hands together, then tying the right loop to the lap belt. No big deal freeing the belt, but in the actor's current mental and physical state, the setup was as good as a steel cage.
Now, where to take him?
Slipping the key into the ignition, Aaron remembered the three missed calls, checked his cell.
A trio of texts from Liana-one text, actually, repeated three times. relbl source: riptide adlla w dmnts never bk
Now he knew where he had to take his new pal.
Moe got the call as he and Petra were finishing coffee and eggs at a Denny's near Hollywood Station. Raymond Wohr was stashed in a solitary cell having downed a repast of donuts and Hershey bars and Mountain Dew.
Aaron said, “Working late, Moses. I figured I'd get your machine.”
“Busy night.”
“It's going to get busier. I've got someone you'll want to meet.”
“Who's that?”
Aaron told him.
Moe said, “Did you do something illegal that's going to screw us over?”
“Me? I've been an angel.”
Moe and Petra showed up at Aaron's office thirty-five minutes later. Mason Book was still totally out of it, napping peacefully under a down-filled Frette duvet, in the guest room that rarely saw action. The plastic ties remained in place, the right one now circling a stout, brass bedpost.
The actor had snoozed through everything, not even stirring when Aaron slung him over his shoulder and hauled him up the stairs. Book had stayed so inert that Aaron checked his breathing a couple of times. Nice and steady, good strong pulse. The second time Aaron poked him, Book's eyes opened and he smiled like a happy kid and went under again.
Some of that was probably post-adrenaline letdown, but Aaron figured a blood test would reveal all sorts of interesting biochemistry. No doubt some defense attorney would pounce on that and try to invalidate the tape. Now transferred to one of Aaron's computers and copied to a disk locked in Aaron's business safe.
Book had to be kept under wraps until his body fluids turned pristine. Aaron had a medical contact he could rely on-an internist he'd helped through a cancerous divorce. Guy kept offering him free checkups but Aaron didn't believe in doctors unless you were sick. Or needed them for extracurricular work.
Meanwhile, Book had to stay here.
Which is exactly what he told Moe and Petra when they started jawing about taking the actor into custody.
Surprisingly, Moe said, “I see your point. But unless we file on him and lock him up, it looks a whole lot like kidnapping.”
“Why? He's my guest,” said Aaron. “You had no idea I even had him.”
“A guest gets cuffed to the bed?”
“You never saw that.”
Neither detective spoke.
Aaron said, “I saved his life, guys. It's only logical he'd be depending on me and that will turn out useful for you.”