I smile and introduce myself, laying on as much charm as possible. ‘Jake Boulder, from The Scotsman. Thank you for arranging this interview with Mr Weeper – I’ve been a fan for years.’
By now I’ve entered the room far enough to see Weeper standing on the balcony looking down. His room faces the centre of the hotel and when I join him I can see a group of young women sunbathing by a pool.
Such is his arrogance he doesn’t bother looking round before he speaks. ‘I’d do them all with the same boner.’
I clear my throat and wait for the next pearl of wisdom. One sentence has just outlined why a famous actor has to use hookers. This guy is a prime example of what Glaswegians call a bawbag.
He turns, right hand reaching for the bottle of beer on the table. I take his hand in mine and shake it with a repeat of my earlier introduction.
He winces at my grip, unaware of the effort it has taken not to crush every bone in his hand. ‘Oh yeah. The reporter.’
He stands an even six foot, but his thinning hair, forgettable face and expanding waistline suggest his best days are behind him.
He looks around until his eyes land on the stress head. ‘Mindy, bring a couple of beers will ya?’
I pull out my phone and fiddle with it as if I’m using it as a Dictaphone.
Mindy deposits a beer in front of each of us. ‘I’m off to collect those scripts. Back soon.’
I wait until she is out of earshot and lean forward. ‘I’m nothing to do with The Scotsman. I’m here investigating the death of someone you hired from Fantasy Courtesans. Girl by the name of Candice.’
‘You can go fu –’
My fist colliding with his jaw finishes his sentence. ‘We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. It’s your choice.’
He launches his bottle towards my head, but I’ve stopped enough bar fights to know better than to get hit by a flying bottle. I hear it crash behind me as I step forward and give him a dig in the ribs.
This is getting out of hand far quicker than anticipated. I’m just glad Mindy is out of the way. I don’t hit women and her presence would have become a definite nuisance, although for her the stress of the fight may well be enough to finish the task working for Weeper has started.
I lift his cell from the table and toss it onto the bed as the bodyguard enters the room. ‘Is everything okay, Mr Weeper? I heard a crash.’
‘No, it’s not okay, Bobby. This jerk-off has just assaulted me.’ The words come out in gasps due to the damage I’ve done to his ribs.
Bobby’s eyes narrow as he looks at me. ‘Time to go, buddy.’
I don’t move.
When he comes forward I raise my hands and get ready to kick his kneecap but he isn’t as dumb as Mr Steroids. Hollywood types must have trained bodyguards. He keeps his hands level with his chest and waits for me to make the first move.
I feint a left jab and throw a right cross which he deflects with a meaty forearm. With my side exposed, he swings a left at my ribs but I roll inside his swing and reverse an elbow into his gut. I try to repeat the action, but his arms encircle me, preventing me from getting any power into the blow.
I’ve been held like this many times and know the best way out of it isn’t to wrestle or to try a reverse headbutt – any fighter worth their salt knows to keep their head well back.
I raise my right leg to waist level and swing it backwards with my heel aimed for his shin. If it lands, my kick is hard enough to break his leg.
It misses, but the momentum of the kick has shifted our equilibrium and we topple forward. I’m ready for this and twist so he falls onto his back with me on top of him. The jarring impact on the floor is enough to loosen his grip, giving me the chance to escape his clutches.
I get to my feet first, but only by a fraction of a second.
He comes at me. His professionalism is replaced with cold anger. He isn’t doing his job anymore, he’s intent on kicking my ass for having the gall to inflict pain on him.
I fend off his punches with my forearms, but I know I can’t do so for long. He’s a big guy punching like a boxer. It is only a matter of time before one of those blows slips through my guard or my arms become too heavy to lift. I’ve already suffered a couple of glancing blows that would have knocked me cold if they’d connected as intended.
It’s time for me to go back on the offensive. When his next barrage of blows end, I strike forward with my own, aiming punches at head, kidneys and ribs until he is so expectant of a punch coming, he doesn’t see the knee I lift into his groin.
Give Bobby his due, he doesn’t go down. He can’t however stop the natural impulse to grab the wounded area. I take a hard shot at his exposed chin, knocking him out.
I’m gasping as I roll him into the recovery position. He’s been a worthy opponent who’s tested me more than anyone I’ve fought for months.
Weeper is sitting on the balcony, one hand on his ribs and a look of incomprehension on his face.
‘When that jackass wakes up, I’m gonna fire his ass.’
His response is typical of the cosseted. Bobby has just taken a beating trying to protect him and Weeper wants to play the big shot by threatening the man’s livelihood.
‘Shut up.’ I glare at him until all traces of bravado have vanished. ‘I’m gonna ask some questions and you’re gonna answer them. If I think you’re lying, I’ll hurt you. If I think you’re holding out, I’ll hurt you bad. Understand?’
What little fight he possesses drains away at my threats.
‘You hired Candice from Fantasy Courtesans on a couple of occasions for parties you threw. Tell me what happened at these parties.’
‘It was just me and a bunch of friends. Once in a while we’d get a bunch of hookers together and have a big old party. The parties would happen at my place – I’m not married and don’t have a girlfriend.’
What a surprise. Even though you’re rich and famous, no girl wants to be seen with you.
‘Why did you fly hookers in from out of town? Surely there must be plenty here in LA.’
He looks at me as if I have two heads. If he does it again he’ll be lucky to have one.
‘Nobody famous uses LA hookers. Half of them tip off the press and the other half are followed by paparazzi. If I hire an LA hooker, I may as well call the LA Times and tell them myself.’
‘So why hire Candice a number of times? I’d have thought you would have got different girls every time.’
‘We took turns organising the entertainment, but Candice was special. She had no limits and would do anything we wanted except one thing.’ I gesture for him to continue before I knock the wistful look off his face. ‘She wouldn’t allow us to film her.’
That stands at odds with everything Kira had done with her other clients and could only mean one thing. She wanted to keep the hooking secret from someone. My guess is her family. Either that or she’d recognised Weeper for the douche bag he is and knew the film would end up in the wrong hands.
‘Did you ever set up cameras without her knowing?’
‘No.’ The answer comes too quick. As if he’s been expecting the question. I don’t trust the sly expression in his eyes so I punch him in the sternum and let him gasp for a while.
When his breath comes back, I wag a finger at him. ‘Try again. And be warned. Next time I hit you, it’ll be your face and you’ll not be able to see a film camera, let alone stand in front of one.’
His eyes widen as comprehension of my threat sinks in. Turning up with a ruined face would halt filming and cost tens of thousands minimum. Hollywood is the kind of town where careers are ended for the slightest mishap unless you are the star of the show.
I guess he is on a sticky wicket with the production company as it is, by the way he babbles his next answer.
‘Okay, okay. I did film her once or twice but not for the reasons you think.’ A smattering of bravado returns. ‘Who needs to film a hooker when you can hire her again?’