BLACK to Reality (20 page)

Nina shrugged. “There’s no telling what caused it. Maybe they had a snack that had turned. Or a drink that had gone south. I wouldn’t worry about it, Spring.”

Black watched as the line of limos departed with the judges and VIPs, his parents at his side chatting with Christina, the moonlight bathing the surrounding trees in its otherworldly light. The same unease he’d felt after the last two disqualifications churned in his stomach. He now had little doubt someone was methodically disqualifying the acts, but the suspect list was still too long. He made a mental note to call Roxie the next day and beg her to dig around in everyone’s backgrounds and see if anything jumped out as a possible clue, and then began the long process of extricating himself from the discussion with his parents, which he knew would go on for hours. A stab of guilt twinged when he saw the look of disappointment in his mother’s eyes, but that only lasted until the next time she called him Artemus.

That night, he and Ed sat on the terrace outside their room and drank Heineken as they watched the security teams roaming the grounds, safeguarding the stage until the riggers could tear it down tomorrow. Black moderated his intake and begged off a card game with Ed and the others in the lodge, preferring to keep to himself, fatigued now that another round had come and gone. His eyes scanned the parking area near the rooms a final time, and then he trudged inside, taking care to ensure the door was securely locked before hitting the shower and preparing for a hard night on the uncomfortable bed.

Chapter 24

The bus ride back seemed to take twice as long. Somewhere around the rolling hills of Coalinga, Black’s phone trilled at him. He pulled it from the breast pocket of his Western-style shirt and held it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Saw you on TV last night. Look at you – Mr. Rock Star. I’m surprised you answer your own phone.”

“Stan. You watch that garbage?”

“What can I say? My Internet’s down, so no porn.”

“Should have paid the bill.”

“I think it’s the NSA. Spying on me to protect the children. Or stop terrorism.”

“I think it was the war on drugs.”

“I get so confused sometimes.”

“Lack of dirty movies will do that to you.”

“Speaking from experience, I see.”

Black gazed through the window at the seemingly endless tall grass yellowing in the sun. “So you resorted to reality TV? The horror.”

“Yeah. And who do I see but my old buddy burning up the frets in front of a crowd of thousands?”

“Did they show the Indians? They didn’t look impressed.”

“Negative. Just all you, baby. And the bombshell singer, who I’d love to take out for a twelve pack of tall boys and a Carl’s burger. Hell, I’d even be willing to supersize it.”

“Sounds like love.”

“She’s something else.”

Black peered at where Christina was sitting two seats forward. “Yup.”

“You tapping that?”

“Stan, I’m with Sylvia.”

“Didn’t answer the question. Damn it. I so knew I should have become a PI. I hate you. I really do.”

“Must be a slow day at work, huh? Not too many butcherings?”

“Exactly. Haven’t seen a stiff in forty-eight hours. It’s got me worried. Maybe everyone’s given up murder?”

“Don’t sweat it. Someone’s plotting to kill their mother-in-law or slaughter a rival gang member as we speak. Cheer up.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Okay, I am.” Black paused. “What’s up? I’m kind of busy on my all-day bus ride here.”

“Your buddy Rick. It’s definitely a homicide. Forensics finally got off their ass and confirmed it. But the problem is the case is cold. I did some interviews with the neighbors and checked the nearest traffic cams, but nothing. So it’s looking like a dead end. No pun intended.”

“You use that all the time, don’t you?”

“One of my favorites.”

Black considered the new information. “Does that make investigating the suspects I can name more of a priority?”

“Yes, it does. Shoot me something with a brief synopsis of why you think they’re possibles and I’ll take a look.”

“It’ll have to be this evening. I really am on a bus.”

“I can’t believe you don’t have your own plane yet. Slacker.”

“I have no comeback. It’s on my list, right after a new liver.”

“At least you’ve got your priorities straight.”

The big tires thrummed against the asphalt as the bus began its ascent up the Grapevine, the big diesel laboring as it slowed to a crawl on the steep grade. Black was dozing off when his phone rang again. Sylvia’s voice sounded so distorted he had to struggle to hear her.

“Congratulations. I saw the show.”

“Seems like half the world did.”

“You were wonderful. I mean that,” she said.

“If you’re trying to flatter me so I’ll sleep with you, it worked.”

“Are we still on for Sunday?”

“Absolutely.” The line beeped, signaling another inbound call. “Hang on for a second.” He put her on hold.

Roxie’s voice sounded typically deadpan. “I guess I’m still going to be working for the old badger for another two weeks, huh?”

“You heard about the latest round?”

“Duh. She forced me to watch it. She’s developed a fixation on you since I told her I knew you.”

“Great. At least I can still get the cougars interested. I’ve got that to fall back on.”

“She’s been bugging me for an introduction. I’m serious.”

“Too bad I’m confined to the house.”

“I told her you like boys. Ever since prison.”

“I can always count on you. You should do public relations. You’re a natural.”

“She said that wasn’t a problem. She thinks you look a little like Liberace. Her words, not mine.”

“That’s super. Was there some other reason you called?”

“I miss Mugsy. When can I take him home?”

“By home I presume you mean the office.”

“Don’t deflect.”

“I agreed he could stay in Malibu as long as I was on the show. How’s the merchandising going?”

“Mugsy mania is sweeping the country. It’s off the hook.”

“Why it took me so long to think of pimping the cat, I’ll never know. If this keeps up, I might even be able to recover my outlay on cat chow and furniture he’s destroyed.”

A long silence. “I want to come out there on Sunday.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll clear it with Sarah and Lou.” Black paused. “How are things with your new boyfriend?”

“Good. He’s really romantic. Something you could learn from.”

“Seems like I’ve got the cougars wrapped around my little finger as it is.”

“I’m serious. He texts me at least twice a day, even though he’s crazy busy with his tour.”

“Wow. Texting. If I knew what that meant, I’d do it, too.”

“Don’t be a hatah, boss. He’s way different than he seems at first. A good Italian boy.”

“Italian? With a name like Sands?”

“That’s his stage name. It’s short for Sandri.”

“Aren’t you part Italian?” Black guessed, having no idea what her heritage was.

“Nice try. German and Spanish.”

“Which are both way closer to Italy than, say, Inglewood.”

“Your knowledge of geography is impressive.”

“What did you think of the performance?”

“I shouldn’t say this, because your head’ll swell bigger than it already is, but you were really good. And I’m not just saying that so you’ll start paying me again.”

“That reminds me. I have a little favor to ask you…”

“Sorry. You’re breaking up.”

“Roxie, come on. Help out. I’ll remember this.” He told her what he needed. “Stan’s waiting for it, and I could really use some help digging around in everyone’s backgrounds.”

“Thirty bucks an hour.”

“Roxie…”

“Girl’s got to get paid. Yes or no?”

Black sighed. “Deal.”

“Minimum ten hours.”

“Roxie.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She paused. “Cash.”

Black groaned. “Of course. It’s not like you can trust me or anything.”

“Small bills.”

“Do you have a pen? I’ll give you the names.”

“Shoot.”

When Black hung up, he remembered that Sylvia was on hold. He looked at the call indicator and saw he’d lost her four minutes into the discussion with Roxie. After peering at the signal bar, which showed no service, he resigned himself to yet more apologies when they got to the other side of the mountain range and closed his eyes, hoping for more sleep before they hit Malibu and the filming started again upon their arrival.

Chapter 25

The next week went by quickly, and when Monday morning arrived and the bands had to begin their practice for the elimination round, Black was more than ready for serious rehearsals.

The challenge involved three hours at a top tier recording studio for a film score. Each band would perform the same song, and then the audience at home would vote for its favorite. The group receiving the least votes would be invited to leave. There were no rules, and the bands broke off after the announcement to listen to the demo each was given. Rooster joined Last Call in the rehearsal studio and began brainstorming how to best perform the song, branding it with their signature sound.

Black felt confident after hearing what they were expected to do. He, out of everyone involved, had spent countless hours in the studio recording his album, so he had a better than fair idea of what worked and what didn’t. Things might have changed over the two decades he’d been out of the loop, but recording a live band hadn’t, and he felt uniquely qualified to help his group win the round.

By the time rehearsal was over, they’d agreed on an approach. Black and Christina were walking back to the house with Rooster when Black’s phone interrupted them. He glanced at the number and excused himself.

“Roxie, what have you got?”

“I sent your buddy Stan the list three days ago, along with the preliminary info. Didn’t he call you?”

“No, and I sort of forgot.”

“I’ve come up with a lot more since then.”

“Really? Like what?”

“I already sent it to your email.”

“Give me the highlights.”

“Everyone’s got baggage. Some more than others.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Rooster. He’s got an axe to grind with Simon, the producer.”

“He does?”

“Yes. Back in the day, Simon signed him to his label and basically took him to the cleaners. Rooster had to declare bankruptcy in the nineties. So he could be holding a grudge against Simon.”

“Then why would Simon have him on the show?” Black asked, thinking out loud.

“Could be he feels guilty? Or maybe they reconciled and it’s all ancient history. But it’s out there, and if Rooster was feeling pissy…”

“Good find. Who else?”

“Simon himself. He might be trying to influence the outcome. He’s got a management company in addition to the production company, and Alex is signed to it.”

“Yeah, but I bet if you look back at the timing, Alex signed after he won the show. The prize this year is a recording contract, but what do you want to bet Simon puts the full court press on the winners to have him guide their career?”

“Could be. I didn’t think of that.”

“Who else?”

“Well, I hate saying this, but you’ve probably already thought of it. Alex benefitted pretty significantly.”

“He did. But why would he be trying to game it this year? That part makes no sense.”

“No, but I wanted to be impartial, so I included it. Although I can state pretty categorically that he wouldn’t do something like that,” Roxie said.

“Anyone else?”

“I haven’t turned up anything on Christina, Peter, or Sarah. Why do you have them down as suspicious?”

“Christina was angry and hurt over Rick and Sarah last year. That could have driven her to mess with him.”

“Weak. No way would she throw the contest to get back at a boyfriend.”

“Agreed. But I don’t want to assume anything. And she could be messing with bands this year to improve her odds of a win.”

“Same with Peter?”

Black grunted. “Basically.”

“I don’t know. Sounds like science fiction from here.”

“I know it does. But they could also be working together. Peter does the sabotage part, and she’s the mastermind. He was with Rick at the bar last year.”

“Right, but so was Rooster,” Roxie said.

“I know. Which brings us to Sarah.”

“And why would she be sabotaging anyone?”

“Maybe she did it last year to get even with Rick for calling it off?”

“Why this year?”

“I’ve been watching her. She’s pretty friendly with the lead singer for Bend in the Creek.”

“He’s a hunk. If you go in for that redneck charm thing,” Roxie agreed. “So your theory is she could be edging the odds in their favor?”

“I know. Doesn’t sound convincing, does it?”

“Not really.”

“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.”

“It’s all in your email. Now I have to get back to driving Miss Daisy. She’s like that wicked witch in
The Wizard of Oz
, and I’m Toto.”

“They were a great band. Little saccharine, but a lot of hits.”

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“What?”

“Nothing. Is there anything else?”

“Not right now. I appreciate you doing this.”

“I appreciate the three hundred smackers.”

“Ah. Yes. How could I forget? I get paid on Friday. I’ll go to an ATM, and whenever you come by to see Mugsy…”

“I already wrote a company check and cashed it.”

“How?”

“I forged your signature, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I should have never told you – you’d never have known. I do the books. It’s the perfect plan.”

“I’m glad you’re more honest than that.”

“Next time I’ll give myself a little bonus. See you later, boss.”

Black stared at the phone and then slid it back into his shirt pocket. Overhead, a stippling of stars glimmered in the night sky as a dark fog crept in from the coast. The vista was idyllic, and he took a moment to absorb the tranquility before heading back into the house, where the camera crew would be filming the bickering that had become the norm between the competing band members at dinner as the stakes increased with each round. A part of him couldn’t wait to get clear of the show, but another had awakened and was commanding an increasing share of his attention: the part that wanted to win and be on stage, touring, the stuff of teenage dreams.