BLACK to Reality (27 page)

She pointed to where Stan was standing, just inside the backstage door, looking haggard and rumpled. Black moved to join him, and Stan shook his hand before murmuring to him in a low voice.

“Congratulations. You’re a star. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I guess Roxie told you.”

“How did he die?”

Stan gave him a terse synopsis, and Black shook his head. “When did you get back?”

“About an hour ago. Took forever. I talked to the squad head, and he told me about Rooster’s jacket landing on my desk. I caught the case because I’d been looking into him as a suspect in Rick’s death.”

“I thought you closed that.”

“They’re never closed if they aren’t solved. Just dormant.”

“So much for him being a suspect.”

“Yeah, although he certainly could have been involved. But time of death was around noon, so it’s unlikely he was the mastermind.”

“What about Alex?”

“I’m going to question him.”

“You should know something about Sarah. She tried to boot me at the last minute. I think if she hadn’t thought there’d be a riot, she would have. I like her for it – she set up the whole date for Alex. The car, the restaurant, the villa…everything.”

“What does she look like?”

“Tall, tailored suit, looks like she’s got a stick up her ass.”

“Is she here?”

“No, but she can’t be far away.”

“I’ll look around for her.” Stan paused. “Buddy, I saw that last song. You guys blew me away. Although it was mostly the singer. But you weren’t bad, either.”

Black was going to respond when Sylvia appeared at the backstage entry, where a bouncer was holding the crowd back. Black moved to him and gave him the okay. She ran to him and hugged him.

“You did it. You won! I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks, honey. Yeah, I guess I did.” He kissed her, wishing he wasn’t wearing makeup.

Roxie joined them and cleared her throat. “Hey.”

Black looked at her. “Hey.”

“Does this mean you’re going to be on the cover of
Teen Beat
? I’m kinda getting queasy thinking about it.”

“I don’t think so. Another generation’s safe, for now.”

“Have you guys talked about what’s next?” Roxie asked, a hint of envy seeping into her tone.

Black shook his head and squeezed Sylvia’s arm. “I don’t think there is any next.”

Roxie frowned. “What?”

“I’ve got to get out of this outfit. I think I’m allergic to leather pants. I’ll tell you in a couple of minutes.” He looked at Sylvia. “Will you excuse me?”

“Sure thing, rock star.”

Roxie’s frown deepened. “Now I really think I’m going to hurl.”

Black was alone in the dressing room, where his street clothes had been hung neatly on a rack. He removed the leathers and the shirt and pulled on his customary cocktail shirt and slacks – the first clothes he’d gone for when he’d gotten dressed in the dark in the wee hours that morning. He felt better once he had them on, and studied his reflection in the mirror that ran along one wall. The makeup made him look ridiculous. He went into the bathroom, moistened a towel, and wiped as much of it off as he could. When he returned to the main room, he caught another glimpse of himself and made a mental note to get the damned hair extensions removed the next day.

A knock at the door pulled him back into the moment. Stan poked his head in and grunted.

“I’m about done,” Black said.

“Good. The stage manager told me that Sarah just left the building and is headed for her car.”

“What? Why? She’d normally stick around for hours…”

“I think we better find out, don’t you?”

Black apologized to Sylvia and asked her to wait for him. “You can hang out with Roxie if you want. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Right. Because she needs a babysitter. She’s only nine, right?” Roxie said.

“That’s not what I meant. I have to go. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Black promised, and Sylvia nodded.

“It’s okay. I’ll just flirt with the road crew. Take your time,” Sylvia said, glancing at a three-hundred-pound unshaven bear of a man with a foot of limp hair.

“I hate to intrude…” Stan said, and Black nodded.

“Which way did she go?”

“Through there,” Stan called, already moving.

Chapter 38

Black and Stan found themselves in a private underground parking area, the gray concrete walls illuminated by overhead fluorescent lamps. They both heard the squeal of tires at the same time and saw a white Nissan Murano pulling up the ramp at the far end, headed for the exit.

“That’s her car,” Black said, recognizing it from the mansion. “Where are you parked?”

“Up on the street in a red zone. Come on. We can take the stairs and be at ground level by the time she makes it, if we’re lucky.”

They bolted up the steps, their footfalls echoing in the stairwell, and emerged through a steel service door just as they saw the Murano roll from the driveway, waiting for a break in traffic.

“Come on. I’m fifty yards down, on the left,” Stan called, puffing from the unexpected exertion.

“You going to make it? You don’t sound so good.”

“Screw you. I’m just catching my second wind.”

“You sound like the old boiler at my parents’ house before it gave up the ghost.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Stan said as they jogged together to his car. Stan slid behind the wheel, and Black climbed into the passenger side and fastened his seatbelt. The engine started with a rumble, and Stan pulled from the curb, earning an angry honk from a green Infiniti that he cut off. “What the hell’s wrong with people anymore?” Stan griped, the Murano taillights moving away from them in traffic.

“No common courtesy. I blame it on television. And rap music.”

“And the Internet.”

“Got that right. Not to mention cell phones.” Black opened the glove compartment and removed his Glock. “I see you didn’t get searched at the border.”

“No, apparently old white guys aren’t high on the list of smuggler profiles. I could have brought over a few kilos and paid for the gas with no problem.”

“That’s the entrepreneurial spirit that makes this country great.”

Stan gunned the engine and surged past a VW. “I wonder where she’s going? She’s driving calmly for someone making a run for it.”

“Guess we’re going to find out.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, and then Stan glanced at Black’s profile. “So you gonna go on the road? Live
la vida loca
?”

“Nah. I mean, this was fun, and I can sure use my share of the money, but I realized at some point as I got serious about it that I didn’t have the fire in me anymore. Maybe it’s age, or maybe I proved my point by winning. But I can’t see this as the life I want.”

“Yeah, I can see being rich and famous wouldn’t agree with you.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I mean, if they want me to play on the album, I’d definitely be up for that, but not the years of touring – and that’s how most bands make their money these days. Selling T-shirts and concert tickets. It’s a young man’s game.”

“Christ, you sound like my father. You’re not that old. Forty’s the new thirty, haven’t you heard?”

“Maybe. But all I can think of is how I’ll look like the guitar player for Mötley Crüe. You know, ten years older than the rest of them. Although I think Nikki was older than Tommy and Vince.”

“Are you speaking in some sort of code?”

“I keep forgetting that you were listening to Elvis or whatever when I was in bands.”

“The man wasn’t called The King for no reason.”

“Anyway, I had this vision of myself rubbing hemorrhoid cream on my ass while Ed was chasing groupies around the tour bus with a sword and a bottle of Jack, and I sort of realized that’s not who I am anymore.”

“Nothing wrong with Jack. Or with that Christina. She doesn’t seem to mind you being…more mature. With age comes experience. That’s my pitch, by the way, when I’m in the hot tub with her after you introduce me.”

“There’s a pretty visual.”

“Focus on her, dumbass.”

“Ah. Right.”

The Murano made a left turn onto another large street, and Stan followed at a safe distance. Ten minutes later she pulled up outside of Simon’s production offices and parked in front of the deserted building. Stan coasted to a stop behind the vehicle and killed the lights as she entered the lobby.

“Now what?” Black asked.

“We wait. I don’t know what she’s up to, but when she comes out, I’ll corral her and question her.”

A thought occurred to Black. “What if she’s just running an errand?”

“At this hour?”

“I know. But hear me out. Does it seem like she’s running for it?”

“Didn’t I just say it doesn’t?”

“Right. What if she’s not?”

“I don’t read you.”

“What if Alex was lying about her setting everything up? I mean, I considered her as a suspect because of Rick, but what possible reason could she have for wanting to sabotage the show?”

“Could be she’s doing that country singer and wanted him to win.”

“I don’t know. Seems thin.”

“Look, this was your theory. I’m just following the lead you handed me. And you say she tried to keep you from playing. That’s pretty suspicious.”

“Good point.”

Sarah returned carrying an armful of folders, and Stan opened his door. “Stay here.” He walked toward her with his detective badge out. “Ms. Miller? Sarah Miller?”

Sarah slowed as he approached. “Yes?”

“I’m Detective Colt, with LAPD homicide. Can I have a moment of your time?”

“What,
now
?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You said you were with homicide?”

“Correct. I just have a few questions.”

“About what?” she asked suspiciously.

“A kidnapping,” Stan said, watching her face.

“Homicide covers murders.”

“They’re related.”

Black watched from the car as Stan conversed with Sarah, and after three minutes they walked together to the Murano, and he held the door open for her so she could put the paperwork on the passenger seat. Stan gave her a card, and when he returned to the car, he had a spring in his step.

“What happened?” Black asked as Stan got in.

“She was running an errand for her boss. You were right. But the good news is I think she likes older men.”

“What’s gotten into you lately?”

“It’s those Viagra commercials. They get you thinking.”

“So now what?”

“Back to the theater to interrogate Alex,” Stan said.

“Wait. Tell me what she said. Exactly.”

“That she set up the limo and the restaurant for Alex, just like he said. I told her I’d want to get a formal statement tomorrow morning, and she had no problem coming in. Said she’d be glad to help however she could. I think she’s got the hots for me.”

“Who wouldn’t? I’m getting a little tingly being in the same car with you. But why interrogate Alex?”

“You have any better suggestions? Frankly, none of this makes any sense. Why would the mob be involved in kidnapping Roxie? That’s been nagging at me all the way from the border. Something like that’s not gonna be cheap, and they won’t get involved for just anybody.”

“All right. Sylvia’s waiting for me, so I have to get back anyway.”

“She’s a cutie. Been so long since I saw her I almost forgot.”

“Is that a reminder that we don’t hang out much anymore?”

“Take it however you want,” Stan said, putting the car in gear and giving it gas. “I still can’t believe you’re going to pass on being a rock god.”

“The whole deity thing’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I’ll have to remember that. But don’t forget – you owe me an introduction to Christina.”

“As if you’ll ever let me.”

“Squeaky wheel, baby, squeaky wheel.”

Chapter 39

Roxie, Alex, and Sylvia were talking in the long hallway when Stan and Black got back to the theater. There was still a considerable crowd backstage, mostly crew and reporters finishing up their interviews with Christina. Stan led the way past the security guards, walked up to Alex and introduced himself, and asked him if he could have a few minutes of his time. Black was surprised at how smoothly he finessed the singer into an interrogation, how nonthreatening and almost friendly he appeared, and was reminded how good at his job Stan was.

As the two men walked away in search of someplace quiet, Roxie shook her head. “I don’t think he’s involved. Nobody’s that good an actor.”

“I think he’s cute,” Sylvia said. “I mean, hot young guy cute, not more mature guy cute, like you, Black.”

“Nice save.”

“Although I still can’t get used to that hair.”

“That makes two of us,” Black agreed and turned to Roxie. “What did he say about the date? Did you grill him about it?”

“Yeah. He was totally worried about me. He’d never been to Ensenada before, and he kind of freaked out when I wasn’t there. I believe him.”

“Then how did he know about the restaurant? That’s kind of weird.”

“He got a recommendation from the producer.”

Black’s eyes narrowed. “Say that again.”

“Are you going deaf in your golden years? He got a tip from that Samson guy.”

“Simon. His name’s Simon.”

“That’s right.”

Gears meshed in Black’s head, and he snapped his fingers. “Damn.” He eyed Roxie. “Do you know what Simon looks like?”

“Sort of. I kind of remember him from the other shows. Totally fake Hollywood type.”

“Have you seen him backstage tonight?”

“Nope.”

Black spotted the stage manager and walked over. “Have you seen Simon? I need to talk to him. It’s important.”

“He left after the show.”

“How long ago?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe fifteen minutes.”

“Damn.” Black returned to Roxie. “You wouldn’t happen to remember Simon’s home address, would you?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“It’s really important, Roxie.”

“I could probably access my computer remotely and look it up.”

“How?”

“If you can find me a computer.”

Sylvia reached into her purse. “I have an iPhone.”