Hollywood Moon (32 page)

After Dewey looked sufficiently like the person that his new runner was expecting to meet, he gulped some of the beer and
said, “It’s amazing how good a cold beer tastes after someone has just beaten the living shit out of you.”

“Forgive and forget, dude,” Jerzy said. “Close the book on that misunderstandin’, but make sure there ain’t another one.”

“The first thing I have to say,” Dewey began, “is that you’re right. Just getting outta town with the clothes on my back is
not in the cards. And neither is the partnership that you envision.”

“Don’t back up on us, Bernie,” Jerzy said ominously.

“Let the man finish,” Tristan said.

“But I think we can work together and come up with a plan that’ll make you a lump sum far beyond what you could make working
an entire year with me.”

“Doin’ what?” Tristan said.

“The geek, as you call her, is my wife. She’s a brilliant hacker and has accounts that I have no way to access. In fact, I
don’t even know which bank they’re in. If we could devise a way to make her give me some information I’d need, I’d be grateful
enough to pay you half of what’s in those accounts.”

“And how much would that be?” Tristan asked.

“Maybe as much as eighty thousand dollars,” Dewey lied. “You would get half of that amount.”

“Forty grand?” Tristan said. “Whadda we gotta do? Torture it outta her? We don’t do violence.”

“You couldn’t prove it by me,” Dewey said, moving painfully in the chair.

“You mean you jist can’t tell the bitch to give it up?” Jerzy said. “What kinda man are you, Bernie?”

“Not a confrontational one,” Dewey said. “She was married before we met, and she had already set this up. She does all the
secret banking online and in private.”

“That’s kinda like a prenup, ain’t—isn’t it?” Tristan said. “That you agreed to?”

“Her version of one,” Dewey said. “It’s her money, not mine, she says. But I think I’ve earned it more than she has.”

“You said ‘accounts,’ ” Tristan said. “You think there might be more than one bank account?”

Dewey was thinking fast, trying to sell his story to Creole, who was obviously the intellectual superior of the two.

“Of course we have lots of small bank accounts that we open and close under different names when we have to move money around.
That’s how I get cash for the runners. But the secret account is the one I’m interested in learning about.”

“Could there be more than just the eighty grand?” Tristan asked. “You two do some pretty good business.”

Dewey told a whopper, saying, “No, I don’t think so. If you added up all the accounts she’s opened and the ones I’ve opened,
there might be another two thousand in there. Whatever there is I’ll split with you if we can agree on a sensible plan for
making her cooperate.”

“Do you have a plan in mind, Bernie?” Tristan asked.

“This meeting today has opened certain doors and made it all very urgent. I need some time to think.”

“We ain’t got time for you to think,” Jerzy said, getting his mind around a $40,000 payday. “So what if we was to, like, kidnap
you? We could phone and tell her we’re gangsters and we know all about your business and we’re holdin’ you for ransom. And
we’ll cut your fuckin’ throat if she don’t give up what’s in the bank. Wouldn’t she pay us to save the love of her life?”

Dewey flashed a weak, ironic grin, took a sip of beer, and said, “To tell you the truth, Jerzy, I think she’d go ahead and
leave everything behind and be on the first flight out of L.A. I think that within six months she’d have another Bernie Graham
working his ass off for her, and she wouldn’t think twice about the husband she left in the hands of kidnappers. In fact,
I think she might see right through your plan and figure that I was in on it. She’s very cunning and clever.”

Tristan, who’d been listening quietly and thinking, said, “There’s not much use in goin’ home and sleepin’ on it. There’s
only one answer here.”

“What’s that, mastermind?” Jerzy said.

“We gotta kidnap
her,
not Bernie, and we gotta make it look good. We gotta put more fear in her than we put in Bernie today. And Bernie’s gotta
play his part and have very serious phone talks with her, where she’s so scared she begs him to pay the ransom of, say, a
hundred grand.”

Jerzy snapped open another beer, guzzled most of it, pointed to Bernie, and said, “He says there’s only eighty in the account.”

“Dawg,” Tristan said patiently, “if we ask for eighty, she’ll know for sure Bernie’s in on the game.”

Now it was Dewey who appeared to be deep in thought, and he surprised Tristan when he said, “Don’t ask for a hundred. Make
it five hundred thousand. That’s a nice round number. Why not be extravagant?”

Tristan paused just for an instant and said, “Why ask her for an amount that’s gonna make her think it’s all hopeless, Bernie?”

“It gives us a chance to pile on the bullshit during negotiations,” Dewey said much too quickly. “You know, back and forth.
The price gets whittled down, because that’s what kidnappers do when they have to. She has to finally be convinced that you
thugs are gonna settle for the eighty grand because you’re satisfied there’s no more in the bank.”

“All this makes me not wanna pop the question to my bitch if this is what marriage does to people,” Jerzy said with a bemused
smile. “Anyways, she don’t do drugs, so a mixed marriage wouldn’t work.”

Tristan stood up and said, “And what if your wife don’t wanna cooperate, Bernie? Then what?”

Dewey finished the beer, groaned in pain, licked the foam from his lips, and said, “She will have to be made to believe you’re
for real.”

“Bernie,” Tristan said, “let’s hope she believes our bluff. Far as I’m concerned, the game’s over if she figures out it’s
you that’s behind this thing. Or if she decides to die for her money rather than let you get your hands on it, I’m tellin’
you right now, I’m outta there. I ain’t gonna torture no woman. I’ll walk away from this whole gag.”

“How do you feel about it?” Dewey asked Jerzy.

“That’s a lotta money to walk away from,” Jerzy said. “I think we gotta convince her to talk. If you got her back with some
minor damage, it’d be okay with you, huh?”

“I won’t be getting her back,” Dewey said. “If she doesn’t give up the information, it’s probably because she figures I’m
in on it. She’ll dump me, so I’ll be gone either way with whatever I can get for the stuff in the storage room. Which of course
I’ll share with you fifty-fifty.”

“You got a lot ridin’ on this game, don’t you, Bernie?” Tristan said.

“You forced the issue,” Dewey said. “I have no choice. If it all goes sideways, the only good thing is, she can’t go to the
cops about us without going to jail herself when the whole gag is busted wide open. Anyway, I’m willing to try it if you are.”

“You’re a cold-blooded little motherfucker,” Jerzy said. “I’m startin’ to like you a lot. So how’re we gonna go about kidnappin’
your old lady?”

“That’s gonna be easier than you think because you’re gonna kidnap both of us,” Dewey said.

“What?” Tristan said. “
Both
of you?”

“It’s the only way it can work,” Dewey said. “I have to be there as another kidnap victim to make her believe it. And I have
to help persuade her to talk.”

“And you think you can do that?” Tristan said.

“Yes,” Dewey said, “because I’m a real actor, even if that bitch never gives me credit for it. When I perform, I can convince
anybody of anything. Creole, I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon with a foolproof plan.”

“Somethin’ bothers me about this,” Tristan said. “If she gives up what you need to find her secret account, you ain’t gonna
be able to slide on into her bank and pull out the cash. You’ll transfer the money to one of your runner accounts, am I right?”

“Yes,” Dewey said, surprised.

“Well, if I remember right from when I helped do the books at the dance studio where I used to work, there’s a ten-day waitin’
period at the banks for big transfers to clear. Am I right?”

Dewey hadn’t counted on Creole having a whole lot more between his ears than Jerzy, but now he could see how he’d completely
misjudged his runner. If they suspected that Dewey was after Eunice’s hidden treasure chest of
cash
, this whole gag could explode in his face.

Dewey wore his mask of sincerity when he said, “The bank where I’ll transfer the funds to is a small independent bank that
I’ve done lots of questionable business with. I know the manager exceedingly well. There won’t be a ten-day wait. In fact,
it’ll take two days at most and we’ll have our money.”

Dewey figured that two days would be enough time for him to tie up loose ends and get the hell out of L.A. with Eunice’s “retirement
fund.” He looked into Creole’s amber eyes for any hint of disbelief but saw none.

Dewey watched him nod to Jerzy and say, “Can we hold her for two days, wood?”

“That’s a long time to keep her,” Jerzy said.

“That’s a lot of money,” Dewey countered, touching his ribs and grimacing.

“Okay,” Tristan said, “but remember, if you decide to get outta Hollywood tonight, one of us will be campin’ out right near
your crib.”

“I understand,” Dewey said. “Now you can go ahead and leave. I’m expecting the runner any minute. You’re welcome to sit out
on Franklin Avenue tonight and watch my front door if you want, but I guarantee I’m going nowhere but to bed. If I can make
it there. You boys have actually brought things to a head. I should thank you, and I will when it’s over. For now, take two
hundred from my wallet and have a nice meal on me.”

“From what I saw of your woman, she’s older than you, ain’t—isn’t she?” Tristan said.

“Yes,” Dewey said. “Several years older.”

Tristan grinned and said, “I saw a story on
Access Hollywood
that claims older women with younger guys makes for married bliss in this town, Bernie.”

Dewey showed a crooked grin, adjusted his stick-on mustache, and said, “It’s true that we’ve got an age spread like some famous
Hollywood couples. But Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher we are
not
.”

W
HEN TRISTAN AND JERZY WERE BACK
in the Chevy, heading to Pablo’s Tacos for Jerzy to buy a taste of crystal meth, Tristan said, “Dawg, that half a million
ransom we’re gonna ask for means more than Bernie says it means.”

“So what’s it mean?” Jerzy asked.

“It means there’s a whole lotta money that the woman is in control of, and he don’t even know how much there is. He’s fishin’
to find out from her. He figures to game her for as much as half a million and only give us a measly forty grand. And another
thing, I don’t believe his bullshit about a deal with some banker so he don’t have to wait ten days to draw out transferred
funds. I think her money’s in cash someplace. She ain’t no different from dope dealers or anybody else on the game. She don’t
want money where the state or the feds or the IRS can grab it if she gets busted. What we gotta do is figure out how to take
the real money away from him after he gets his hands on it.”

Jerzy thought it over for a long while and said, “Damn, Creole, your daddy
musta
been a white man.”

Malcolm found the door partially open when he arrived. Still, he knocked on it and said, “Mr. Graham, you there?”

Dewey said, “Come in, Clark.”

Malcolm found Dewey still sitting in the chair where Tristan and Jerzy had left him. He was sweating and pale.

“Are you okay, Mr. Graham?” Malcolm asked.

“I had an accident,” Dewey said. “I fell. I think a rib is broken. Maybe more than one.”

Malcolm said, “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

“No, I think I’ll be okay by tomorrow. But could you help me get up?”

“Sure,” Malcolm said, taking Dewey around the torso and lifting.

Dewey cried out in pain, and Malcolm said, “I better put you back down.”

“No!” Dewey said. “Just help me walk out to my car. And please carry my bag for me.”

Malcolm picked up the overnight bag and said, “You can’t drive a car, Mr. Graham. You better let me call you an ambulance.”

“Just help me, please,” Dewey said, putting his right arm around the young man’s neck, his left arm pressed close to his damaged
ribs.

They weren’t halfway down the walkway before Dewey said, “You’re right. I can’t drive a car. I’ll give you fifty dollars to
take me home in my car. I live on Franklin west of Cahuenga. I’ll have my secretary drive you back to get your car.”

“Mr. Graham,” Malcolm said before he helped Dewey into the passenger seat of the Honda, “you got a couple little bugs jumping
all over your head. Can’t you feel them?”

“Oh, Christ!” Dewey whined. “I’m in too much pain to worry about fleas.”

When they got to Dewey’s security gate, he pointed to his remote and Malcolm pressed it and drove down below the apartment
building into the parking garage.

“Put it in my space, number twelve,” Dewey said.

Climbing the stairs, one at a time, brought steady moans from Dewey punctuated by sharp cries when Malcolm moved too fast.
After they struggled to the landing, Dewey was wishing he’d let the kid take him to the hospital. What if a rib punctured
a lung or something? He wanted to plot some sort of revenge for what the slob did to him, but for now he only wanted to lie
down in bed and remain immobile.

“Ring the bell, Clark,” Dewey said.

Malcolm pushed the button, and they waited. Dewey figured that Eunice was peering out through the peephole, so he said, “Come
on, open the goddamn door. I’m hurt.”

The door cracked opened a bit, and Eunice peeked out, cigarette dangling, and said, “What the hell’s going on?”

“Open the door wide, for chrissake!” Dewey said. “I can’t walk without help.”

Eunice opened the door, stepping back, and she said to Malcolm, “I’ll take over. Wait outside.”

When Malcolm released his hold, Dewey’s knees buckled and he said, “Don’t let go of me, Clark! Take me to my bedroom. Hurry
up.”