The Alias Men (5 page)

10

THURSDAY, 7:28 P.M.

LOS ANGELES IS AN EXPENSIVE PLACE TO
live. And judging from Floyd's house, I was pretty sure he had the most expensive place in the city. From the gate and past some trees I caught glimpses of a concrete mansion with tall windows and an enormous balcony. No doubt it had a killer view of the Pacific.

“Can you believe I'm late to my own party?” Floyd said with a laugh. “Stupid bean counters and their meetings—all they worry about is money.”

I had no idea what that was about, so I just nodded.

Beyond the metal gates, we passed dense bushes and aloe plants. Then we came to a circular driveway with a tiered fountain in the middle. Floyd zoomed past a line of cars and cut in front.

We got out. He tossed the keys to one of the valets. “Put it in the garage, next to the Aston Martin, yeah? Scratch it up and you're dead, bloke,” he said to the guy.

The valet laughed, but you could tell he wasn't sure if it was a joke. Come to think of it, neither was I.

“Come on, Linc,” Floyd said as we walked up the wide steps of his mansion. The place was enormous, and everything was straight-lined and metal—like those fifties houses, only brand-new and mansion-sized. There were double wooden doors that a butler-looking guy opened for us. For someone like me who was used to doing that myself, it was kind of awkward.

And the butler was wearing a Chaplin hat! As soon as we made it inside, I saw several butlers with the same getup: white shirt, bowler hat—all that was missing was a mustache.

“What's with the Chaplin hats?” I asked Floyd.

“Part of the ambience, Linc.” He spread his arms, obviously proud of his house and the big party he was throwing. “We're celebrating the origin of the Academy Awards, going all the way back to the first Oscars, in 1929. Honoring the masters, like Chaplin, yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, sure.” This was going to make my job even harder. Any one of those hats could be the Dangerous Double. All Ethan Melais had to do was tilt the hat and he'd disappear. Reminded of the mission, I wondered where Ben was. Had he made it inside?

What if Floyd caught us together? My whole kid-actor cover would be a bust.

This could get complicated. I had to hurry and find that Ethan Melais dude, so Pandora would send Ben on his way and victory could be mine. I tried to think of a way to lose my annoying look-alike, but then Floyd pulled me by the arm.

“This way.” We left the marble-tiled entry and walked into a giant space that looked like his living room. There were white sofas, a red coffee table, and a black grand piano. The back wall was made out of sliding doors that opened up to a huge deck, showing a view of the sun setting over the Pacific in the distance.

“Whoa,” I whispered, looking around the place, forgetting I was supposed to be cool.

Floyd laughed. “You like it? I don't know, I was thinking it's a little predictable, you know? So Hollywood.” He motioned to the glass wall. “Come on, let's go on the deck.”

We walked outside, passing groups of party guests who nodded to Floyd or shook his hand in passing. This dude was a big shot. To be honest, I was feeling a bit nervous. Bakers aren't exactly a fancy bunch.

I scanned the crowd for Ethan Melais suspects: an average height, skinny male. But it was pointless. Dozens of dudes at this party could be him, let's face it. It seemed so easy: Find one bad guy with a Chaplin hat. But like every Pandora mission, it got more complicated in a hurry.

Below the deck, there was this awesome pool surrounded by lounge chairs. Down the grassy hill from the mansion stood a small ranch-style house.

“That's the old place,” Floyd said when he caught my eye. He leaned on the deck railing. “It's where I got my humble beginning, before all this.” He motioned to the mansion, the deck, the pool, the perfectly manicured lawn. “I still go down there sometimes, when I need to think.”

“Looks a lot like my house,” I said.

Floyd looked a little sad. “I miss the days when it was all so simple.”

“Who is your new friend, Nigel?” A woman in black pants and a big white blouse came up from behind Floyd. She had shoulder-length blond hair and wore pink-framed glasses. I guessed she was about my mom's age. She extended her right hand, and leaned on Floyd's shoulder with her left. “I'm Katherine Freeman. You can call me Kate. I'm the makeup artist.”

Floyd said, “Kate here is nominated for an Academy Award. She's the guest of honor for this little soiree.”

“Wow,” I said.

“I think the guests are actually here for you,” Kate said to Floyd. “But it's a nice party.”

“We go way back—Kate and I were roommates once, living just down that hill, isn't that right?”

Kate nodded. “I still remember coming to the city with nothing but my suitcase. If Nigel hadn't taken me in as a roommate, who knows where I'd be?”

“And then my friend Larry moved in,” Floyd added with a grin. “The three musketeers, we called ourselves. Like Charlie Chaplin, Douglas Fairbanks, and Mary Pickford—they were friends in their early Hollywood days and eventually started their own film company, United Artists, you know.”

“Is that what you're going to do—start your own company?” I asked.

Floyd smiled. “In my dreams. But so far we've done almost every movie together, right, Kate? Except for this last one you got the Oscar nod for.”

“We make a good team,” she said.

“But you live in this mansion now,” I said to Floyd.

Floyd nodded. “The place down there is empty. We've all moved on, haven't we?”

Kate nodded, looking a little sad. She turned her attention to me. “We haven't even been introduced. You must be Nigel's new protégé.”

“I'm Linc Baker,” I said.

Floyd said, “He's a star. Completely genuine—just the fresh innocence we need.” Floyd's phone rang. When he saw the caller ID, he frowned. “Gotta take this, but you enjoy the food, okay? There's a video-game room on the lower floor.”

And before I could say anything, Floyd disappeared in the crowd of party guests.

Kate gave me a smile. “He's a little . . . intense.”

“No kidding.” The wind blowing up the hill was getting colder now, and the sunset had given way to dark skies.

Kate pointed to the living room. “Come on. Let's get inside and eat.”

I followed her, and we settled somewhere near a bar. I looked around for Ben, but I still didn't spot him in the crowd. I wondered if he'd found Ethan Melais yet. I wanted to be the one to bring Melais in.

Kate ordered us both sodas. After handing me mine, she studied me with X-ray eyes, like Mom's. “So you're the muse?”

“The what?”

She laughed. “Floyd's muse—do you know anything about movies, Linc?”

I shook my head. No point in lying, I figured. “I don't even know what this movie is about.”

Kate said, “
The Hollywood Kid
is a creative interpretation of the silent-film classics as juxtaposed against today.”

Huh?

When she saw my confused look, Kate laughed and added, “The film is a collection of modern vignettes, seen through the eyes of a child of the 1930s.” She pointed at me. “Through
your
eyes.”

“I'm this Hollywood kid or whatever?”

She nodded.

“No pressure or anything,” I mumbled.

Kate smiled. “Have you seen Charlie Chaplin's
The Kid
?”

I shook my head.

“That's what Nigel's film is based on—creatively, anyway.
The Kid
is thought to be based on Chaplin's poor childhood in the UK.”

I nodded and pretended to pay attention. But really, I was scanning the crowd for skinny dudes who could be Melais. There were lots of them, unfortunately.

“The Tramp is really a genius character,” Kate went on. “Did you know he came up with the costume himself? Chaplin just gathered clothing from fellow comedians. He added the mustache so he'd look older.”

“That's where he got the bowler hat?”

Kate nodded. “There were many other bowler hats over the years, of course.” She smiled. “Anyway, we should eat before it's gone.” She motioned to the buffet up ahead. Instead of having legs, the three tables were suspended from the two-story ceiling by heavy chains.

From afar I could see there were a bunch of little appetizer snacks—my favorite. But I wasn't here to eat. I had to find Ethan Melais, tonight. Before he could get the drone-system prototype and sell it to the terrorists. “Maybe later,” I said.

“Don't wait too long,” Kate said. “Hollywood is like any other place. People will take what they can get before someone else does.” And she was off to get her plate.

I looked around, taking in my surroundings. There were lots of people, some looking dressy in suits, some wearing jeans and ratty T-shirts, like they were too cool to make an effort. And lots of skinny dudes, unfortunately.

I glanced up to the second-floor balcony, which overlooked the great room. And that's when I spotted someone. A familiar-looking girl with long black hair, wearing jeans and a white blouse. She turned around and waved.

To me?

I looked over my shoulder to make sure there wasn't some handsome kid behind me—nope, just me. So I went upstairs, passing some people dancing to the jazzy music that was playing from the speakers.

I walked over to the pretty girl, hoping my smile wasn't too dorky. Trying to be cool, even though I was pretty sure I was working on some sweaty pit stains.

“I'm Savannah.” She shook my hand. I remembered now: I'd seen her at Sterling Studios, when I was looking for the warehouse. Her handshake was firm. “You're the other kid.”

“Huh?” Was she talking about Ben? I glanced around, but he wasn't in sight.

Savannah frowned, but only with her left eyebrow, which for some reason made her even prettier. “The other kid in Floyd's movie. I'm the girl lead.”

“Oh,” I said, sighing in relief. “
The Hollywood Kid
. Yeah, that's me. Linc Baker.”

Savannah leaned closer. She smelled like fresh laundry. “Did Nigel put you through the wringer too when you auditioned? I had to come back three times.”

“Not me. We just met on the Sterling Studio lot when I was taking a tour, and Floyd talked me into the job.”

Savannah made a face like she just ate a sour piece of candy. “You're kidding. Have you ever even been in front of a camera?”

“Only when Mom pulls out the home recorder for my birthday,” I joked, and realized I should've kept my mouth shut.

Savannah was practically exploding. She took a step back, but ended up against the balcony railing. “You're an amateur. Do you even know how hard the rest of us have to work to—never mind.” She pushed past me.

“Wait,” I mumbled, but I knew it was useless. I'd messed up, and it wasn't even my fault. How could I help it that Floyd picked me?

I turned and looked over the balcony, hoping to see Melais down below. And that's when he looked up: Benjamin Green. Looking angry.

He pointed at me, as if to say,
Stay there.

I don't think so. I moved away from the balcony and decided to take my chances down the hall to the right. I passed a giant home-theater room, a den or something like it, and a huge office—this Floyd dude was seriously loaded. At the end of the hall, there was a closed door. I reached for the handle and opened the door. I slipped inside the dark room and quickly closed it behind me.

That should save me from Ben for the moment, I thought. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. I blinked, realizing I was in a bedroom of some kind. And in the back, there was a moving light.

A flashlight.
There was someone else here
.

11

THURSDAY, 7:55 P.M.

I FROZE. I REACHED BEHIND ME, LOWERING
the door handle. I opened the door, but by then the flashlight was pointed right into my eyes.

I raised my hands to block out the light but was blinded all the same. I was about to speak up, when whoever wielded the flashlight shoved me out of the way and ran.

I blinked, but all I saw was a flash of someone's black loafers. There was a smell—like toothpaste—and I turned to follow, rubbing my eyes. “Wait up!” I called, knowing it was useless. I rushed past the theater room and the office, seeing spots the whole way.

Then I ran smack into Ben, who was beet red, he was so mad.

“Baker!” he hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm on the case!” I pointed past him. “And this bad burglar dude just got away.”

Ben looked where I pointed. “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind!” I rushed to the balcony and looked down. But it was no use. There were so many people, and I couldn't tell if any of them were wearing loafers—if that was even what I'd seen in my half-blind state.

Ben came up behind me. “You are not supposed to be here. You're compromising my cover!”

“I could say the same for you,” I said, pointing at his bright shorts and I Love LA T-shirt. “You're like a glaring neon sign.”

Ben clenched his jaw. “You must leave
now
. Albert Black said—”

“I don't care,” I said, looking down below. A waiter was refilling the table of snacks. And that's when I saw a guy in black loafers. “Right there!” I called and pointed. “That's him.” I looked over my shoulder at Ben, then at the long hallway that led to the stairs. If I went that way, I'd lose the bad dude again for sure.

I glanced over the balcony. Saw the chains, the ones that held up the table with snacks. My bad guy was just a few feet away from the buffet.

So I swung my right leg over the banister.

“Oh no you're not,” Ben called behind me.

“Watch me,” I said as I swung my left leg. From my spot on the banister, I could reach the chain.

So I grabbed the cold metal with both hands.

And jumped.

I slid down the chain, feeling my palms burn as I landed on the table. And Ben followed on the chain at the other side of the table. He flew down with a terrified look on his face.

We both landed on our butts, me on some crackers with cheese, Ben on a bowl of egg salad. Needless to say, I got the better landing spot.

Not that I cared. I was chasing my bad dude in the loafers—Ethan Melais, I figured. But where did he go? A crowd of people gathered around us, looking shocked, a few laughing as Ben tried to wipe the egg salad from his pants. But as much as I enjoyed some Ben humiliation, I had a mission to accomplish.

I hopped off the table and pushed past the party guests, rushing toward the door—I even looked up toward the balcony again, to see if maybe he'd gone back up. But I just saw beautiful Savannah, shaking her head at the big mess downstairs.

My bad dude was gone.

“What's all this then?” Floyd sounded seriously miffed. I could see why: We'd just crashed his fancy party—literally. Behind Floyd stood a guy with slicked-down hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He had an earpiece and carried a tablet. Maybe his assistant or something.

I turned to look at Ben, who was giving me the stink eye. Me, I just wanted to find some napkins to wipe the cheese off my jeans. “Um . . . I'm sorry,” I said. “I was leaning over your balcony and fell down.”

“And who's this bloke?” Floyd pointed a chubby finger at Ben. Then he broke out in a huge grin. “Wait a minute . . . you've got a twin, and you didn't tell me.” He laughed, and the party crowd fake-laughed with him.

This wasn't funny at all.

“He's not my twin,” Ben snapped. He'd given up on getting his pants clean and was now standing in his trademark pose: legs shoulder-width apart, arms crossed.

I wanted Ben to shut up. This twin idea was obviously something Floyd liked. Why not roll with it? We'd just ruined the guy's egg salad, so we might as well keep ourselves out of trouble by pretending.

“Ben here doesn't like to be twins,” I said, throwing my double a death-ray stare. Hoping he got the hint. “It makes him feel inferior, standing in my shadow,” I added with a grin.

“I'm sure it does, Linc.” Floyd nodded and looked over his shoulder at the guy with the tablet. “This is my assistant director, Larry.”

The dude nodded.

Floyd said, “Don't you think this twin situation is brilliant, Larry?”

“Absolutely,” Larry said, never taking his eyes off the tablet. “We can shoot longer days.”

“Huh?”

“The movie, kid.” Larry gave me an irritated look over his glasses. “Using twins gets us around child labor laws.”

Floyd clapped his hands with glee. “It's settled. We'll see you two tomorrow on the set.”

 

Of course, it wasn't exactly settled. Not at all. After getting contracts from Larry and a nine a.m. call time, Ben and I left the mess at Floyd's party, both smelling like funky food, and pretended to exit the mansion together.

But once we made it past the metal gate, we sprinted toward the van. I had to be first to explain this new development to Black and Stark—Ben would just blame it all on me. Even if it was sort of my fault.

As it turned out, Ben was still in much better shape than I was. He was already a dozen feet ahead of me, pulling at the van's sliding door, when I slowed down. By the time I caught up, I could hear him yelling at Stark.

“Amateur . . . disaster . . . chicken salad on my pants!” Ben's voice sounded kind of squeaky because he was so upset.

“It was
my
case first, you know,” I said as I got into the van. “And you didn't have to jump off the balcony.”

Black took a deep breath, the kind adults take when they're trying not to blow their top over something I did. I know this deep-breath thing well. “Didn't I kick you off the case?” Black hissed.

“Floyd showed up, offered to give me a ride to the party,” I said, and shrugged. “What was I supposed to do?” I looked for a window to open, since Ben and I smelled kind of ripe. But the van's sliding door was it, and I wasn't about to open that one back up. Someone might just push me out. “And he was pretty happy about Ben and me looking alike.” I told Black and Stark about me chasing that guy who had blinded me with the flashlight, and taking a jump off the balcony.

“Wait—back up a second,” Stark said from the passenger seat. “You caught a guy breaking into one of Floyd's bedrooms?”

I nodded. “Yeah. But I couldn't really tell what he was doing—he had that flashlight in my face almost the whole time.”

Stark inhaled sharply. “What did he look like?”

“I don't know, it was just some guy. Maybe it was Melais.” I shrugged. “I almost caught him.”

“
Almost
being the operative word,” Ben said. “Instead, we're both wearing hors d'oeuvres.”

“Orr—what?”

“Appetizers,” Stark said.

“Oh,” I said, feeling kind of dumb. “Well, at least I was on the job. And you guys were all ready to give the mission to by-the-book Ben here,” I added, pointing at my look-alike.

“So how did you two get away after blowing your cover?” Black asked.

I told him about the twin stuff.

“That settles it.” Black clapped his hands. “You're twins.”

Ben and I started arguing at the same time.

“Silence—both of you!” Black put the van in drive. “Tomorrow, bright and early, you can get back to work. Find Ethan Melais. And get me that Dangerous Double.”