The Rabbit Factory (19 page)

The little girl came running across the room and jumped into his arms. He fell backward on the sofa and cuddled her. "Are you staying?" she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Not tonight, sweetie. I have to go to New York. I just came

home to tuck you in."

"I don't think so," she said, wagging her finger like she'd seen more than a few Shirley Temple movies. "You're not tucking. You're having a meeting." "You caught me," he said, standing up from the sofa. He lifted her in his arms and introduced her. "Folks, this is my daughter Hannah. Hannah, you remember Mr. Curry and Ms. Cheever from Daddy's office, and this is Mr. Lomax and Mr. Biggs. They're working with Daddy on a special project." "Boring," she said, and squirmed out of his arms to the floor. Then she turned to me and Terry. "Please let him go soon, so he can tuck me in." "Yes ma'am," Terry said. "You're the boss."

"No, I'm not," she said, giggling. "I'm the boss's daughter." She put both hands on her hips and did another Shirley Temple move. Then she waved at the assistant. "Hi, Uncle Richard." I had to give Richard credit. He didn't blow his cover. He just waved back and said, "Hi, Hannah," as if he were just one of those lucky assistants whose boss's daughter calls him Uncle. Hannah bounced out of the room yelling, "Good night, everybody. Hurry up, Daddy." Rose beamed. "You were right, Detective Biggs. She is the boss. Where was I?"

"The third reason we're here," Terry said.

This time Rose sneaked a less overt look at Richard, but he might as well have waved a red flag. I'm a cop. I took Furtive Glances 101 in Police Academy. Rose sat up straight on the sofa, making himself as tall as he could without standing. "I feel terrible that a man like Elkins wound up working for us. I can assure you it will never happen

again. I feel a million times worse over Ronnie Lucas's murder. He was such a sweet kid and a major talent. My heart goes out to his family. But my biggest concern is how do I protect the company."

Amy, corporate kiss-ass that she is, was wagging her head in agreement. But at least she had the good sense not to open her mouth.

"We're all concerned about other people being targeted," I said.

"I agree that we have to protect our people, but I'm more concerned with protecting the company. This is a business of images, and we need to keep the Lamaar image from being tarnished. I thought about offering a reward for the apprehension of Ronnie's killer, but that would only link Lamaar closer to Ronnie, and we need to downplay our connection to these murders."

"Reward money brings out the crazies," Terry said. "So we're fine if you don't offer any. But now that we know that these murders are linked, you should warn your employees that..."

Rose cut him off. "Our employees are not the same as the general public. They work for us. No matter what they do, they ultimately get paid to enhance our image. They bring laughter and music and joy to the world. They do not get strangled in a tunnel under the park. It's bad for ticket sales, and it's really bad for our image. I want the Elkins's murder swept under the rug. You can investigate, but the world doesn't have to know there was a sexual deviant inside the Rambunctious Rabbit suit. Lucas, on the other hand, is major news. But he was not a Lamaar icon--not the way Rambo was--so I've asked Amy to see how much distance the company can keep from the victim."

"Sir, this seems like a business decision. What role do we

play?" I asked. I knew the answer, but I wanted him to go on record with his lawyer in the room.

"Quite simply, if you know where we stand, you can help us reach our goals. Keep Elkins's murder under wraps. If it should come out, don't go public and announce the alleged connection between the two murders. Don't talk about Ronnie as a Lamaar employee. He's a Hollywood star, stalked and killed by a rabid fan. Just do what it takes to keep the company out of the limelight." "Even though the company is the target?" Terry asked, his voice edgy.

"That has yet to be proven." Rose gave us an icy stare, and I wondered what happened to the person who was just snuggling with little Hannah. Terry looked ready to blow a fuse. "Mike," he said. "Got a minute?" Without excusing himself he walked toward the far end of the room. I followed. When we were out of earshot, he whispered, "Fucking little Napoleon. Do you believe the balls on that guy? Sweep Elkins under the rug, and, if we don't play ball, he calls the Governor, and we're history." "Actually, I don't think he'd call the Governor," I said.

"Right," Terry said. "His assistant would do it."

"I don't know his name," I said, "but I'm guessing Uncle Richard goes for about six hundred bucks an hour." "It's Richard Villante. He's with Villante, Coleman, and Somebody, and he's more like a thousand an hour. Major smart lawyer, except he apparently underestimates his opponents." "Since when did we get to be the opponents?" I said.

"Since they want these homicides settled out of court and

out of the press. They're making our job even harder. What the fuck should we do?"

I tapped my piece. "Shoot 'em."

"I thought about it. I needed a sane solution, which is why I called you over here."

"You still want this case?"

"Fucking-A right I do. Now more than ever."

"Fine. Bend over and grab your ankles. Tell Rose we're on his team. Otherwise, your cell will ring before you get back to the office, and it will be the Governor inviting you to Sacramento for a special assignment cleaning latrines." "At least I'd have my integrity," he said with half a heart. "Right. Two daughters in college and a shit bucket full of integrity."

"Grabbing ankles now," he said. We rejoined the group.

"Sir," I said, looking squarely at Rose. "We understand your need to keep this low profile. Lucas was killed outside a soup kitchen, so there's no reason for us to drag the Lamaar name into the investigation... for now." I knew I had said what he wanted to hear, except for the last two words. I kept going. "On the other hand, the Elkins homicide and Familyland are all wrapped up in one package. There's no getting around that, but we'll do our best to keep our investigation under wraps. That said, don't underestimate the press. I've seen them dig up much better kept secrets than this one." "Under the circumstances," he said, "that's the best I can hope for. I appreciate your understanding, gentlemen." "Can we ask you a favor, sir?" I said. "Get the fucking Governor off your backs?" he said, smiling that cryptic smile that Men of Power do so well.

"I was going to put it more delicately," I said, "but yes. It gets our boss all gooned up, and since he doesn't have a dog to kick..."

"Done." Then to make sure we knew he still was holding all the cards, he added, "For now." He turned to his quasi-assistant. "Richard, remind me to call the Governor on the way to the airport."

"Yes, Mr. Rose," Richard said, and efficiently made a note on his pad.

Now that Uncle Richard had been drawn into the conversation, I decided it was time to go after him. "We don't want to make Mr. Rose late for his flight," I said, as if Ike Rose were flying on a plane that could possibly leave without him. "What time is it, Richard?"

He looked at his wristwatch. "Eight..." he said, then stopped abruptly. He was staring at the face of a $50,000 platinum-and diamond Patek Philippe. He knew it. I knew it. And now, he knew I knew it.

In a lame attempt to cover up for his sudden inability to give me the correct time, he squinted at the watch as if it were hard to read. "Eight thirty-seven," he said, his blurred vision finally recovering. He looked away. Rose hadn't seen me nail him, and I was sure Richard wouldn't bring it up. I love fucking with lawyers who think they're smarter than cops.

"One last question," I said. "You're doing a joint venture with the Camelot Hotel. Is there any bad blood between the two companies? Some of these Vegas folks have been known to settle their business differences outside of the conference room."

Rose laughed. "C'mon, Detective. The gambling business is like any other business. The big players are all tough, smart,

even ruthless, but do you think guys like Merv Griffin, Steve Wynn, or Donald Trump solve their problems by rubbing people out?"

"No sir, but the Leone family was rubbing people out before they got into the casino business."

"I don't buy your logic," he said. "If your grandfather was a horse thief that doesn't mean you're a horse thief. Arabella Leone is a total professional. Don't waste your energy thinking about the Vegas connection. Concentrate on people who might have a grudge with the company. Brian, give them the folders."

Curry handed me a large, fat, gray envelope with a Lamaar logo in the corner. "We pulled together backgrounder files on our top contenders."

Brian was a good cop, but four pounds of backgrounder material pulled together on short notice had the fingerprints of a CEO. "Thanks," I said.

"Anything we can do," Rose said. "I put together a Task Force to be at your disposal until these crimes are solved. Brian and Amy will act as liaisons. Whatever you need, call them. On behalf of the entire company and Ronnie's poor family, I do appreciate your coming over tonight. Thanks."

He was dripping with sincerity. It reminded me of Big Jim's favorite joke. How do they say "Fuck you" in Hollywood? "Trust me."

Rose shook my hand, then Terry's. With movie-perfect timing, the door opened, and Mr. Lu appeared, ready to escort us out. Some people have silent alarms to call for the cops. Rose apparently had one to get rid of us.

Amy and Brian were dismissed as well, and the four of us followed Mr. Lu. I slowed down so Terry and I could have some

distance from the others. Then I stopped to gawk at an abstract on the wall. "Look at that," I said loudly to Terry. Then I whispered, "Divide and conquer." "Fantastic," Terry said, for everyone to hear. Then he muttered. "You take the girl. Marilyn will be happier if I take Curry." Once he realized he had two stragglers, Mr. Lu stopped and turned to keep a well-trained eye on us. We pretended to love the artwork for a few more seconds, then caught up with the group. "Great painting," I said to Mr. Lu. "Thank you," he said, as if he had painted it.

Actually, it looked like it was painted by a chimpanzee. Total crap. It probably cost millions. There's no people like show people.

I was wrong about the cars. "I wouldn't have pegged you for the sports car type," I said to Curry as he opened the little red door to the Miata.

"I love the feel of the wind blowing in my hair," he said, rubbing his hand across his shaved head. "Actually it was a good call, Detective. If you check the registration, you'll see that this belongs to Sharon Samaroo, who is five-foot-nothing in heels and weighs about ninety pounds. She's my assistant. I myself drive a Toyota Land Cruiser, which is a great car until you get your first flat, in which case you need a good half hour to read how to unchain the spare from under the belly of the car, and another twenty minutes to change the tire."

"And you didn't want to be late for the boss's little soiree, so Sharon is stuck fixing your flat."

"Do not feel bad for Sharon," he said. "She's got my AAA Card, my eternal gratitude, and my Land Cruiser, which, even with only three good tires, drives better than this matchbox."

Terry ambled over and caught the last part of the conversation. "I got a shoehorn if it'll help," he said, as Curry positioned

Marshall Karp

his linebacker body to get into the Sharon-sized front seat.

"Don't need it," Curry said. "I used to be a circus clown." Then in one move, he slid snugly but smoothly into the front seat. I applauded. "You still got room in there for a couple of beers?" Terry asked. Curry looked surprised. "If you're buying, sure, but my limit is one." "You guys are on your own," I said. "I'll catch you tomorrow." Then I hurried over to the Lincoln Navigator. Amy had turned it around and was ready to pull out. I waved at her to roll down the window. "I owe you an apology," I said. "A lot of guys do, but you're the first one to actually follow up on it." She laughed. It was genuine and sort of girlish. The first non-corporate display of emotion I had seen from her. "Just kidding. What are you apologizing for?" "When I saw the two cars parked here, I figured the Miata was yours." "Yuck. You do owe me an apology." "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Business or pleasure?" she said.

"Business."

"I thought cops don't drink on duty."

"Another Hollywood myth shattered," I said.

"If it's business, I can't say no." Then she shrugged halfheartedly, and I wondered how she'd have responded if I had said pleasure. "Do you know a place around here?" I asked. "My apartment is in Westwood. Do you mind driving in that

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The Rabbit Factory

direction?"

"No problem."

"Follow me," she said. Her electronic window glided up, the transmission thunked into Drive, and the big black SUV pulled out without waiting for me to follow. I'm sure she enjoyed watching me in her rear view mirror as I hustled over to my car so I could catch up.

//TTVour me one, will ya," Ike Rose said as Villante dropped some ice cubes into a fat, square-bottomed rocks glass. Villante cocked his head. "What do I look like? Your assistant'"

Rose laughed. "Hannah blew your cover, didn't she, Uncle Richard?"

Villante reached for the cut glass decanter labeled Scotch and changed the subject. "When do you leave for New York?" "I'm blowing off New York. I think I should fly to Vegas."

"And do what?" Villante said, handing him a drink. "Talk to Mamma Leone?"

"Don't let her hear you call her that. You're liable to wind up inside a sausage casing." Ike sipped slowly at his drink, leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and let the Scotch begin to work on his frazzled nerves. He could picture Arabella Leone, and she was nobody's Italian Mamma. She had it all--beauty, brains, and balls. Four years ago, she had called him. Just like that. No advance warning. She didn't even have a secretary place the

call. She just dialed the main number at Lamaar until she got to Ike's wolf-at-the-gate, Magi Durham. Magi recognized Arabella's name and buzzed Ike, who couldn't resist taking the call.