The White Gold Score (A Daniel Faust Novella) (10 page)

I let the phone ring. And keep ringing. Jennifer looked my way. “Ain’t you gonna answer it?”

“Nah,” I said. I let it go to voicemail. We waited exactly four minutes, counting down the slow turns of the clock, before I called him back. Just long enough to make Dino antsy. Antsy enough to snatch up the phone after one ring.

“Hi there,” I told Dino. “Sorry I missed your call, been a crazy day over here.”

He bubbled like a fountain, the fake friendliness failing to conceal the nervous tension in his voice. We’d carefully crafted every article, every blurb and bogus quote, as a secret sales pitch aimed straight at Dino’s hunger. Here was a singer with a career about to explode, at a time when Dino needed a hitmaker in his stable. She was new to the business, young, naive, with a dodgy talent agent who was probably already fleecing her. A woman like Lulu was catnip to a scumbag like Dino Costa. Or a piggy bank, ready to be broken open.

“No worries, no worries,” he said. “My name’s Dino Costa, with Blue Rhapsody. Don’t know if you’ve heard of us—”

“Oh
gosh
,” I said, “of course I have. Who hasn’t, in this town?”

“Great, well, I understand you’re representing an artist named…” He paused, pretending to search his memory. “Lola, something—no, Lulu. Lulu Brooks?”

Nice touch. He might have been drooling at the idea of signing her, but he was doing his best to play it casual. Too bad he was a lousy actor.

“Lulu? Sure, she’s really going places. Are you interested in hearing her demo?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I’ve got a backlog of demos here—we’re kinda buried in talent right now, and we’ve only got room for a couple more people on the label this year—but I wouldn’t mind giving it a listen when I get some free time.”

“Well, we’re grateful for the opportunity and for your time. Give me your email and I’ll send it over to you right away. And, you know, if you think Lulu would be a good fit for Blue Rhapsody, just give me a call and we can set up a meeting.”

I hung up and shot over the songs. “What now?” Jennifer asked.

“Now we go get a late lunch. I guarantee he’s listening to the demo right this minute, but he won’t call back right away. He can’t afford to look too desperate. If he did, we could bend him over at the contract negotiation.”

“If it
was
a real negotiation,” Caitlin said. “It’s a shame my music career has to end here. And Pixie can remove the demo from his computer?”

“She’ll be watching like a hawk,” I told her. “Once we’re done with Dino, every copy of that demo goes poof. We’ll keep our promise to Tanesha. No leaks.”

Corman put his arm around Bentley’s shoulder. “Well, kiddo, we’ve got a flight to catch. Glad we were able to help out.”

“It was quite enjoyable,” Bentley added. “Do drop by the store when you return home and let us know how everything turned out.”

I slipped a few folded bills from my breast pocket, folded and palmed them, and held out my hand to Bentley.

“Will do,” I said. “Here, for the work.”

“Oh, Daniel,” Bentley said, “we couldn’t possibly—”

“Please. For the work.”

Our eyes met, and he gave me the faintest smile along with a sigh.

“For the work,” he said. I passed the folded bills from my palm to his. A tiny flick of his wrist, and his hand was empty again.

After they left, Caitlin tilted her head at the door, a quizzical look on her face.

“What?” I asked her.

She glanced my way. “He knew it wasn’t for the work.”

“Sure he did.”

“He wouldn’t take the money if it was charity. So you blatantly lied to him, in a way that you both
knew
you were lying, and then he accepted it.”

I nodded. “Sounds about right.”

I looked at her. Catching something in her eyes as she processed it. I could almost see her making mental connections, mapping out relationships. Absorbing.

“I’m starting to figure you out,” I told her.

She blinked, finding herself in the spotlight. “Meaning?”

“When it comes to desire, passion, things people
want
, you know everything there is to know about human beings.”

“Thank you,” she said, “I do my best.”

I gestured to the door. “It’s
families
you don’t get.”

Her gaze flicked to the butterscotch carpet. “My people’s families are…different from yours, Daniel. Suffice to say they are neither a source of strength nor of warmth. What you’ve built for yourself here, these people, all bound to you and you to them in different ways—it’s strange to me, yes.”

She looked up at me, her apprehension fading, a tiny smile rising to her lips.

“But I am starting to like it.”

Jennifer sauntered over and threw an arm around Caitlin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, sis, you’re doin’ just fine.”

We didn’t even make it to the restaurant. Whatever Dino’s strengths were, impulse control wasn’t one of them. Passive-aggression, judging from his tone when he called me up, was.

“Listened to the demo,” he said, his forced-casual voice fraying at the edges. “It was okay. A little, you know, better than the average lounge singer. I could see her doing all right, if she had a competent producer backing her up and solid management.”

I grinned into the phone. “Gosh, Mr. Costa, thanks so much for giving it a listen! I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d like to talk about this further?”

He paused. I heard a faint rustle of air, like he was counting to five under his breath. Making me wait for it.

“Yeah, y’know, normally I’m so booked it’d be at least a couple of weeks before we could sit down together, but as it happens I just had a cancellation this afternoon. Would two o’clock work?”

“Absolutely,” I said, “I’ll call Lulu right away. Thanks again!”

I hung up the phone and cradled it to my chest.

“He’s on the hook?” Jennifer asked.

“Yep,” I said, then looked at Caitlin. “Let’s go reel him in.”

*     *     *

I wore a nice jacket and a striped purple tie to the meeting. Caitlin wore a polka-dot dress and tall black boots, guitar case slung over one shoulder, rocking the quirky pop-singer look.

And Dino wore Monty’s white gold Rolex.

The stolen watch glinted on his wrist, singing a murder ballad to the world. Dino reminded me of a big-game hunter, draping himself in the skin of the tiger he’d gunned down. Taking smug pride in the kill.

His office was all cedar and chrome, the chairs tan fabric stretched over art-deco frames, pleasing to the eye but a pain to sit in. Appearances above all. A flat-screen monitor and a keyboard sat on one edge of his desk, a cigar box on the other, imported Cuban Cohiba cigars on display under glass with a thermometer and moisture sensor to keep them pristine. Not the faintest whiff of stale smoke in the air, and no way to open the polished window that looked out over the boulevard. Either he had an amazing air filter, or the cigars were just for show.

“Thanks again for meeting with us,” I said, pulling back a chair for Caitlin.

“Think nothing of it,” he said. Magnanimous in his lair. “I like what I heard on that demo. And if you don’t mind me cutting to the chase, I think Ms. Brooks would make a fine addition to the Blue Rhapsody family.”

“Please,” Caitlin said with a demure smile, playing at being nervous, “call me Lulu. And thank you. These last few weeks have just been…so overwhelming.”

“Lulu. I understand completely. And that’s exactly why you should sign with us. Blue Rhapsody won’t just oversee your debut, press a few albums, and leave you to sink or swim, like most labels. We’re here for the long haul: to
nurture
your career, and give you the management you deserve.”

“Wow.” She chuckled awkwardly, ducking her head a little. “That…that sounds really great.”

“We have a cutting-edge studio, access to top-quality session musicians, the best producers in the business—”

“Like T Bone?” I asked.

Dino paused. “Er. W-what?”

I took out my phone and flipped the screen around, giving him a quick flash of an email. It was just my flight reservation, but I didn’t give him a second to read before resting the phone back on my knee.

“T Bone Burnett,” I said, as casual as discussing the weather. “He’s wrapping up a new project with Elton John, and he’s eager to work with Lulu on a track or two.”

“T Bone worked with Bob Dylan,” Caitlin added, innocently starstruck.

“Well,” Dino said, “we don’t do business with him
specifically
, but—”

“Then again,” I mused aloud, “that offer from Aftermath Entertainment this morning was pretty tempting.”

“Aftermath?” Dino sank an inch in his chair.

“Dr. Dre wants to produce a collaboration between me and Eminem,” Caitlin said. “Did you know he’s not actually a doctor? I didn’t know that. Made for
quite
the embarrassing conversation.”

“Well, you know,” Dino said, his eyes darting around like he was hunting for a life preserver to grab, “it’s—it’s not all about specific names. I mean, it’s the package, the total album that really counts in this business. And, um, distribution! Have you heard about our new project, Sonic Wave?”

Caitlin tapped a fingernail against her chin. “I think so. Isn’t that the thing where you can listen to music on the computer?”

Dino beamed at her. “Exactly. Instant, on-demand music streaming, twenty-four hours a day. And the best part: every single time somebody plays one of your songs, you get paid!”

I folded my arms, playing the skeptic, just like we’d rehearsed on the drive over.

“I don’t know. It
is
a revolutionary idea, but Republic Records is promising us a pretty big signing bonus.” I glanced down, pretending to think, using the excuse to tap out a quick text to Pixie.
Watch Dino’s browser. We’re going in for the kill
.

“How…big are we talking, exactly?” Dino asked.

I glanced sidelong at Caitlin. “Lulu, could you give me and Mr. Costa a minute alone?”

She looked between us. “I don’t know, shouldn’t I be here?”

I gave her my smarmiest smile and said, “Sweetie, baby, it’s
fine
. Just some legal contract stuff you don’t need to be bothered with. I’ll be right out, okay?”

She reluctantly rose from the curvy deco chair and saw herself out. As soon as the office door clicked shut, my smile went away.

“Dino,” I said, “c’mon. Real talk, now. You know what we’re both doing here.”

He gave me a guarded look, pulling in his shoulders a little.

“Not sure if I do. Why don’t you tell me what
you
think we’re doing here?”

“You and me,” I said, “are trying to get paid. First, let’s get on the same page. You’ve heard the buzz. You’ve heard the demo with your very own ears. You know that girl is the next big thing, and you want a piece of the action. Get on the elevator at the ground floor and you can ride it all the way to the penthouse suite.”

“Maybe,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. Still on his guard, but he liked what he was hearing.

“Lemme tell you something. What just happened there”—I gestured to the door—“that’s how easy it is. She does what I tell her. She signs everything I put in front of her, doesn’t even read it. Pretty sure I could have power of attorney over her arthritic grandmother by now, if I wanted it. I don’t rep Lulu Brooks; I
own
Lulu Brooks.”

Dino steepled his fingers on the desk. The Rolex caught the light, gleaming white-hot.

“And you’re looking to sell her,” he said.

“Damn right. Why do you think I’m fielding offers all over town, but she hasn’t signed yet? It’s not about what she gets; it’s about what
I
get. Because she doesn’t sign on that dotted line until I tell her to. She’s a babe in the wilderness, and the only wolf she trusts is
me
.”

Dino nodded slowly, on my level now.

“I think we can do some business,” he said.

“I guess the question is,” Dino said, his gaze drifting to the closed door and back again, “what’s it going to take to get you on board?”

I spread my hands. “I’m a man of simple needs. At the moment, though, I’m having a little cash-flow problem. I need a signing bonus. Not for her. For
me
. Something unofficial and off the books. She doesn’t need to know, either.”

“‘Unofficial’ isn’t easy. I’m running a legitimate label here—my accountant goes over the books with a fine-toothed comb.”

“C’mon, Dino, don’t tell me you don’t have any rainy-day money set aside. No little stash accounts, someplace safe from the prying eyes of the IRS?”

He mirrored my smile, chuckling a little as he leaned toward his computer and tapped a few keys. My phone, resting on my knee, blinked once. A message from Pixie:
He’s logging into his banking site now
.

“Maybe so, but I’m not made of money. If you’d be willing to wait a little, spread it out as a series of milestone payments—”

“No can do,” I said. I inched a little closer on my chair. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. When I said ‘cash-flow problem,’ I meant I owe some guys a lot of cash. And my problem is, if I don’t pay them back pronto, they’re gonna put on their tap shoes and do a song-and-dance number on my spinal cord. So time is a factor. I’m going with the first label that can do right by me and make this situation go away. I’ve struck out twice already today. Hoping you won’t be unlucky number three.”

He couldn’t hide the satisfied look on his face. I had what he wanted, sure, but now he was the one holding all the cards.

“I think I can help you out.” He glanced at the monitor and tapped another couple of keys. “Of course, I’m going to expect favorable terms on the contract. To reflect my generous aid in your time of need.”

“Sure, sure,” I said. “Look, long term? I just want there to
be
a long term. You help me out today, and I’ll get Lulu to sign whatever you put in front of her, no questions asked.”

“How much cash are we talking about here?”

I shot a look at my silent phone as he moused through his banking site, the monitor turned so I couldn’t read it from my side of the desk.
C’mon, Pix
, I thought.

The phone lit up with a new message.
He’s got $12,250.26 in his checking account
.

“Fifteen grand?” I asked, looking hopeful.

Dino winced. “Little rich for my blood. Could you take…five thousand?”

“That won’t save my kneecaps. I can’t do this deal for any less than twelve. It’s that simple: twelve grand and you get Lulu. Anything else, I’m out the door. We’ve got a three thirty appointment with Sony, and I’ll take my chances—”

“Hold on, hold on,” he said, staring at the screen like he was kissing his newborn child goodbye. “Okay. Twelve grand, but that’s it. You’re cut off. No matter how well Lulu does, you don’t get one thin dime off this label. Going forward, we deal directly with her.”

I reached into my pocket and took out a folded slip of paper, opening it to reveal a bank account and routing number. I tensed my forearm as I slid it across the desk, making my hand tremble.

“You can
have
her,” I said. “It’s worth it, just to get these guys off my back for good.”

He could barely keep the smirk off his face. He’d just bought a gold mine at a copper-mine price by taking advantage of the dumb, desperate guy on the other side of the bargaining table.

I gave him a dumb and desperate smile of sheer gratitude as he initiated the bank transfer.

“I’ve still got a two-hour window to reverse this payment.” He slid the paper back to me. “So how about you bring the little lady back in here, and we do some
official
business?”

After that, it was just a matter of running down the clock. We brought Caitlin back into the room and took turns showering her with false promises while she blushed like a schoolgirl. If lies burned oxygen, the three of us would have smothered to death. Dino laid out some “standard” contracts that nobody in her right mind would touch with anything but a flamethrower. Caitlin signed each and every one, laying down Lulu’s name in swirling script, giving away everything but the rights to her first-born child.

“Obviously we’re eager to get started as soon as possible,” Dino told her. “Can you come in tomorrow morning for a planning meeting and a roundtable with our producers?”

“Oh,” Caitlin said, “I really want to, but it’s my little brother’s birthday party, and I promised him I’d be there. The day after, perhaps?”

The day after tomorrow was fine. Well, fine for Dino. Caitlin and I had other plans.

*     *     *

“Out of curiosity,” Caitlin said, taking my arm as we strolled out into the LA sunshine, “how much did you get out of him?”

“Twelve grand,” I said. “Well,
I
didn’t. I don’t have a bank account in my name, and I didn’t want to use the Peter Greyson account just in case anybody came sniffing around later.”

“So where did you send it?”

“St. Jude’s. It’s a homeless shelter and soup kitchen back in Vegas.”

She stopped in her tracks. The yank on my arm, like a leash jerking tight, almost pulled me off my feet.

“You just stole over ten thousand dollars,” she said, “for
charity?
”

“Me? Oh, hell no. See, St. Jude’s is also where Pixie spends all her time volunteering, when she’s not doing the hacker thing. Beyond her help on this job, I’ve had her working around the clock for a week now, trying to track down Lauren Carmichael and crack into her company’s computer system for us. So I figured I’d pay up in the form of a generous gift to her pet cause. More than I owe, but I don’t mind having her on retainer.”

Caitlin gave me a dubious look.

“It was the safest play,” I told her. “Now, if anyone pokes around Dino’s accounts, all they’ll see is a nice little tax-deductible contribution to a legal charity. Totally explainable, nothing suspicious. And nothing ties us directly to St. Jude’s.”

“Still, seems like we just went to a great deal of trouble to give money away.”

I shook my head. “The money wasn’t as valuable as the information. See, once Pix confirmed he only had twelve grand in his account, I pushed for fifteen. If he had any other sources of income, any cash in his figurative mattress, he could have paid up. Instead he lowballed me, and getting twelve out of him felt like squeezing blood from a rock.”

“Meaning that’s
all
he has,” Caitlin said, leaning in with a pleased murmur as we walked back to the car.

“Exactly. Curtis was right. Dino’s poured all his liquid cash into the new start-up. Once his coke goes missing, he’ll have to sell everything he owns to pay the Sinaloa back. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s got one of two futures ahead of him: ruined or dead.”

Caitlin’s fingertip stroked the car remote. The Camaro let out a squawk.

“I vote for dead,” she purred.

“I’m leaning that way myself,” I told her. “After all, I still have to get that watch off his wrist before they bury Monty.
Technically,
I’m still here on a job.”

We met back up with Jennifer at the hotel. She’d sketched out a crude map of the Hamilton Pavilion based on Caitlin’s description and pulled a timetable from the band’s website.

“First concert’s tomorrow night,” she told us. “Opening act is at seven, Winter Court takes the stage at seven thirty, and the concert ends around ten. Next show is in Phoenix. There’s a meet-and-greet for the fans at three p.m. on Saturday, so I can’t imagine they’re gonna dawdle around here for too long once the show’s over. Figure they’ll pack up the tour buses and head straight out.”

“That doesn’t give us a very large window of opportunity.” Caitlin tapped her chin, gazing at the sketch.

“If we make our move just as they’re arriving or leaving,” I said, “all the roadie cases—and the coke—will be in one place. Problem is, so will Dino’s guys.”

“Easier to take ’em if they’re spread out a little,” Jennifer said.

“Exactly.” I tapped the sketch. “It’s gonna be three against ten, not to mention their new recruit with the magic karate. And we absolutely can’t let this get loud. No matter who starts shooting, gunfire means cops, and cops mean this heist is
over
.”

“Once the concert begins,” Caitlin said, “all the cases will be inside the hall, yes? Backstage?”

I nodded. “Should be. They need the actual gear in there to run the show. If these guys know what they’re doing—and let’s assume they do—they’ll have some roadies hanging around to watch the cases and the rest covering the exits, watching for trouble.”

“So we divide and conquer,” she said.

I still didn’t like it. Not our odds in a fight—between my cards, Jennifer’s blood magic, and Caitlin’s…being Caitlin, we could do a world of damage. That wouldn’t stop
them
from turning the place into a shooting gallery, though, and with four hundred civilians packed into the concert hall, I wasn’t comfortable with that kind of risk.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Let’s take a trip to the Hamilton. Something I want to try.”

Not a trip to the hall itself, anyway, but the neighborhood around it. We found a nice big commercial corridor lined with coffeehouses and clothing boutiques and started hunting for an easy target. The first place we tried had too many people. The second, a security camera keeping silent watch. The third stop did the charm: a high-end shop aimed at professional women with a sense of style, and price tags to match.

Jennifer drew attention from the clerks the second she walked through the door, her T-shirt and tattoos sticking out like a sore thumb amid the imported silk and six-hundred-dollar pantsuits. Both salespeople descended with oh-so-helpful attitudes, keeping an eye on her. She brushed them off politely, then hovered near a rack of easily pocketable scarves and accessories, casting nervous glances over her shoulder now and then.

While Jennifer made herself look like a shoplifter, Caitlin and I browsed as a couple on the opposite side of the store, nice and invisible. I felt a pang of memory and shoved it away hard. It must have shown on my face. Caitlin glanced away from a Christian Dior jacket, giving me a curious look.

“What?”

I shrugged. “This was the first trick I ever learned as a kid. Back before…before I got sent away, I’d take my little brother to the 7-Eleven. He’d pretend to pocket something and draw the cashier’s attention, while I was on the other side of the store filling my backpack.”

“Mischievous little scamps, weren’t you?”

“We were hungry.” I put my shoulder to the wall, taking one last look at the room and making sure the clerks were turned away. “Anyway, let’s do this. Set the timer.”

The second she was ready I reached to one side, grabbed the fire alarm handle, and yanked it down.