Gumshoe Gorilla (40 page)

"Irrelevant," Parker said. "You think I can't get my client past a lousy elevator lock out? We'll be there. Just make sure your client is."

He stood up, and carefully tucked his pet rat and its towel into a little cardboard box.

"I'm heading home," he said. "I'm guessing that you tossed my place, too?"

I shrugged. Like I was gonna forget to do that?

"Great," he said. "I probably have just enough time to clean up that mess and then talk my client into this meeting."

He picked up the box and walked to the door.

"Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?" he asked.

"Nah. My car's just down the block."

Drew smiled.

"Uh... about that. Jen found your car about half an hour ago. I didn't catch all the details, but she was doing something that involved large quantities of instant oatmeal and a garden hose."

Linda answered the door on the first knock. She opened it halfway and looked us over. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Jen, and for a split second I saw a Catwoman mask descended over her face. A certain dead Cherokee of my acquaintance would have called that her "totem manifesting itself." I called it my subconscious getting cute, and ignored it.

"Where's your client?" she demanded.

"Close by," I said. "He'll come in as soon as I've verified that your man is ready to talk."

Linda didn't look too happy about that, but she wasn't going to stand there and argue with us in the hall. Her client, Charles, was all jumpy that someone would spot us coming into his room and wonder what we were doing there. He'd even had Linda call us up with a cover story, in case anyone stopped us. Apparently, Jen and I were here to pitch a script called
The Dead Don't Mambo
. I was almost sorry that nobody had stopped us and asked about it. It would have been worth it just to hear the crazy story that Jen would spin together around that title.

I walked past Linda into the room. It was an upscale suite, standard hotel fair with a few personal touches added. Some old black and white movie posters on the wall, a big wooden desk that didn't go with the rest of the furniture. There were two Rocklands waiting in the living room, one pacing nervously while another slouched on the couch. The pacing one looked like Charles, and to spare myself a headache I decided to assume that he was. The other was holding a baseball cap. His hair was longer and lighter, so presumably this was Eddie. For a split second I wondered how Linda had managed to smuggle him into the building without alerting the tabloids or Charles' neighbors. Then I realized that I was being stupid. Right now, this was probably the easiest place in the world to sneak a Rockland into, what with three of them already living here. Just tuck his hair under the cap, and Eddie would blend right in.

I also noted with some amusement that they'd taken me seriously about breakfast. There was a stack of donuts and a pot of coffee sitting on the table.

Charles looked at me, a little unsure how to greet the jerk who'd been following him around for the last couple of days.

"Hi," I said, sticking out my hand. "I'm Drew Parker. And this is my associate, Jennifer Grey."

"Uh.... hello. I'm Charles Rockland," he said, as if we didn't know that already. "Weren't you supposed to...?"

Jen cut him off, pouncing on the donuts.

"Hey! Breakfast!" She paused and looked around. "What? No oatmeal?"

Linda's eyes flashed and the sound of a whip crack shot through the room. Jen smiled and picked up a donut. Oh, this was gonna be a fun little meeting. I turned back to Charles.

"Wasn't your employer supposed to be here?" he asked.

"He is," I said.

I walked over to the connecting door to the next room, and slid back the bolt. Things were about to get real interesting, real quick. I opened the door.

Skye was standing there, waiting.

I looked back at Charles. I've seen men who were being shot at who didn't look half as scared as he did. For a second, I thought he was gonna wet his pants.

"Honey! You've got to leave! This is private... business... you..."

He was so terrified that he was trying to talk and sign at the same time. A feat made no easier by the way that his hands were shaking.

Skye looked straight at him and made four quick signs.

Now, having wasted a good bit of my youth in gay bars, I happen to know a little sign. You have to; the music is so loud that it's the only way to communicate in those places. Of course, most of what I know involves taking drink orders and fending off casual flirtation, so my vocabulary isn't particularly large. Still, I can be reasonably confident in my translation of those four signs as,

"Chill, I'm his client."

The color drained from Charles' face. Finally he managed to sign back something that looked like
You purchased him to ogle me?
but probably meant
You hired him to spy on me?

Skye came right back at him with some signs that I know very well.

You lied to me.
Then something that looked like
You were in trouble
and then several signs that I didn't know. But whatever they were, they sure didn't look like an apology.

After that the conversation speeded up, and I had trouble following. But from the look of things, Skye was the one asking the questions, and Charles was the one doing the explaining. I glanced at the other people in the room. Linda and Jen were both watching the exchange, fascinated. Eddie, on the other hand, seemed uncomfortable, and was intently studying one of the posters on the wall. Maybe he just had better manners than we did.

I walked over to Jen and Linda.

"You know, maybe we ought to give them a little privacy for this," I whispered.

Linda nodded her agreement. Jen gave me one of her "but I never get to have any fun" pouts, but went along with it. I saw her grab the plate of donuts and follow Linda into the bathroom. I tapped Eddie on the shoulder, and motioned him to follow us. He looked relieved to be leaving the battle zone. I grabbed the coffee pot and a couple mugs as we left.

In the bathroom, Linda and Jen were glaring at each other. I don't know what the two of them were planning, but I made a mental note to leave the city before they started feuding in earnest. Jen's practical jokes have a tendency to take down innocent bystanders as well. And as for Linda... well, I try not to tick off anybody who knows how to handle plastique.

She turned to me.

"The girlfriend, huh," she said. "I should have known."

"Yep," I agreed. "Always the first suspect. Who were you betting on?"

"I was way off base," she admitted. "I had it pegged as someone who's been making trouble for Eddie."

I raised an eyebrow. She frowned back at me.

"Don't go fishing. I'm not in the mood."

"I wouldn't think of..."

Jen cut me off.

"Hey Drew! You ever seen one of these?"

She was leaning over the toilet.

"Jen, I know that my apartment is cheap, but it does come with indoor plumbing."

"No, this," she said, pointing down into the bowl.

I went over to see what all the fuss was about. Sure enough, the bowl had a series of lenses and little wire probes sticking out just below the waterline. I noticed the
Intel Inside
logo on the porcelain.

"What the Hell is that?" I asked.

"A smart toilet," Linda said, picking up a donut. "It files a report with the studio's medical department every time you flush it. Runs an acidity check on Charles' urine, plus a dozen other tests. Oh, and a drug screen, of course. The studio likes to keep tabs on its actors."

Jen screwed up her face.

"Yech."

I seconded the motion.

"Even George Orwell never thought of that one," I said.

"Who?" Eddie asked.

"Orwell," I said. "You know,
1984
?"

There was no glimmer or recognition.

"Never mind."

"No. Tell me," Eddie insisted.

"It's not important."

Eddie frowned.

"I'm not stupid," he said, looking down at his feet. "I just don't know who George Orwell is."

"He's a British writer," I explained.

"Really? For film or television?"

The sad thing was that he didn't mean it as a joke. Somehow I got suckered into explaining the plot of
1984
to him, while Jen and Linda munched on donuts. But at least Eddie was a good audience. The guy acted as if he'd never heard the story before. I hadn't read the book in years, so I had to make up a few details, but Eddie didn't seem to notice the inconsistencies. For the hell of it, I even threw in a happy ending. By the time I had the hero and his love interest escaping to a remote island paradise, there was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Um... I think we're done out here," Charles said. "If you'll all come into the living room, there are some things we need to discuss."