Hollywood Tough (2002) (14 page)

"What?" Shane was lost. "How d'ya figure that?"

"It gets spent seven times in twelve months. I pay the dollar to you, you pay it to your grocer, and your grocer pays it to his dry cleaner . . . like that. In a year, that same buck is spent seven times, and each time it gets spent, it gets taxed. So when you add up the seven multiple, showbiz is worth fifty, sixty billion a year to the California tax base. Control that, you got one fuck of a lot of power. Dennis thinks he can control it by taking over the show business unions."

"Can he do that?"

"Yeah, maybe . . . you see, in showbiz, we got what we call your above-the-line unions and your below-the-line unions. Boiling that down, your above-the-line handles all the creative people: writers, that's the Writers Guild of America--but to be frank, nobody gives a shit about writers, so forget the WGA. You also got SAG, the Screen Actors Guild. Then there's the big kahuna of all the guilds, the DGA, which is the directors' union. Directors are the real power players in film--the auteurs."

"And Dennis Valentine thinks he can organize a bunch of actors and directors? People who live in multimillion-dollar Malibu houses? What's he smoking?"

"No, no, Shane. He doesn't want to organize the abovethe-line--those guys are untouchable. He wants to organize the below-the-line guys--the I
. A
."

"The I
. A
.? That's like an alliance of unions, right?" "Exactly. The full name is IATSE, stands for International Alliance of Theatrical and Stage Employees. These unions include all the dumb everyday working stiffs who actually make the damn films--the grips, the set decorators, costumers, hair and makeup . . . like that." He grinned. "We call hair and makeup the 'pretty departments.' I think that's cute. You learn these terms when you're a player."

"I don't need the travelogue," Shane growled.

"Dennis thinks these below-the-line unions can be taken over. I think they've already bought some guys at the top, or threatened them--something. Anyway, IATSE is onboard already. Next, Dennis is going to use his uncle's contacts with the national brotherhoods in D
. C
. to put pressure on all these IATSE locals to negotiate with Dennis. Eventually, Dennis thinks he can control the cost of each film made in Hollywood."

"How?" Shane asked.

"If he says to a producer, 'You shoot your film and the unions will work at a cut rate,' the producer gets a great bargain, movie gets made. If he says, 'No deal, Mr. Producer, you gotta pay full boat,' or worse still, 'I'm gonna sock you with beaucoup overtime and a lotta expensive fringe bullshit,' then the producer gets screwed and his profits are destroyed. In so doing, Dennis thinks he can leverage that power to gain a percentage of ownership in the films made here. Pretty soon, nobody can shoot a union film in California without his say-so. See, he becomes like the czar of all filmed entertainment. That means he's got his hands around the throat of this sixty-billion-dollar tax base. He could call a strike, shut down the state, and all the schools would have to close. Even your fucking LAPD check would bounce. He becomes unstoppable, economically and politically. It's brilliant."

"You're screwing with me, aren't you?" Shane said.

"I swear. He's out here with his uncle's blessing, trying to set this up. I've been working with him on some deals. He knows I got connections. He's the one who wanted me to find Carol White."

"Why? What's he care about her?"

"We all went to Teaneck High together. We were all friends in the ninth grade."

"Awww, come on, Nicky . . . a class reunion?"

"Shane, it's true. Carol and Dennis were kinda the hot couple on campus back then. He was the BMOC, 'cause he was a big athlete and his uncle was the godfather of New Jersey. Carol was head cheerleader. She won some beauty contests, then came out here to be in films. Dennis used to make trips to L
. A
. to visit her. He and I hooked up 'cause I'd gone to USC film school, I'd learned my Yiddish by then. I could talk the talk. It was during one of those trips that he got the idea to take over the showbiz unions."

"Where is Valentine now?" Shane asked.

"He was living at the Bel Air Hotel, but he just moved to Kenny Rogers's old estate up on Mandeville Canyon Road. Thing's a mausoleum, sits on five acres. Musta cost him a fortune. Everything's real classy. He's not your normal garlic breather. He calls himself Champagne Dennis Valentine--drinks nothing but Taittinger, which he calls the champagne of champagnes. He's loaded with personality tics. He's a germ nut--won't even shake hands. He's a health-food nut, a vegetarian. Eats mostly broccoli and spinach. I swear, Shane, you go to his place for dinner and it's tofu and brown rice. I'd rather eat a hairball."

"And you're working for him?"

"I've got a co-production arrangement hammered out with his company, Heart-Shaped Films. Valentine . . . heartshaped--get it? We're going to do a film or two. I'm doing a lot for him, like arranging the party tomorrow afternoon to introduce him to the big players in Hollywood--agents, managers, and such. I'm not going to accept some snowball definition of net profits or rolling break-even. My piece on our co-productions has to kick in from first-dollar gross, after P and A, of course." Nicky talking the talk.

"I haven't heard so much sleazy bullshit since Clinton testified."

Nicky held up his hand. "You aren't a player, so naturally you don't get it."

Maybe not, but Shane had been getting one good idea. So he sat down on the edge of the bed beside the little grifter. "Guess what, Nick? This is your lucky day."

"I don't want a lucky day."

"Well, you got one. While you were just sitting here talking about your deal with this mobster, and this great life you finally got, I had a great idea."

"Bubee, ain't ya heard? There's a twenty-year-old reward out for a cop with a great idea."

"You're about to get a new fifty-fifty partner at CineRoma, and you're looking at him."

Now Nicky actually looked frightened. "Whatta you mean, 'partner'? Do I look like I want a partner?"

"Nicky, this isn't a negotiation. It's a condition. Either I come in for half of your company, or you take the pipe for Carol's murder. Say no, and I'll sell you so fast you'll think you're a used Bentley."

"Shane, why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I want this guy, Nicky. I think he killed Carol and I want him."

"Why? Why would he kill her? It makes no sense."

"Who knows why? Because he's a goomba, or because he eats too much broccoli. Maybe she knew his plans to infiltrate Hollywood and when she started shooting heroin, she became a liability and had to be fixed."

"Shane, he wouldn't do that."

"Or maybe she was shaking him down for money, to buy drugs. Who knows? Look, Nicky, I'm not arguing here. You've got no choice."

Little Nicky looked at him and actually started to weep. Tears came down his face, although for some strange reason, this time he made no crying sounds. Then he got control of himself.

"How much are you gonna pay me for your end?" he finally said, hope reappearing on his tear-stained face. " 'Cause it won't be cheap. Cine-Roma has a book value of slightly over five mil. That's not counting goodwill wit
h a
gents and distributors and unearned assets like future profits on Boots and Bikinis."

"Five mil sounds high." Shane opened his wallet and took out one dollar and handed it over. "How 'bout one dollar and other considerations? I believe that's the legal necessity to guarantee a contract in the State of California."

"No fucking way," Nicky howled.

"Don't lose sight of the fact that the other considerations in this case include my keeping you off Lou Ruta's suspect list. I'll have somebody in the LAPD Legal Affairs Department draw up the contract."

Nicky Marcella sat there looking at Shane for a long moment, then he finally sighed and nodded. "I guess we should say a prayer or something."

"You pray over deals?"

"No. I wanta pray for Carol. We should do that, don't you think?"

Shane sat looking at him for a long moment, trying to assess if he was serious, and for some reason, Shane knew he was. It surprised him. But that was the thing about Nicky; he wasn't just one thing. He could catch you off balance. "Yeah, sure, let's do it," Shane agreed.

So they held hands while Nicky the Pooh bowed his head and prayed for Carol White's newly departed soul.

Chapter
15.

Even though he didn't get home until three in the morning, Shane was up at six. He left the house shortly before Alexa and Chooch and headed to the Hollywood division. Today was the day he was supposed to go back on duty, but now he wondered if that was the right move.

Once he arrived at the Hollywood division, he went directly up the stairs to the computer room on the second floor.

"Hi ya, stranger," the morning-shift computer tech called out as Shane walked up. Shane couldn't remember the guy's last name, but like a lot of computer nerds at the LAPD, his nickname was Sparks.

"Hey, Sparks, you still hooked to LexisNexis?" Shane asked.

He smiled and gave a thumbs-up.

LexisNexis is a search service that transcribes legal publications and news. It's all-inclusive and references everything from newspapers and technical journals to the typed transcript of every episode of Larry King Live.

"Whatta you need?" Sparks asked.

"Can you see if there's anything on a guy named Dennis Valente--a
. K. A
. Valentine? He calls himself 'Champagne' Dennis. My guess is anybody who has that kind of handle probably likes to read his name in the papers."

"Got it . . . Valente . . . a
. K. A
. Valentine, 'Champagne'

Dennis." Sparks turned and logged on, accessed the welcome screen for LexisNexis, then typed in Dennis's name and hit the screen designation for "All News." A few minutes later the screen flashed: fifty-eight stories. All of them under Valente's alias, Valentine.

"CITE 'em," Shane said. Sparks clicked the CITE command and topic sentences for each story appeared on the screen, along with the date and the original source the story had appeared in.

"Which ones do you want?" he asked.

Shane started scanning them. "That one, from the New Jersey Sentinel in 'ninety-five, 'Mobster Gets Producing Bug,' and the one from the March five, 'ninety-nine, Trenton paper, 'Valentine Goes Hollywood.' Lemme have last year's Union Telegraph piece, 'Champagne Corks Pop for New Showbiz Enterprise.' "

The rest looked like stories about his uncle: Don Carlo DeCesare. Shane picked one or two of these just for background, then asked Sparks to print everything.

The pages started spitting out into the tray across the room, and when the printer stopped, Shane picked up his articles and went to get some coffee in the little snack room downstairs.

He sat at a table and went through the articles, which ranged from 1995 to the present. Even when he was still busting heads for his uncle in Jersey, it looked as if Champagne Dennis Valentine was a show business wanna-be. There were no pictures of Valentine, because LexisNexis didn't supply photos, but he was described in one article as "a handsome Sonny Corleone type."

In one 1995 article, Dennis Valentine talked about "one day investing in a film." As Shane read on, he started to pick up a thread that fascinated him. Almost all of the stories mentioned Michael Fallon, a handsome, dark-haired movie star who had appeared in dozens of gangster or action flicks. In one story, he called Fallon "one of America's enduring filmic treasures." In another: "Fallon has redefined the essence of modern filmography with his extraordinar
y s
creen presence." In a third, Dennis Valentine had gushed, "My fondest dream would be to one day do a film with the great Michael Fallon."

Nowhere was Carol White mentioned.

At nine A
. M
., Shane pulled up to the front gate of Hollywood General Studios.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Marcella isn't in yet," the guard said. Shane got out of the car and walked up to the old, gray-haired man in the dark blue studio-issue uniform.

"Before you started doing this, were you by any chance on the job?" Shane asked.

"Yeah, thirty years in Marys," the guard replied. The Mary unit was cop slang for motorcycles.

Shane took out his badge and showed it to the man. "I'm working a gig here, undercover. I'm gonna be getting a parking pass and an office today. If I need any backup down the line, can I count on you for help?"

"In a heartbeat, Sergeant," the guard responded. "I'm sick and tired of smelling pot in these cars and taking shit from these twits. I used to kick ass for that shit, now I gotta call 'em sir."

"Can you give me a little background on Nick Marcella?" Shane asked.

The old motorcycle cop had. plenty to say. He filled Shane's ear for almost half an hour.

Nicky didn't arrive until eleven-thirty, parking the maroon Bentley in one of his two spaces. Shane's black Acura was in the other. The guard had told Shane that Nicky usually poached that second spot to protect his side panels.