Hollywood Tough (2002) (36 page)

The houses along the beach bordering the club were all expensive, and had private concrete strips adjoining the Coast Highway to handle overflow parking in front of their garages. Thirty or forty yards north of the entrance to the Jonathan Club Shane swung a U-turn and parked on one of the concrete pads just off the highway.

He had to wait for almost an hour, but a little after midnight the white Cadillac pulled out of the club drive and headed south down the Coast Highway to the Santa Monica Freeway. Shane pulled out and followed, carefully keeping two or three cars back.

The cowboy turned onto the 405, then exited on Sunset and headed out toward Pacific Palisades.

Then a strange thing happened.

Carlos Martinez turned onto Mandeville Canyon Road. Suddenly, Shane's heart began to pound. He decelerated
,
keeping the convertible's taillights in view while falling farther back.

The white Cadillac pulled up to some lighted gates Shane turned off his headlights, parked half a block down then watched in amazement as the gates opened and the cowboy disappeared onto the huge estate of Champagnf Dennis Valentine.

Chapter
39.

OCCAM'S RAZOR

Shane sat in the dark, half a block down from Valentine's estate, trying to figure out why Carlos Martinez, a guest at Farrell Champion's bachelor party, would drive directly from the Jonathan Club to Dennis Valentine's estate on Mandeville Canyon Road. It destroyed all of Shane's theories about what was going on.

So he sat in the dark and ran through it all again, looking for his mistake. His investigation had started at Farrell Champion's engagement party, because the producer had made a bad joke about two dead ex-wives. That initial concern had led him down a path of inquiries that culminated in the discovery of Farrell's real identity--Danny Zelso-
-
along with a drug background in Panama, two murdered wives, and his enrollment in WITSEC. Farrell Champion was the North Pole of one investigation.

Shane also reviewed the route that had led him to Dennis Valente a
. K. A
. "Champagne" Dennis Valentine. At Farrell's engagement party, Shane had run into Nicky Marcella, who had asked him to find Carol White. That investigation had led him down another completely separate line of inquiry. Shane had been successful, turned Carol's location over to Nicky, and now believed that act had led to Carol's murder. He'd grabbed Nicky, who quickly spit up Champagne Dennis Valentine. That put the New Jersey mobster at the South Pole of a completely separate investigation.

To that point, the only thing connecting Farrell Champion and Dennis Valentine was Nicky's attendance at Farrell's engagement party, and that was easily explained by Nicky's new career in show business.

But tonight, Farrell not only denied inviting Nicky to his party, he actually had a complaint pending against the little grifter for grand theft. Then in pops Farrell Champion's cowboy amigo, Carlos Martinez, who does "this and that" in Arizona. He leaves Farrell's party and drives to Valentine's estate, connecting the two poles of seemingly separate investigations.

The longer Shane thought about it, the less sense it made; unless he was willing to accept the connection as pure coincidence, which, as Alexa cautioned, you never did in police work.

Shane sat and pondered.

At the Police Academy, he had taken a class in criminal logic that included a theory called Occam's Razor. The essence of this principle stated that when things were extremely complicated, the simplest answer was usually the right one.

So Shane sat in the dark, searching for the simplest solution. He began by setting out all the basic points and separating them into three piles: facts, lies, and suppositions.

Then he started over, analyzing each piece.

Dennis Valentine had been attacked by La Eme. A fact. Because of this attack, Shane believed the mobster might be the one masterminding the importation of White Dragon heroin into L
. A
. A supposition. According to Alexa's street intel, the drugs were heading to Arizona, and Carlos was from Arizona--both still suppositions. That was all he had on Dennis Valentine's side of the equation, except for his mob history and current scam to organize the I
. A
. unions, which Shane didn't think was a part of this big drug smuggle.

Next he reexamined the Farrell Champion track, using the same three categories. Champion's real name was Daniel Zelso. A strong supposition that could turn into a fact if the prints on the water glass came back hot. According to the WITSEC computer, Zelso used to launder money for a Panamanian drug syndicate and Farrell Champion was one of WITSEC' s assets--both facts. Farrell said Nicky had been his studio driver. Probably true, but Shane would check it out. All the P
. R
. stuff on Farrell was probably bullshit, except maybe the gun-running story. Guns and drugs lived in the same criminal quadrant.

So how did this collection of facts, suppositions, and lies make a picture?

While Shane methodically let the sediment settle, one thing became increasingly clear to him: Nicky Marcella had to be the common denominator.

Nicky had been friends with Dennis Valentine at Teaneck High School in New Jersey. Once they were both in L
. A
., he had tried to help Valentine meet agents and showbiz players. Nicky had also used Shane to find Carol White, then Dennis probably had her killed. That covered Nicky the Pooh's connection to Dennis Valentine.

Next, Shane reexamined Nicky's connection to Farrell Champion.

Nicky had driven Farrell's studio limo and had stolen jewelry from the producer; an act that eventually got him fired. Moreover, Farrell had a criminal case pending against the little grifter. If Nicky had lied about his relationship with the famous producer, what the hell was he doing crashing Farrell's engagement party? If Farrell had seen him, and eventually he would have, Farrell would have simply called security, or the police, and Nicky would have been arrested on the spot. The more Shane thought about that, the less sense it all made.

Shane had been meaning to run Nicky Marcella through the police computer, but he'd been so busy, he'd forgotten. He would do that the first chance he got.

Shane also had some nagging questions: Who busted up Nicky's apartment, kicked the shit out of his Oriental paintings, and stomped on his expensive watches? It probabl
y w
asn't Valentine, who was still using Nicky. So who? Farrell? The U
. S
. Marshals? Tiger Woods?

His head was beginning to ache. He didn't know where the answer was hiding in this slew of facts, guesses, and questions. Shane needed help.

He had written down the Cadillac's license plate number so he now called it into the DMV. After he gave them his badge number, they came back immediately with the information. The car was registered to Hertz, in Flagstaff, Arizona. He took Carlos's residency in Arizona out of the maybe column and put it with the facts. The picture became a bit clearer.

Shane dialed Alexa's cell phone.

"Yes," she answered, her voice clipped.

"I need to see you and Chief Filosiani right now." "Shane, I'm . . . we're--"

"I know . . . people are dying in South Central."

"All over town. I've had three more machine-gun shootings since yesterday. It's like the Gaza Strip in some of these divisions."

"I think I might have some of the pieces on that." "What pieces? You're working on Dennis Valentine. What does that have to do with this gang war?"

"I told you before, I think he may be the one moving the White Dragon into L
. A
. Now I think Farrell Champion may be involved, too."

"Come on, Shane . . ."

"Honey, I need forty minutes with you and the chief. It's gonna be worth your time. Send a detective car out to Valentine's house on Mandeville Canyon. I'm sitting on a Hispanic cowboy driving a white Caddy convertible with Arizona plates. His name is Carlos Martinez, but that's probably a bum handle. The car was rented from Hertz in Flagstaff, Arizona, wherever the hell that is. I'm going to ask R and I to contact Hertz and get me the name of whoever rented this car, and I'll bet you a weekend in Paradise it's not anyone named Carlos Martinez."

"Hertz doesn't even rent Cad convertibles--only Ford
Mustangs, Buick LeBarons, Lincoln Town Cars, and SUVs."

"Then it's got stolen plates. Honey, stop arguing and get a detective car out here somebody who can tail this guy without being made. I need to get in there and run through this with you."

"All right. I'm on the sixth floor at DSG. The chief's sleeping in his office. He's in a horrible mood."

"Why should he be the exception?" Shane hung up.

Twenty minutes later a gray Plymouth plain wrap pulled up beside him. Two guys he'd never seen before, wearing windbreakers, were in the front seat.

"You Scully?" an Asian cop in the passenger seat asked. "Yeah."

"Chen and Hibbs. We'll take over."

Twenty-five minutes later he was in Alexa's office at Parker Center.

They walked down the corridor together and woke up Chief Filosiani, who was angry, irritable, and tired. Shane had seen friendlier eyes on rattlesnakes.

Chapter
40.

"What the fuck d' you think you're doing?" Tony's angry question hung over Shane like a sword of reckoning.

"I'm just trying to . . . to tell you about a strange thing that happened at Farrell Champion's bachelor party.

I'm.
"

"I don't care about Farrell Champion's party, I wanta know what's going on with this damn movie. Somebody in our legal department, an attorney named Charlotte Brooks, says you talked to her today about some movie deal with Universal. Is that right?"

"Charlie? Yes, I did."

"She also says she talked to somebody over at CineRoma Productions who says they're on the hook for over a half a million dollars in preproduction costs, and in less than a week they're gonna owe twenty million on a hundred-million-dollar movie. Cine-Roma is half owned by us! What the fuck are you doing?! I only authorized a hundred and fifty thousand. I been tryin' to reach you all afternoon, but your cell's been off."

"Uh . yeah, well, the reason for that is, I got this cell from ESD, and it's got a bug in it. I keep it off unless I. ." Shane froze in mid-sentence because of the exasperated expression on Tony's face.

"For the love of God, tell me we ain't really in that deep?" Tony looked tired in his rumpled suit. Wisps o
f f
ringe hair stuck up in back of his head where he'd slept on it. His round face and mostly bald scalp were turning pink with anger. "I can't believe this. How did it happen? I want the truth, Sergeant."

"Well, sir, in Hollywood, there are many truths," Shane began, "and those truths are generally dominated by soft facts, which are subject to constant reevaluation and revision."

"You sound just like one a them now," Tony accused.

"I'm sorry. It's just . . . to understand this, you have to realize how it works. Everything in Hollywood is upside down."

"Upside down? Are you kidding me? I want you to explain how this little sting I originally approved for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars got so fucking out of control."

"It's a little hard to explain, sir."

"Try"Okay, well, the first thing you have to understand is everybody in Hollywood wants films to be expensive." The chief frowned. "Bullshit."

"It's not bullshit. It's a Hollywood truth."

The chief just glowered.

Shane's throat was dry. "Let's suppose you can make the exact same film for ten million dollars, or for a hundred million dollars . . . which would you choose?"

"And they're exactly the same? Same stars, same everything?"

Shane nodded. "Finished film is identical."

"Well, of course I'd make the one for ten million. Only a fool would spend ten times more."

"Well, in a normal business context you're right, but in Hollywood, you're wrong. Nobody at a major Hollywood studio wants to make a ten-million-dollar film. The industry average is thirty-mil, but that includes a lot of low-budget stuff made by independents. At minimum, the majors would rather spend something north of fifty. And why do you suppose that is?"

"You tell me."

"Because it doesn't make sense to them to make a film for ten million and then go out and spend fifty mil on thousands of theater prints and national advertising. That's about what it costs in P and A to support a wide domestic release these days--more than three thousand screens. Y'see, in their minds, it's foolhardy to put five times more money behind the bet than you've got riding on the film in the first place.

"The idea started to flourish in Hollywood that you're better off spending fifty million instead of ten to make the same movie, because now the fifty mil in releasing costs makes more sense. Then some genius says: 'What if we spend a hundred million on a film?' The cost of P and A basically doesn't change too much, so now we have a great deal. A hundred-mil blockbuster, and only fifty is backing the bet. Pretty soon everybody was buying into that."