Loser's Town (15 page)

Spandau watched a similar incident on the set of a music-video shooting in Compton. The young director had decided to shoot ‘on the streets’ but had no idea the complexity of such a thing. The star was Raissha Bowles, a small and painfully shy girl who’d hired Coren’s to keep an aggressive ex-boyfriend off her back. The boyfriend
showed up with several compatriots one afternoon, demanding access to Raissha. Normally it wouldn’t have been much of a problem, but the boyfriend was vocal about it and his friends began stirring up the crowd, who started chanting, ‘Show us Raissha! Show us Raissha!’ Things were about to turn ugly, and inside her trailer Raissha was having a meltdown. The boyfriend boldly pushed through the security picket as guards looked toward Matt Kimons, the guy in charge of the security group that day. Spandau asked Matt what the hell he was going to do now, and Matt laughed and said, ‘Watch this.’ Matt looked over at Terry McGuinn, who’d been standing quietly and inconspicuously in a corner, reading a book. Matt motioned to him and Terry went over. Matt said to him, ‘Don’t hurt him,’ and Terry nodded and went over to the boyfriend just as he crossed the cordon. Terry stood in front of the boyfriend, looking up at him. The boyfriend had at least a foot and a hundred pounds on Terry. The guy looked like a wall. He looked down at Terry and laughed, and then looked at the crowd and the crowd laughed. Great fun. The boyfriend took another step forward, as if to brush Terry aside. The moment he touched Terry, Terry grabbed his shirt and his belt, and, in the neatest little aikido move Spandau had ever witnessed, magically waltzed the boyfriend in a circle and back on the other side of the cordon. The boyfriend had no idea what had happened. In fact, hardly anybody did. It was done so fast and smoothly it looked like magic. The boyfriend tried
it again, and again the same thing happened. Then he took a couple of swipes at Terry, all of which would have brained him if they’d connected, but somehow they never did. The blows seemed to move right through the little bastard somehow. The boyfriend did this over and over with the same results. By this time, the crowd was laughing at him now. It looked ridiculous. The single retirement-age cop standing by had called for backup and sirens were heard. His friends grabbed Raissha’s boyfriend and swept him into the crowd. By the time the cops arrived it was history.

‘Where the hell did you learn to do that?’ Spandau asked Terry.

Terry just said, ‘Misspent youth,’ and went back to his corner, where he pulled out a paperback copy of Tolkien’s
Unfinished Tales
and began to read as if nothing had happened.

‘Beautiful, ain’t he?’ Matt said to Spandau. ‘Anybody else had tried to do that, we’d’ve had a fucking riot. It’s weird, but the little shit’s size is actually an advantage. He goes up against a 250-pound bruiser and when the guy can’t lay a glove on him, the bigger guy looks like a fucking idiot. I know real hard-asses who won’t mess with the guy because he embarrasses ’em. They’d rather get the crap beat out of them by somebody their own size than dance around with Terry. It’s like fucking ballet.’

It was a point well taken, and Spandau used Terry often. Or at least whenever Terry felt like working. Coren didn’t
like him, however. ‘He’s a liability, that drunken little bogtrotter,’ Coren said to Spandau. ‘You want him, then he’s your fucking responsibility. But it’ll come out bad one day, I’m warning you now. The little bastard likes trouble.’

‘I’ve seen him go out of his way to avoid it.’

‘Yeah, but he’s always right there when it starts, isn’t he? Those three guys he clobbered in Wrightwood, does it ever occur to you he could’ve just walked out of there? That he waited until one of them touched him and he could claim self-defense? Did you ever think maybe he wanted them to start something? No,’ said Coren, ‘there’ll be some shit to pay yet, you mark my words. Meanwhile keep him out of my sight.’

Spandau was approaching Terry’s sailboat when he heard a woman yell inside, then come stomping out onto the deck. She was beautiful and young. Terry liked actresses. This one was half-dressed and trying to pull on her clothes. She was unused to the boat and kept stumbling over things. Finally she tried climbing onto the dock and couldn’t make it. She glared at Spandau.

‘Well, are you going to stand there like an idiot or are you going to help me?’

Spandau helped her up and she finished pulling on her clothes.

‘I take it Terry is home?’ he asked her.

‘Are you a friend of the miserable little son of a bitch? Or maybe a fucking bill collector. He owes everybody in the county. I hope you break his goddamn legs. Let me
watch, will you? No, Jesus, don’t tell me. All I can say is, if you already know him and you’re coming back, you deserve whatever happens to you.’

Terry popped up on deck.

‘Eve, my darling girl,’ he said in a thick Irish brogue, ‘you can’t be leaving me?’

Eve looked around for something to throw. She took off her shoe again and threw that at him. He ducked, but she rapidly threw the other one and hit him.

‘Ouch!’ Terry grabbed his forehead, where the shoe had left a mark.

‘Ha! I’m sorry I didn’t blind you.’

Eve hobbled barefoot down the splintery dock toward the parking lot.

‘A minor domestic dispute,’ Terry said. ‘Accused me of sleeping with her best friend. Can you imagine.’

‘Did you?’

‘Oh, of course. But it strikes me as damned bad manners that the bitch should have told her.’

Spandau made his way onto the boat and sat down in a lawnchair. Terry scratched his bare chest and watched Eve walk off into the sunset. Terry was a romantic and fell in love easily and frequently. Women loved him as well, though they never quite managed to like him. He seemed to collect them the way he collected belts in various obscure martial arts.

‘I’ve got a job for you,’ Spandau said to him.

‘I don’t want one,’ Terry said. ‘Last was that fellow with
the baseball bat. Had to have the cap on my left molar replaced.’

‘That was your fault. I warned you.’

‘Yes, but your timing was imperfect. One somehow expects a warning before and not after.’

‘You broke his arm.’

‘Well I had to take the bloody bat away from him, didn’t I? No, David, me lad, you hang around with the wrong type of people. I think it’s skewing your world view. Have a drink anyway and then run along home. Eve’s girlfriend is due in the next little bit.’

Spandau followed Terry down into the cabin. Spandau was a big man and he didn’t like boats. He fumbled around looking for a place to sit where his head wasn’t in danger. Terry darted about like a water sprite and fetched up a bottle of Jameson’s. He scurried about a while longer and located two Waterford crystal glasses. Terry took his drinking seriously.

‘How the hell do you live in this place? It’s like a shoebox.’

‘It’s paid for and cheaper than an apartment. And one can put to sea at the first sign of irate husbands or overaggressive creditors. Slainte!’

They drank.

‘I have a client who’s being blackmailed.’

‘Someone juicy, is it?’

‘Bobby Dye.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Terry, delighted.

‘I need your help. You ever hear of a guy named Richie Stella?’

‘Heard but never made the acquaintance of. Is he blackmailing Dye?’

‘There’s a roll of film we need to get back.’

‘My suggestion is that you find a polite way of throwing your client to the wolves. Stella is connected to the mob. But of course you already know that, hence that melancholy look you get.’

‘You’re the only one I can trust.’

‘Which means you need some stupid mick to get his head bashed in for you.’

‘The money is good.’

‘What good is money without peace of mind, I ask you? This sounds neither peaceful nor healthy. You find yourself in a rare and ugly situation.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘You’re as likely as me buggering the holy Pope himself to get all the copies back.’

‘Uh-huh. Double your last fee, by the way.’

Terry smiled. ‘Is it the effects of drink or did the conversation suddenly become more interesting?’

‘And perhaps a healthy bonus if we can pull this off.’

‘Do you have any idea what you’re going to do? Or should I be contrite for asking?’

‘Well, I do have the seedlings of a cunning plan.’

‘Ah. And would this cunning plan involve the pride of the McGuinns?’

‘It would.’

‘I suppose I might as well hear it, before I politely refuse. I’m a gentleman of leisure, after all.’

‘As you say, good luck getting all the copies back. On the other hand, Richie is onto a gold mine here and he’s not interested in showing them around. He’s not about to surrender them all, but he’s not likely to let anybody else see them either. Stop me if I’m not making sense.’

‘Oh dear heart, if I was held to that you’d fain utter a word.’

‘Anyway, it’s only Richie who can tie Bobby to the dead girl, right?’

‘There’s a dead girl?’ Terry asked.

‘A very dead one.’

‘How Dashiell Hammett,’ said Terry. ‘Pray go on.’

‘So we need to think of some way to discourage Richie from ever using the film.’

‘Ah, grand. It’s murder and mayhem you’re up to now. And me sitting here starting to get bored.’

‘What if we blackmail him in return.’

‘Sure,’ said Terry, ‘and you’ve pictures of him having carnal knowledge of the family dog?’

‘Not yet. But he’s got his fingers into all kinds of grungy little pies. There’s bound to be some dirt we can use.’

‘If you’ll pardon my suggestion,’ offered Terry, ‘why don’t we just kneecap the filthy cocksucker, wrap him in baling wire and drop him off a bridge? Call me sentimental, but that’s the way we’d do it back on the Old Sod.’

‘That was my backup plan.’

‘You Yanks lack all sense of proportion. You’ve no sense of efficiency or political necessity. It’s the fatally cold beer that does it.’

‘Be that as it may, we need to dig up something on Richie Stella.’

‘And this would involve someone sticking their nose into his potato patch?’

‘It would.’

‘I begin to see the drift of this conversation. And the minute someone starts asking the questions, wouldn’t our Mr Stella know about it and become perturbed?’

‘Is that a bad thing?’

‘Only if you don’t mind getting just a wee bit kneecapped and tossed off a bridge yourself.’

‘Nah, Richie’s no killer. At least not until the last resort. He doesn’t want that much heat, and, anyway, it’s not his style. He’d have somebody lean on them first.’

‘But what if he’s pushed? He might panic.’

‘One could but hope.’

‘Oh, but it’s a dandy plan, isn’t it? Throw Richie into a snit and hope he does something stupid that we can nail him on? Aggravate him until he tries to kill you? David, me old son, there’s no career for you in diplomacy.’

‘Actually I was thinking more along the lines of letting him try to kill you. While I pursue other avenues of inquiry.’

‘That’s right, sacrifice the bloody little bogtrotter. History only repeats itself.’

‘Erin go bragh,’ said Spandau.

‘Get stuffed, you miserable gobshite. Where am I supposed to initiate this suicide mission?’

‘There’s a girl who manages the club. You might start there.’

‘You think she’ll talk to me?’

‘No, but it’ll certainly put a bug up Richie’s ass when she tells him about it.’

Terry raised his glass in a toast. ‘To the blessed St Teresa of Ávila and the souls of all fallen warriors!’

‘Here, here!’

‘And to the filthy swine Richard Stella, may God not grant him any more wit than he has at this moment.’

They drank.

Eight

Terry and Eve stood in line outside the Voodoo Room.

‘Why am I here? Tell me again,’ Eve demanded.

‘Because you’re gorgeous, me darling. And you’ll meet lots of important folk once we’re inside. You’ll be free as a bird to fly about, charming all the royalty of Hollywood and finally becoming the star you deserve to be. I’m doing this because I’m mad for you.’

‘You’re doing this because you’re an ugly little hooligan and they wouldn’t let you in otherwise.’

‘That cuts me to the bone, though I couldn’t fault your suspicions,’ he said.

‘As long as you know that if I meet a director, I’m leaving your ass.’

‘And won’t I treasure the fleeting moments we have left.’

‘I cannot believe I fall for shit like this.’

‘Saints be praised. And show a bit of cleavage, would you, we’re approaching the door.’

The place was packed as usual. Terry bought drinks and he and Eve stood near the bar, checking out the room. Terry was looking for the blonde Spandau had described. Eve was looking for a golden career opportunity. Eve was having better luck.

‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘I think it’s Russell Crowe.’ She turned to Terry. ‘How do I look?’

‘Like the golden apples of the sun,’ he said offhandedly, not taking his eyes off the crowd.

‘Fucking right,’ she said, and went forth to bag her prey.

Terry had only been to the Voodoo Room once before. It was exactly the sort of place he hated: loud, impersonal and utterly pretentious. Full of showbiz types and wannabes, and underneath the music and the perfect pulsing bodies was a sense of desperation. Like the line outside, even here you were In or Out. It was so important to be In. Terry sipped his Jameson’s and wondered how long this would take. Maybe she wasn’t here. That would involve coming back again. Or again. Jesus, he thought. I should never have let that bastard Spandau talk me into this.