The Big Bamboo (22 page)

Ford trotted back to his buddies, holding up an open cell phone. “She wants to meet later.”

The night wore on, party after party. They headed east on Wilshire, Ford the big topic of conversation in the car. They wanted all the juicy details.

“She’s really down to earth. Not stuck-up like they say in the magazines.”

“What’s the deal with this mysterious romantic rendezvous you’re supposed to go to later?” asked Tino.

“Has a few places she needs to hit first for public relations. Her agent set them up. But after that, she wants to get together.”

“Aren’t you glad you came out with us now?” said Ray.

“Looks like your luck has finally changed,” said Tino.

Pedro pulled into a fast-food drive-through.

“May I take your order?”

“Hey, Ford,” said Pedro. “What time were you supposed to call Ally?”

“Oh, shit!” Ford flipped open his phone.

“Give it up!”

The guys turned around.

The morning after.

Roommates scrambled inside a third-floor unit of the Alto Nido apartments. Pedro ransacked the top drawer of Ford’s dresser. “Where’s that number for his attorney?”

“It has to be here somewhere!” said Ray.

“I can’t believe they arrested him,” said Tino, rifling papers next to a typewriter.

“I think they just took him into custody for questioning,” said Pedro.

“Same thing.”

“Here it is,” said Mark. “Rodney Demopolis.”

Police headquarters. Interrogation Room C.

“And that’s the whole story,” said Ford. “You have to believe me.”

“I do,” said Detective Babcock. “Want another soda?”

Ford shook his head.

“Sounds like you just had a rough night. But you have to understand how this looks from our side. I need to fill in some blanks.”

“Like what?”

“You said you were recently fired. Our officers talked to some people at the studio this morning. They said you made threats and security had to throw you off the property.”

“I was just excited. They didn’t need those guards. I would have left anyway.”

Babcock wrote something. “Tell me again about when you phoned the guys who robbed you. Sorry for saying this, but it sounds really, well, stupid. Why would anyone do that?”

“I was drunk. I wanted to get laid.”

The division’s lieutenant watched from behind the two-way mirror. A speaker on the wall piped in the conversation. A corporal with a handful of documents opened the door. “Lieutenant, some of the suspect’s co-workers voluntarily showed up and signed affidavits that they witnessed the robbery of his cell phone.”

“Let me see those.”

Another corporal opened the door. “Lieutenant. Just heard from the mobile company. Story checks out about the stolen phone. Several calls have been made on that number since we took him into custody.”

“Thank you.”

“Sir…”

“What?”

“His attorney’s here.”

“He hasn’t asked for one.”

The corporal shrugged. “He’s outside. Demands to talk to his client. Says file charges or release him.”

Ford folded his hands on top of the table to keep them from shaking. “Can I go now?”

“Not just yet,” said the detective. “We’re almost done. How would you feel about a polygraph?”

“But you said you believed me.”

“I do. That’s why I want a polygraph, to eliminate you as a suspect.”

“I’m pretty nervous. Won’t that throw it off?”

“We ask some baseline questions that take it into account. Don’t worry; it’s not admissible.”

“Okay,” said Ford. “I’ll do it.”

Detective Reamsnyder came in the room. “That asshole confess yet?”

“Will you take it easy? He’s a good kid.”

Reamsnyder sat on the corner of the desk. “Got some news. Cellular company said his phone’s been used since we’ve had him here.”

“There you go,” said Babcock. “It was stolen, just like he said.”

“Only means he has an accomplice.”

“He’s going to take a polygraph.”

“No, he’s not,” said Reamsnyder.

“What do you mean?”

“His lawyer’s here. Lieutenant says release him.”

Babcock pursed his lips in frustration and pushed his chair back from the table. “Looks like you’re free to go.”

“Really? Cool!” Ford jumped up and headed for the door.

“Hey, shithead,” Reamsnyder called after him. “Don’t leave town.”

HOLLYWOOD—The nation remains stunned by this weekend’s abduction of Vistamax actress Ally Street from a crowded Sunset Boulevard sidewalk.

Despite the brazen nature of the crime in front of dozens of witnesses, police have only partial and conflicting descriptions of the assailants, which they attribute to high substance levels and general chaos at that hour on the strip.

“We thought they were filming a movie,” said one tourist from St. Paul. “It almost seemed real.”

“The screaming and desperate cries for help are what got my attention,” said another visitor from Akron. “But it turned out to be something else.”

The motive for the kidnapping remains a mystery, and investigators report receiving no ransom demands or other communication from the abductors. However, sources close to the actress maintain they have every reason to believe Street is still alive and are hoping for the best.

“We’re hoping for the best,” said Tori Gersh, Street’s agent and publicist. Gersh made the comments during her fifth press conference since the incident, where she also thanked well-wishers for the thousands of cards and stuffed animals before breaking into sobs again and handing the microphone to Vistamax co-owner Mel Glick, who refused to take questions and read a brief statement: “While the importance of movies cannot be overstated, this type of tragedy puts everything in perspective. The studio’s employees and shareholders continue to pray for the safe return of a beloved member of the Vistamax family. Meanwhile, what can the public do? If Ally was here, I know she’d want all of us to keep going to the theaters. Otherwise, the kidnappers win.”

The producers and publicist were then rushed to a waiting limo while police escorts cleared a path through the crush of reporters, fans and unemployed onlookers who remain encamped outside the studio gates, where the scene has taken on a virtual circus-like atmosphere, because of the sword-swallowers and cotton-candy carts. Meanwhile, distraught celebrities have been seen coming and going through the gates at all hours, including boy-band heartthrob Jason Geddy, who almost dated Street and is reported to be in seclusion at the Viper Room.

In a separate development, already rampant rumors spiked yesterday when police briefly took into custody an unnamed low-level employee from the studio’s props department, who was reportedly stalking Street and observed harassing her at Skybar just hours before the abduction. Police later released the suspect, who was immediately swarmed by reporters outside police headquarters.

“I don’t know what’s going on. Please, leave me alone,” said the young man, whom the entertainment press has been able to identify as The Stalker Ford Oelman.

In light of the actress’s disappearance, filming of All That Glitters has been indefinitely suspended again.

“We were going to shoot around her,” said a Potemkin spokesperson. “But we decided it would send the wrong message.”

Vistamax Studios, office of the Glick brothers.

Mel paced and waved his arms. “Of all the crazy things!”

Ian stared up at the wall, whining to the giant oil portrait of his grandfather. “What are we going to do?”

Tori Gersh sat quietly in a chair across from their desks. “Get a grip.”

Mel opened a drawer. “How can you be so calm?”

“Because there’s nothing else we can do. Falling apart won’t solve anything.” She checked the time. “Did you tell your secretary?”

Ian nodded. “The call comes directly in here. She’s not supposed to answer it under any circumstances.”

“Why doesn’t the phone ring?” said Mel.

The phone rang. The brothers jumped.

“Let me handle this,” said Tori.

Ian looked at the caller ID. “Ford Oelman? Where have I heard that name?”

“Shhhh!” said Tori. She picked up the phone. “Hello?…”

“I remember,” said Mel. “That kid from props with the screenplay. He was on the news.”

“That’s right,” said Ian. “The Stalker Ford Oelman.”

Tori waved for them to be quiet. “Yes, I’m still here…No, we haven’t called the police…That was the Glicks you heard…”

Mel pointed. “But what’s his name doing on our caller ID?”

Tori covered the phone. “Shut up or you’re going to fuck this!” She uncovered the phone. “I’m back…Nothing’s wrong…I have the hundred thousand right here…”—she glanced down at the briefcase by her feet—“…I understand…Yes, I have a pen…Uh-huh, uh-huh…Got it. I’m on my way.”

She hung up. The brothers were leaning forward. “So?”

“So, I have to hurry. Only got thirty minutes.” She reached down and grabbed the briefcase handle.

“What’s the plan?”

“I pay.”

“That’s the plan?” said Mel.

“This isn’t one of your stupid movies!” She got up and headed across the room.

“It’s our money!”

“I have to go.” Tori opened the door. Betty was standing there. With two detectives. “I was just about to knock,” said the secretary. “These two gentlemen…”

They entered the room without invitation. “You have a minute?” asked Babcock.

“Why? I mean sure,” said Ian.

Tori headed out into the lobby.

“You, too,” said Reamsnyder.

She turned around. “Me?”

“Just a few questions.”

“But I’m late…”—glancing at her watch—“…an appointment.”

“Only take a minute,” said Babcock.

“What’s in the briefcase?” asked Reamsnyder.

“Papers.”

“You’re gripping the handle pretty hard.”

Tori exhaled and came back to the office. “This kidnapping business has me on edge.”

“Understandable…Have a seat.”

Tori sat. So did the brothers. The detectives stayed standing, for the edge.

“How can we help?” asked Ian.

Babcock walked across the room and stared out the window. “You haven’t gotten a call from the kidnappers, have you?”

Mel opened his mouth.

“No,” Tori said quickly.

Reamsnyder walked to the other side of the room and stared up at the oil painting. “You’d tell us if you did?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” said Ian.

“Because kidnappers always say, ‘No police.’”

“And that’s always a mistake,” said Babcock, surreptitiously pressing the caller ID button on Ian’s message machine. FORD OELMAN. “Friends and relatives think it’s less risky if the authorities aren’t involved.”

“But they’re wrong,” said Reamsnyder. “They don’t understand the kind of people they’re dealing with. Going it alone is very dangerous.”

“Costs lives,” said Babcock. “Seen it over and over.”

“Would you object to us wiring your office?” asked Reamsnyder.

“Yes,” said Mel. “I mean no. I mean sure. Go ahead.”

Tori shot him a look. Mel shrugged at her behind the detectives’ backs.

“Excuse me,” said Tori. “I read somewhere they now have devices that can detect that kind of thing. We don’t want to endanger Ally.”

“Our new equipment is more advanced.”

“Put in whatever you want,” said Mel.

Tori glared again.

“Great,” said Babcock. “I’ll call the audio guys.”

A shiny black Porsche 911 Cabriolet sat at a red light.

Tori was wearing a bright red scarf, like the phone call had instructed. Curved, smoky sunglasses. The call didn’t mention that.

She looked down at her own shorthand note: Sunset, west. Alone.
Cell phone. Roof open. Briefcase, passenger floor.

The light turned green. Tori accelerated through Cahuenga and Highland, precisely the speed limit. Out the top of the car: towering palm trees and towering billboards for the new Hanks movie, the new Zellweger movie, the old Affleck movie coming to a video store near you. Through a yellow light at Fairfax, Tori growing worried. She checked the phone in her lap to make sure it was on.

The Porsche took the left bend in the road at the Marmont. Okay, something was clearly wrong. What spooked them? A police tail? Maybe the detectives knew more than they were letting on. She checked her rearview.

The 8000 block, hills getting steeper. Swank canyon homes peeked down into the car. So did the man with binoculars on the top floor of the “Riot” Hyatt, where Zeppelin raced motorcycles through the halls. He was dialing a cell phone.

This is definitely a bust, thought Tori. She was looking over her shoulder for a U-turn when the phone rang. She fumbled it in her hands and it almost went out the window. “…Hello?”

Tori listened. “La Cienega?…” She looked up at the street sign of the intersection she was just about to cross:
La Cienega
. Brakes squealed. The Porsche skidded up the sidewalk, tires rubbing the curb. A startled pack of tourists jumped back. Except one. He vaulted the closed door on the right side of the Porsche and landed in the passenger seat.

“Drive.”

A rattled Tori threw the sports car back in gear and nearly sideswiped a Gray Line bus. The man grabbed the briefcase on the floor next to his feet. “Is this for me?”

What’s taking her so long?” said Ian.

The door opened.

“Tori!”

“Did you give them the money?”

“Where’s Ally?”

Tori plopped down in a chair. “He scared the hell out of me.”

“What happened?” said Ian.

“Jumped in my car.”

“Jumped in your car?”

“Dressed like a tourist,” said Tori. “Made me drive all over the place to make sure there wasn’t a tail. We ended up in the Hertz lot by the airport.”