The Down and Out Read online

  “Time to skedaddle,” Don said.

  Charlie and Jay pointed at him. Lomax, behind the wheel, aimed his sightless eye at Sam. In the seat behind Lomax, a bearded man raised a handgun.

  Don quickly got behind the wheel, crowding Sam into the passenger seat. “I’m driving. Move your ass.”

  “Just get us out of here,” Sam said.

  Two blasts of gunfire echoed sharply under the overpass. Bullet impacts sounded like steel boots kicking the frame of the Impala.

  Don hit the gas and ran the Impala in reverse full speed down the inclined driveway. Sam turned around to see they were headed right for the black Skylark. Lomax and his muscle stared at them in surprise before dropping down in their seats.

  “Don’t,” Sam whispered, bracing himself for the impending T-bone. It was too late for the seatbelt.

  Don gripped the bottom of the steering wheel. When the Impala jumped the curb, Don stomped the clutch and spun the wheel. Sam felt like he was on some ice-covered road in Cedar Rapids, spinning out of control.

  “Whoo hoo!” Don yelled, shifting into gear at the tail of his turn.

  Lomax’s head popped up as he peered over the steering wheel. Don hurled something out his window as he sped by the Skylark. The object smashed into the Skylark’s front windshield.

  “Suck on that, Lomax!” Don yelled.

  “What the hell did you throw?” Sam asked.

  “I found that brick.”

  Don squealed across all three lanes just in time to make the Glendale Freeway on-ramp.

  “Nice driving,” Sam said.

  “I told you. I’m the best. Too bad the tires are low on this heap,” Don said. “Slows me down.”

  Sam looked out the back to see the Skylark already on their tail.

  The Buick’s passenger leaned out his window, gun in hand. Sam ducked low in the seat. The Chevy’s back windshield erupted in a startling explosion of glass. Don cut the wheel sharp to the left. Horns honked as the Impala came within inches of the front bumpers of oncoming cars.

  The Skylark tried to copy and smacked into the tail end of a Prius.

  “Yeah!” Don yelled. “One-eyed bastard don’t see for shit even with a good windshield.”

  Sam spotted the skyline of downtown miles ahead. The sharp tower of the Wilshire Grand jutted up to the heavens like a stiletto. Yesterday he sat at the top of that building with Leonides, lapping up twenty-dollar drinks.

  “Can we get to Skid Row?” Sam asked.

  Don glanced at him. “You kidding? That’s where Carlos was gonna turn you into tent toast.”

  “My one shot at living is down there,” Sam said.

  Marvin knocked on Shawnee’s door. There was no answer. He turned the knob and looked inside. Her laptop was open on the desk.

  “Shawnee?” Marvin said. He couldn’t wait for this nightmare to be over with. I’ve got over fifty IMDb credits and here I am forced to be some con artists’ key butt-boy. Stupid Vegas. Stupid me. I’m never going to that neon pit again. “Shawnee? You here?”

  Shawnee stepped out of her office’s bathroom. “Can’t I have a little privacy around here?”

  Marvin was speechless. Shawnee looked phenomenal. She wore a white sleeveless blouse that revealed the sweet spot between her bellybutton and skirt. It was a button down, and it wasn’t buttoned till way, way down. Marvin was certain she wasn’t wearing a bra. Any sudden movements and Shawnee could have a clothing malfunction of boob-tacular proportions.

  “Hey!” Shawnee said, snapping her fingers.

  “What?” Marvin felt like he’d awakened out of a hypnotic trance.

  “You’re ogling me. Don’t ever do that again, got it?”

  “Sorry. Got it. Uhm, everything cool with the new office?”

  “Beggars and choosers. You had to move everything last night?”

  “Yeah. Check Entertainment took over our space in the Garcia Building. A producer I know, Joanne Rosen, has your old office. That’s what happens when your show gets cancelled. You make room for the new show. We were lucky to get these digs next door to our old ones.”

  Rachel was operating on zero sleep. She was more worried about Sam than she’d ever been before. It was hard for her to not be out looking for him right now. The grift had to continue, though. If Sam were here she knew he’d tell her the same thing.

  She was grateful that Loto was out on the hunt for him. Even so, she didn’t need to witness another bloody interrogation. She’d closed her eyes, but not in time.

  Rachel sat down on the couch and poured the last cup of coffee out of her thermos. “I may have to send you on another coffee run, Marvin.”

  “Sure,” Marvin said.

  Rachel saw the flash of anger cross Marvin’s face. She could guess he didn’t like running errands for her. From what she’d learned about editing over the past week, the job required a lot of talent and patience. It wasn’t for your typical Hollywood player who wanted the fast track to fame without working too hard for it.

  She still needed Marvin. He was a carrot and stick kind of guy, so she yo-yoed him. She was kind, flattering, then smacked him back down. “You did a good job setting up our new offices, Marvin.”

  “I just want to get this over with and move on. It’s kind of ruining my life, you know?”

  “That’s not my problem. Did you knock on my door to whine like a little bitch or did you have something to tell me?”

  “Just that Leonides called. He’ll be here in fifteen.”

  “Great. Fifteen minutes early.”

  A goateed man in a security uniform appeared behind Marvin. “Excuse me.”

  “Yes?” Rachel didn’t need more surprises, but it was turning out to be that kind of forty-eight hours.

  “We’re doing a door-to-door check. Is everyone alright here?”

  Marvin shrugged. “Everything’s cool here. Something going on?”

  “A woman was attacked this morning in the Garcia Building next door.”

  “What room?” Marvin asked.

  “First floor. That’s all I can tell you.”

  Marvin turned to Rachel, looking like he swallowed a bug.

  “Try to keep your main door locked,” the man said, “and don’t buzz in any strangers.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Rachel asked. “I hope it wasn’t Joanne. She always comes in early.”

  The security guard considered. “I guess I can tell you she’s shaken up pretty bad. We’re asking folks to practice caution when letting people in.”

  “Whoever did this is still loose?”

  “It looks that way. Caution, okay?”

  “We will. Thank you.”

  Rachel kept smiling appreciatively until the man was out of sight.

  “Was that meant for us?” Marvin said quickly.

  “Close the door, Marvin,” Rachel said. She took another gulp of coffee. “Lock it, too. And keep your voice down.”

  Marvin glanced up and down the hallway before quietly shutting the door and flipping the lock. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Was that attack meant for us?”

  Rachel laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody wants to hurt us. Scratch that. Nobody wants to hurt me. If you start freaking out and mess up what I’ve got going on here, Stanley Ng is going to have Loto do the same thing to your neck that he did to your finger.”

  Marvin paced. “Look. I’m playing along. I’m doing what’s asked. But none of it’s going to matter if I get killed.”

  “Killed? The guy said someone got shaken up. No one’s been killed. Marvin, if you can keep it together for the next couple days, you can walk away from this with a clean slate.”

  Rachel knew that last part was a lie. When she and Sam walked away, Marvin’s fate, and his debt, would still be in Stanley’s hands.

  When Sam and I walk away.

  It hit her hard. Rachel had to turn her back to Marvin and regai
n her composure. Maybe we won’t be walking away, at least not together. What if I don’t find Sam? How will I leave when he’s still out there somewhere? We’d talked about this before, something happening to one of us. This just can’t be real.

  “Everything alright, Shawnee?” Marvin asked.

  Rachel kept her back to Marvin while she wiped tears out of eyes. “Yes. These new contact lenses. Still getting used to them.”

  “Stick with glasses. They give you character.”

  Rachel’s office phone rang. Marvin picked it up. He listened for a moment and turned to Rachel. “Leonides is here.”

  “He’s early. I thought everyone was late for meetings in Hollywood.”

  “Everyone but editors and desperate kooks.”

  Rachel sighed deeply. “Okay, let him in. And—” she added, digging into her pocketbook, “—can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  “I fly, you buy, huh? Sounds good to me.” Marvin took her money.

  She handed him her thermos. “Fill ’er up.”

  Marvin hesitated at the door. Rachel waited for him to say something. Instead, Marvin turned and walked away.

  What was that all about? It would have to wait. Rachel didn’t have time to worry about Marvin.

  Rachel sat behind her desk and did a quick bit of research on her laptop while waiting for the mark named Mark. She glanced at her cell phone. No messages from Loto. No word about Sam.

  She’d had to rework her approach to Leonides. With Sam’s presence in doubt, she couldn’t go off the same script. She knew she looked good, thanks to her Prada blouse and her deep green suede mini skirt. These should drop Leonides’ IQ by a few points. For Rachel the clincher was the knockoff Louboutin heels. The rest would be easy. All she just had to do was push all her emotions down deep and con this sucker.

  Rachel looked at the image on her laptop. She’d found a press photo of producer Joanne Rosen, the woman who had taken over her old office. She was a pretty redhead, mid-twenties. She and Rachel could pass for cousins. Anyone going off just a physical description could easily mistake one for the other. Was it possible that Philadelphia had tracked her down to the lot? She had little doubt that the attack on Joanne Rosen was meant for her.

  There was a knock at Rachel’s door. She took a deep breath.

  “Come in.”

  Marvin shut the door to his edit room. “Want some coffee?” he asked. “I’m making a coffee run.”

  Lynn, his fiancée, studied him. “She’s sending you out to get her coffee now? You going to wash her car, too?”

  “She’s buying,” Marvin said half-heartedly.

  “Did you tell her I’m here?”

  “I was going to, but something happened.”

  “Yeah, you chickened out. Doesn’t matter anyway. I’m going in there and we’re going to talk about this situation you stupided yourself into. You need to stand up for yourself.”

  Marvin hated it when Lynn berated him like he was one of her high school students. She was the only person in the world truly in his corner, though. “I don’t know, Lynn. I have a feeling her meeting today is a big deal. If I screw this up for her, bad things could happen to me.” Marvin held up his plastered hand. “Again.”

  Lynn shook her head. “They’re cheating you, Marvin. Whatever you got yourself into, it ends today. No matter what happens to Red and her meeting.”

  “Man, driving was nice while it lasted.”

  “You sure we’re walking the right way?” Sam said. “It looks too nice to be Skid Row.”

  “Oh yeah. I’ve done my time in these parts. We’ll be strolling down Cocaine Alley soon enough.”

  “Cocaine Alley?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. There’s lots of folks there just down on their luck, living clean. Whole families even. It’s messed up, man. Not all the people down here are getting high. But enough do it to make it real scary for the rest.”

  Sam kept glancing over his shoulder. He thought they’d lost Lomax on the freeway after the Skylark sideswiped another car. When the freeway emptied out near Dodger Stadium, Sam was sure he saw the Skylark a block behind.

  Their Impala died as they entered downtown. Sam and Don bolted, leaving the Impala and dozens of honking motorists behind.

  It was hot. They walked by the Disney Concert Hall, a metallic other-worldly structure that reflected sunlight like a magnifying glass. The world-famous California sun was a good time if you had suntan lotion and air conditioning. If you were left to the elements, it was a fiery monster that would fry you right down to the unprotected soles of your feet. Sam didn’t care how ugly and blister-inducing his shoes were. He wouldn’t have gone far without them.

  “This way,” Don said.

  Sam followed Don onto Sixth Street and everything changed. Gone were the massive banks and concert halls, the corner eateries and boutiques. Instead, the sidewalks were lined with tents and sleeping bags. People walked down the middle of the street like they were in a daze. Cars just drove around them.

  The smell hit Sam like a slap.

  “You get used to it,” Don said, noticing his reaction. “You know what they say. ‘When you gotta go, you gotta go.’”

  Sam jumped as a cat-sized rat walked past him. “I want to make this quick. I need a phone, and I need to find the Downtown Rescue Mission.”

  “Downtown Rescue is straight ahead,” Don said. Sam looked to see fliers for the Mission pasted on the sides of the buildings. “As for phones, the city hands out cell phones but they’re hard to hold onto out here. Got to show a permanent residence to get a smart phone. Just keep your eyes open for one.”

  Sam saw a woman and a young girl crouched near a tent, talking on a cell phone. Sam pointed at her. “What do you think?”

  “Couldn’t hurt to ask. Hope it doesn’t cost more than…” Don paused to dig in his pocket. He pulled out some crumpled bills and examined them. “Three dollars. ’Cause that’s all we got left.”

  Sam walked over to her. The woman kept her eyes locked on him the whole time. “Excuse me. Can I use your phone? I can pay you.”

  Don held out the money. She stared at it. “How do I know you won’t run off with my phone? I need this phone.”

  “You can hold my shoes for collateral.”

  The woman checked out Sam’s Adidas. “You’re too white to be wearing neon-green Adidas. Take ’em off and sit.”

  Sam took off his shoes and sat on the edge of the curb. He noticed that her little space of the sidewalk was clean. A ragged broom leaned nearby against a giant elm tree.

  “The money.”

  Don gave the woman the last of their cash. She quickly jammed the bills into her jean pocket. She handed Sam the phone. “You got five minutes.”

  Sam dialed the number that was on the flier. The mom and her daughter watched him intently.

  “Can I speak with Josh Greynight?” Sam realized that not only the whole con, but the rest of his life, could be riding on this phone call. “Tell him it’s Clay Morrison. Tell him I’m calling with my regards from Reed Bennek.”

  Rachel’s face was buried in her hands. “Stupid,” she whispered. “So stupid.”

  Leonides watched her rise up from behind her desk and look out the picture window. Rachel was aware of Leonides’ eyes roaming all over her body. It was part of the plan, but it still creeped her out.

  “I loved the script. Harris needed the money. We made a deal.” Leonides’ tone clearly suggested he wanted to comfort her. “I hope you’re not upset, Shawnee.”

  She turned to face him. Geez Louise, he doesn’t stop staring at my boobs even when he knows he’s caught.

  “I’m disappointed,” Rachel said. “In Harris. I know his marriage is on the rocks and his wife kicked him out. I also know Harris is a spender.”

  “I gathered.”

  “And now he’s a fraud.”

  Leonides sifted on the couch. “He’s a what?”

  Rach
el walked back to her desk. She made sure to brush up against Leonides’ knee on the way past. She pulled open a drawer and took out a paperback book. She placed it on the desktop. “Needless to say, I loved Joystick to Hell. I’m still not sure how I let the option run out. This TV show has been a brain drain, so maybe I got distracted.”

  “Marvin mentioned it’s been a tough ride.”

  “Harris and I have partnered up before, as you know. Reed almost made another script we owned. I take what Harris did personally. It’s shameful he’d rip-off an up-and-coming talent like yourself.”

  Rachel watched Leonides’ sandblasted face turn red. “I need you to explain what you’re talking about. I optioned Joystick. It’s mine for the next six months. My lawyer looked over the paperwork.”

  “The logline for Joystick appeared on Harris’ website. I was listed as his producing partner. At least that part was true. He even talked about Joystick in one of his webinars on screenwriting. The balls on that guy,” Rachel said. She chuckled bitterly. “I got a call from a self-published novelist. He said Joystick sounded a lot like his book. This book.”

  Rachel was going to toss Leonides the book, but she didn’t want to make him look bad in case he fumbled it like a dork. She walked it over to him instead. “See for yourself, Doctor.”

  He looked her over, from patella to clavicle, as he took the book. “The Gentleman’s Guide to Cashing Out,” he said, reading the cover. “Titles are different.” He looked at the spine. “Arbor Lane Publishers. Never heard of them.”

  “No one has. It’s self-published.”

  “That’s what I assumed.”

  Plus I already told you that. Rachel watched Leonides open the book and scan the pages. She walked back to her desk and checked her cell phone. She had a text from Loto.

  Getting closer.

  She stared at the words. She’d imagined all the horrible things she could’ve heard by now. Compared to those, this was a message from an angel. A murderous three-hundred-pound Samoan angel.

  “Damn!” Leonides said loudly. “He didn’t even change the characters’ names. No wonder Harris is a no-show.” He looked around the room. Movie posters covered every wall. Rachel was certain she knew what he was thinking. This was my shot at a dream come true and now it’s gone. She knew how she played the next moments would be vital to separating Leonides from his money.