The Down and Out Page 7

  She sat next to him on the couch. “I don’t know if Harris told you, but I loved your short. I felt you were masterful in it.”

  “What does it matter? I know the ramifications of this. I don’t have an option on the underlying rights.” Leonides feebly punched the armrest. “Wait! I got it! You can’t copyright an idea! This self-published asshole can’t prove anything if Harris does a rewrite and changes some of the more incriminating elements.”

  Rachel frowned and shook her head. “The writer corresponded with Harris. There’s an email chain. He can prove he sent Harris the book.”

  “Living shit!” Leonides exclaimed. He got to his feet. “So here I am with nothing!” He turned to Rachel. “Me!” He said incredulously. “I liked Harris, too. You know what’s funny?”

  “What?”

  “I’ll admit it. I pressed him. I liked the script so much. I saw his weakness, his financial need, and I stepped in.”

  Rachel nodded. “It’s the ‘biz’ in ‘show biz.’ It’s not a crime to try to make it. I’ll bet you were hoping to parlay your option into a role in the film.”

  Leonides stiffened. “And why not? I made a short. I’ve earned it.”

  Rachel fought a smile. “Maybe there’s some way we can salvage this. Together.”

  Leonides slid his bony frame back onto the couch. “Go on.”

  “I optioned the book. I had no choice. I couldn’t trust Harris.”

  Leonides looked her in the eyes for the first time. “You have the rights?”

  “The author threatened to sue. I told him our lawyers could battle it out while his book died in self-published obscurity. Or we could make a deal.”

  “Good. You crushed the little prick.”

  “It wasn’t cheap, Doctor.”

  “Please,” he said, patting her bare thigh. “Call me Leo.”

  Rachel smiled, though she wanted to spray her thigh with Lysol. “‘Leo.’ A good above-title name. This all brings me to our second point.” She purposefully used “our” instead of “my.” “I’m looking for a producing partner who can bring something to the table.”

  Leonides took the pipe stem out of his pocket and nibbled it. “I’m Franz. I can feel Franz in my bones. I can picture my face, as Franz, on the poster. What kind of partnership can make this happen?”

  Perfect. “No movie, no Franz. We make it happen by securing financing. Six hundred and fifty thousand dollars will make that happen.”

  “The whole budget?”

  “No, but we need money to raise money. We need a percentage of the budget to get a gap loan. The gap loan will cover Bennek’s acting paycheck. That’s the big chunk. He’s going to put that back into the movie. He’ll be the main partner. But we can’t get that with nothing in the bank.”

  “What are you putting up?”

  “Two hundred thousand and the intellectual property.” Rachel was worried if Leonides sucked any harder on the pipe stem he’d swallow it.

  “What’s my guarantee that I play Franz? I am Franz, you know.”

  “We sign a pay-or-play deal.”

  “Pay-or-play deal?”

  “It means if you don’t get the role, we pay you. We make a deal that makes it cost prohibitive to not cast you.”

  For the second time Leonides brought his eyes up to hers. “I like it.”

  There was a loud knock at the door.

  What the hell?

  Rachel played it cool for Leonides. “Come in.”

  Marvin stuck his head in the room. “I was just checking in.”

  Rachel and Leonides exchanged a look. “We’re not the Holiday Inn,” Rachel said. “You don’t need to check in, Marvin. I already gave you my last round of editing notes.”

  An Asian woman pushed past him and entered the room. “You and I need talk,” she said to Rachel. “Now.”

  “Reed wasn’t a happy camper when you vanished,” Josh Greynight said. “I heard he beat the heck out of his home office.”

  “I wasn’t, either” Sam said. I’ll bet he wasn’t happy. Rachel and I had taken him for three hundred thousand dollars in one of our sweetest scams. “Unfortunately, Mol got in the way.”

  Sam sat in Josh Greynight’s small office on the third floor of the Downtown Rescue Mission. Sam was here in the role of Clay Morrison, Reed Bennek’s former life coach. Sam asked Don to wait outside the office. Secrets were going to be revealed.

  Except for the occasional phone ring, it was relatively quiet. It was a far cry from downstairs, where Skid Row’s hungry denizens gathered for food and a chance to be indoors.

  “Reed reached out to me a couple weeks ago. Asked if I’d consider joining his team again,” Josh said. “Take another go at being his advisor in all things spiritual, personal, and Hollywood.”

  “Tempting offer. What’d you say?”

  “I told him the same thing I told him after you went missing. ‘Reed, I’m happy to talk to you about Jesus. I’ll even buy the coffee. Helping you fill your life with more emptiness, vanity, and greed would be a disservice to both of us.’”

  Though Sam was here to work his own angle, he couldn’t quite figure out what grift Josh Greynight was pulling. People in Sam’s life who’d claimed to have found the light often had a not-so-illuminated side hustle. Sam’s leg still ached from his run-in with violent religious zealots in Mississippi.

  Two years ago, as a kind of professional development, Sam had considered how someone in Josh’s position could make personal bank at the expense of the Rescue Mission. Josh sat on the board of directors, which counted among its members some major L.A. power players. The board had final approval over the finances. The Mission also worked hand-in-hand with the city government. More than one spotlight was on the Mission’s money. It would be a hard grift to work.

  “I hear a lot of stories, Clay. People who have fallen hard come here because they need help getting back up again. They sit in that chair and tell me who they were and what went wrong, and who they want to be.”

  Sam figured Josh’s best bet would be working the non-profit angle. From Maserati’s to Wacky Pack collections, the Mission accepted anything of value as a donation. Josh could sell write-offs to L.A.’s filthy rich for donations that only existed on paper. Or he could vastly overvalue donations for a fee.

  You couldn’t just split from a scam like that, though. You’d be tied down to it. Every audit could spell the end. Josh would be a prime target for blackmail. That angle would take a steel gut.

  “We’re not just a free lunch, Clay. We have programs that last a year and get people back in the work force. We can get a single mom and her kids off the street and in a more permanent address. We can get excruciatingly painful dental problems fixed. But the openings are limited. Our resources are tight. We’re always just barely making it. It’s my job to choose who gets in.”

  “I’m not asking for a handout, Josh.”

  Josh smiled, letting Sam’s words hang in the air.

  “Fine, I’m asking for a handout,” Sam said. “But it doesn’t have to be a handout.”

  Josh swiveled in his chair. “I’m in the handout business, Clay. But I’m also on the hunt for ways to pay for those handouts.”

  Sam knew what was coming. Josh was about to pass the collection plate. If Reed Bennek could only see the two of us now.

  “When insurance scammers try to hassle our clients and run their con game here at the Mission, I call the police and have them arrested. I have a nose for grift.”

  Sam was afraid this moment might arrive. It had been a risk coming here, but there was no other way.

  “I believe there can be good in any situation. If I’m reading you, Clay, I think this can be one of those situations.”

  Sam realized he was squeezing the armchair so hard his fingers ached.

  “I’ll do what you ask, Clay, but I won’t lie for you. Mol was around when I was advising Reed. I knew he was dangerous. Even so, I won
’t repeat the story you just told me about how Mol got rid of you. I don’t believe it.”

  Sam had told Josh that Mol had considered him a threat. He’d had him kidnapped, beaten, and shot full of drugs. Sam had borrowed much from what had just happened to him. Still, it was a pretty wild line of bunk.

  “Right before you called,” Josh said, “I got the bad news that an investor had to withdraw from my dream project. Angel Heights. Housing that can shelter eighty-something homeless families in a safe, clean environment. Today we were making the final payment on the property. Now I don’t have all the money, and I’m having to scramble.”

  Sam knew he could keep his mouth shut and let the negotiations begin, or low ball it. “I can give you ten thousand, and that’s pushing it.”

  “Fifty thousand. That’s what I need. Today.”

  I should have kept my mouth shut. Sam stood up. “Look at me! I’m filthy. My shoes are neon green. I can barely get you ten. I can’t get you fifty thousand dollars.”

  Josh looked at the ceiling, then back at Sam. “I believe you can.”

  “Fifty grand for a phone call? That’s all I’m asking you to do. Make one lousy phone call. There’s got to be a commandment about what you’re trying to do to me.”

  “There’s no commandment against saving lives. In fact, if it’s in someone’s power to do so, they shouldn’t be doing anything else.”

  Sam’s mind was racing. If the grift was still on, Rachel would be dealing with Leonides. Alone. She’d need Sam’s help as soon as he could give it. Tick-tock. “Fine! Fifty. I’ll need to make a phone call. Then I’ll need a computer.”

  “You can use mine.”

  “I may not have the entire amount today, but I’ll know after I use your phone and I go on-line.”

  Josh drummed a pattern on the table. “Let’s see what you can give me today. Then we’ll talk about if tomorrow morning is even a possibility.”

  “Fine. I need to start now.”

  Josh stood up. “Sit at my desk. You can use my office phone and my computer. Do you want me to leave while you take care of your business?”

  “No!” Sam said. He got behind the desk. “Stay right here. When I’m done, I need you make that phone call as soon as you can.”

  Rachel dreaded leaving Leonides alone in her office to come to Marvin’s editing room. She was certain she had Leonides hooked.

  She shut the editing room door behind her. “This had better be good and it better be quick, Marvin, or you can kiss your thumbs goodbye.”

  “Maybe we can give Shawnee more time?” Marvin said to his fiancée.

  “I love you, Marv,” Lynn said. “I’m trying to build a life with you, but all you do is get taken advantage of! First in Vegas, and now by this con artist.”

  Hearing those words said out loud, in the middle of a con, gave a Rachel a burst of panic. She quickly stepped on it. “I’m asking nice this one time. Get your ass out of here and let Marvin and I finish our business.”

  Lynn ignored her. “You have no noonchie, Marv. No noonchie!”

  Marvin slumped against the wall. “I’m sorry. I just keep screwing up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can do better. I swear it, Lynn.”

  Rachel knew she was losing control of the situation. She also wondered if she was somehow on the receiving end of a con. This was just the kind of melodrama that she and Sam would pull if they were in a tight situation like this. Rachel felt she had no other choice.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t move!” Rachel said. She exited the room. In the hallway she took a deep breath. A tall handsome man wearing a make-up bib walked by her.

  “Hello,” he said in a deep voice.

  “Hi. Are you working on this floor?”

  “Out that way,” he said, pointing to the end of the hallway. “Fresco brothers are shooting on the sound stage. Entrance is right out back.”

  Rachel watched him exit the back door. She realized all kinds of crew members would be using the hallway to get to the sound stage. Anyone could get in the building through the back door.

  Rachel entered her office. Dr. Lizard Face was looking over the movie posters on the wall. “Is everything alright?” he asked. “Your cell phone was ringing.”

  Rachel looked at her phone. It was dead. She couldn’t believe it. That call could’ve been from Loto. Or maybe even Sam.

  “Just putting out fires, as usual,” Rachel said. “Please excuse me for just a few more minutes.”

  Rachel grabbed her faux Fendi handbag. She scooped up the phone and the charger and left the room.

  Back in the editing room, Marvin was now sitting on the floor. “I’ll work on my noonchie, Lynn,” he pleaded. “I’ll be better.”

  Rachel locked the door. She plugged in her cell phone. Damn phones take forever to charge and then they run out of juice in no time. Rachel pulled the can of mace out of her purse and pointed it at Lynn. “I will mace you right now if you don’t sit down and shut your damn mouth.”

  Lynn looked at Rachel contemptuously. “Mace? I’m a LAUSD high school teacher. I’ve had guns pulled on me. By kids off their meds. By tear-dropped gangbangers. A pretty white lady with mace is no biggie.”

  “I’m not a student having a bad day. I’m a serious-as-shit professional. If you’ve talked to your boyfriend here—”

  “Ex-fiancée,” Lynn said.

  “Lynn, please!” Marvin yelled in anguish.

  “It’s over, Marv!”

  “Both of you shut up!” Rachel snapped. “If you’ve talked with Marvin, you know who I am, and you know about the people in Vegas who are backing me up. Powerful people who murder dumb asses like Marvin for a lot less. This is as real as it gets.”

  “I listen to Marv’s cell phone messages,” Lynn said. “I know he’s in trouble.”

  “I asked you stop doing that!” Marvin whined. “You have no respect for my privacy.”

  Lynn and Rachel ignored him.

  “I’m Marvin’s last chance. His get out of jail free card,” Rachel said. “You’re not helping him.”

  “My noonchie says once you’re done here, you’re throwing Marv back to the wolves. This is about you making money, not Marv getting off the hook.”

  She was right. Lynn and her “noonchie,” whatever the hell that was, had Rachel pegged. She could argue, but that would only waste valuable time. Rachel needed to get back in there with her mark. Every second could be sewing doubts in his mind. I’m so close. So close.

  “Alright, what is this ‘noonchie’ you keep talking about?” Rachel said, changing tact so she could figure out how to end this.

  “Oh, the con lady doesn’t speak Korean?”

  “Are you going to tell me or not?”

  “Fine. It’s a Korean word for ‘common sense,’ but it means so much more. It means reading a room. Knowing who is in charge, who is lying. Who is in for the long haul and who will perish. I’ve had four class periods a day, some with as many as forty-five kids each, all from different backgrounds, for seven years. If I don’t know what’s going on at all times, they will eat me alive. Don’t mess with my noonchie, Red.”

  “I’m going through with this deal,” Rachel said firmly. “Marvin isn’t backing out now.”

  Lynn looked at Marvin. He smiled weakly back. “Fine. He’ll finish your scam, but only after you pay off his Vegas gambling debt. Right now.”

  Rachel tensed up, pissed. She’d never wanted to mace someone so badly.

  Ford was in hell.

  He looked up to see a throne made of human body parts topped with the head of a monstrous goat. It was suspended over a stone-walled dungeon replete with chains and pools of red.

  The fat security guard who’d responded to Joanne Rosen’s screams had called in the incident on his walkie-talkie instead of chasing Ford out of the building. Ford was lucky to find a sound stage just two buildings over that was dark.

  Ford collapsed into a fold-
out chair next to some kind of rubber skeleton shackled to the wall. Ford’s legs felt weak. He was too old to be running around playing Rockford Files. He was also too old to be making amateur-hour mistakes.

  Catching Shawnee was a moment of triumph for Ford. It felt good to make her pay, to watch her beg. When that fat security clown burst in, why did he call Shawnee “Ms. Rosen”? As in, “What the hell are you doing to Ms. Rosen?”

  Ford hadn’t totally lost his edge. He had the presence of mind to grab Shawnee’s pocketbook on the way out.

  What he found inside wasn’t good. He’d hoped Shawnee was going by some kind of alias. All the cards in the purse were for a Joanne Rosen. There was unopened mail made out to the same.

  Ford looked Joanne Rosen up on the IMDb. Not good. Not good at all. There she was, the pretty redhead he’d zapped in the office. She was a producer, too.

  Ford dropped the purse. He knew it was over. The men in his family had been digging up secrets in L.A. for three generations. He’d just shit all over that.

  Ford knew he could stumble out of the sound stage drooling, asking for his long dead mother or the next spaceship to Mars, and sell a mental wrap. He was a damned senior citizen. If he wet himself, it would seal the deal. His license would be toast. They’d take his guns. His wife would lord it over him, but he’d probably spend no time in prison. The worst thing would be that this was what he’d be famous for. This would be the bow that wrapped up the Carabucco legacy.

  Ford wouldn’t let gramps and his dad down.

  He considered his other option. Find Shawnee and let the chips fall where they may. His license would still be revoked. He’d likely go to prison, but he still had cards to play. He knew where bodies were buried. He could make a deal, get off light. Especially if it was all in the name of bringing to justice a grifter who’d conned movie star Reed Bennek out of three hundred thousand. Yeah, that would have to come out. And who knew what else would come to light once Shawnee Whitman was in custody.