Manic laughter consumed him and it was all he could do to catch his breath. “I should get a medal for killing that sack of shit. Instead you want to feed me to the sharks.”
“No, Lenny, you’ve got it all wrong.” Godiva was shaking and Goldie was afraid to move.
“Shut up, bitch! Lesson number one: never try to trick a trickster. I’m a pro. How about this for a trick? I’m the one who sabotaged your boyfriend’s show, not Wellington.”
“You? Oh my God!”
“You bet, lady. It’s been me all along.”
“But Edgar...”
“Yeah, little Edgar almost blew my perfect plan. He helped me set Romano up to take the rap. But he got too smart. It’s a shame, I liked the old guy.”
“But I thought...”
“You thought! You thought?” he mocked, “Think you’re really smart don’t you? Well...” He convulsed in giggles bringing the wicked metal edge closer to Godiva’s throat. “See where that’s gotten you?” He looked across the room. “You, in the green shirt, whichever one you are, go over and open that closet door over there.”
He nodded his head toward the hall. Godiva’s eyes locked with Goldie’s.
Cell phone...get the cell phone.
Goldie nodded and eased away, trying to snag Godiva’s purse from the chair as she backed up.
Lenny’s voice boomed, “Forget the purse, lady. Drop it. Now!” He made a vicious swipe at Godiva’s throat. Goldie could see a tinge of pink from where the blade had nicked the skin. The handbag clunked to the floor and the precious cell phone bounced out and skittered across the room. He marched forward, Godiva gasping for breath under his arm, Goldie tried to dance out of reach of the knife as she headed for the closet.
“That’s a good girl. Okay, now get in, you stupid cow. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass as it closes.” He reached for the old fashioned key sticking out below the doorknob and turned it with a click.
Lenny turned toward the kitchen, pushing Godiva along in front of him. She heard pounding, but wasn’t sure if it was Goldie in the closet or her own heart. She was about to pass out from the pain where Lenny was crushing her larynx when he finally unwrapped his arm, jerked open a drawer and pulled out a roll of duct tape. He pointed to a kitchen chair. “Haul it over here. And don’t try anything fancy. I had to kill poor old Edgar. Piss me off and you could be next.”
Godiva’s knees were rubbery as she made it over to the chair and dragged it back toward Lenny.
“Sit.” The blade jabbed perilously close to her face.
Lenny yanked long strips of duct tape from the roll, tearing them off with his teeth while keeping an eye on Godiva. One by one, he wrapped them around her wrists and ankles, binding her to the chair. As the finishing touch, he placed two last bits of tape across her mouth. Godiva couldn’t stop shaking. Lenny grasped the knife in one hand and cupped her chin with the other, staring deep into her eyes. Godiva shuddered at the hatred she saw reflected. Was this how she would meet her end?
Lenny drew a deep breath and wiggled the weapon perilously close to her cheek. “Sit still, bitch, or I’ll ruin your pretty face like this,” he made a small cut in her cheek and she felt blood pooling around the ragged edges of the tape. Her breath quickened and terror reigned again.
She tried to think of how to escape, but all that came to her were useless thoughts.
Where the hell is my other shoe?
Can the cleaners get these bloodstains out of my cashmere pantsuit?
Goldie gave her sister a mental reprimand.
Forget about the shoe. Forget the pantsuit. Stay calm. Don’t give him a reason to kill you.
She went quiet as Lenny approached the closet. “How you doing in there,
puta
?” He pushed a file cabinet in front of the door.
Goldie let out a muffled shout. “Let us go, Lenny, we don’t mean you any harm. We...we can help you.”
He shot back, “I don’t need your help!” Godiva jumped as she watched him throw a table lamp against the wall. Shattered pieces of blue and white porcelain fell on top of the fringed lampshade.
He stomped to the fridge, grabbed a can of beer and plunked down on the sofa. “
Dios mio!
What am I going to do?”
CHAPTER 48
Betty Boop was singing a duet with a dog in a zoot suit while Candy exercised to the music of her favorite TV show,
Tiny Toons in the Afternoon.
It had been more than two hours since Chris left for Food Broadcasting to iron out some details about
Microwave Magic
with Manicotti. As she
boop-oop-a-dooped
a series of deep knee bends, the security phone rang.
The moment she opened the door, Candy could see something was terribly wrong. Chris was steaming, and didn’t even wait for the latch to click before he blurted out, “I am so pissed off, Candy. I’ve been stewing all the way from the studio.” He tore off his jacket and flung it on her couch.
Candy felt her stomach drop to the floor. “My show...Is the show deal off?”
“No, babe. Don’t look so worried. My meeting with Manny was great. We’re gonna be rich and you’ll be a star. The jerk thought he was being slick but he actually gave us a better deal than I hoped for. It’s something else that got me frosted. Something I read upside down on Manicotti’s desk.”
“Upside down? You can read upside down? Oh, Chrissy, you’re so clever!” She took his hand in hers and led him to the sofa. She pursed her lips and imitated Betty Boop’s little voice as she hit the remote and killed the toons. “Tell me all about it, Chrissy.”
Chris ignored her playfulness and instead drew a deep breath and tried to get himself under control. “You know how I was aggravated yesterday when I saw the poster for that Biff Wellington movie he’s doing.” He screwed his fingers up into a fist. “We were so excited about our deal I let it go. But today I caught a peek at the writer’s contract. Manny had it sitting on his desk when I came in.”
“So?”
“Well, he’s got a percentage deal like ours, but the percentage of gross is huge. Theatrical movies are a lot different than TV when it comes to the money. If his movie is a hit, and it probably will be, he might walk away with millions! Do you understand, Candy?”
Candy shrugged her shoulders. “Well, he did write the movie...”
He leaped up from the sofa and began to pace. “He wrote it but I lived it, Candy. This is my misery he’s making the big bucks on!” He pounded at his chest. “When I first moved to Silver Lake, I was feeling pretty low one night so I went into this sleazy bar. I had way too much to drink and started talking to this guy sitting next to me. Before I knew it, I was spilling my guts to him. He kept pressing me and I told him everything, about my childhood—everything!”
“Poor Chrissy...” Candy reached out and stroked his arm.
“I remember being embarrassed the next day, but figured maybe that guy cared a little bit, the way he kept pushing me to tell more about my life. Then, when I started reading the stuff on Manny’s desk today. Wham. Total recall. It came back to me that the guy’s name was Lenny. I didn’t know his last name until I saw it on the poster. Lenny Rodriguez. The bastard I’d thought was trying to be nice to me was milking me for all I was worth.”
“And...?” Candy blanched when Chris widened his furious eyes at her.
“Candy, that guy owes me! He stole my story. Don’t you see? I gave him the idea and he sold it to Manicotti.” He jabbed a frantic thumb at his chest. “I told him secrets that night I never told anyone. Not the people at The Crossroads, not all those doctors, not you, nobody.”
Candy looked hurt as she felt her heart shrivel a little.
“No one but that bloodsucking writer knew this stuff. Granted, I was dead drunk, but he dragged the story out of me.” Chris stopped for a moment and then continued in a strangled voice, “He...owes...me!”
She took a deep breath and plunged in. “So maybe you should march right up to him and tell him you want a cut. Not a lot, just something fair.”
“Oh, Candy.” He knelt beside her and caressed her cheek. “Sweet, naïve, trusting girl. It’s not that easy. First I have to track him down. Then, when I tell him I want a cut, what do you think he’ll do? Throw his arm around my shoulder and say, ‘Come on in. Glad to see you, let me write you out a check!’”
“Maybe he’s a really nice guy and he’s been looking for you. You changed your name, you know. Nobody could find you.”
“Well then, it’s up to me to find him, isn’t it? Get me the phone book. I need to check the number for the Writers’ Guild.”
With Lenny’s address in hand, Chris sat in silence at the kitchen table, brows knitted, staring into a cup of tasteless instant coffee. For a chef’s assistant, Candy’s kitchen was not well equipped. He scribbled on a wrinkled yellow pad, figuring out what he wanted to ask for and how he would go about it.
He glanced at his watch, then gathered a few props and threw them on the back seat of his beat up Ford Taurus. “I gotta go see this guy.”
Candy looked forlorn and bewildered.
“Wanna come along for the ride?”
Her face brightened as she jumped into the car. They headed west and in less than an hour, Chris and Candy were in Redondo Beach looking for 2265 Bay Street.
Godiva’s heart was racing as fast as her mind. There had to be a way to escape. But how? She was taped to the chair and Goldie was locked in the closet.
The bell rang. She felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Holding her breath, she strained to hear the faint noises coming from the front porch.
Lenny stopped pacing and stared at the door, but did nothing more. The bell rang again, followed by a light tapping and then a more insistent pounding. Godiva could hear a muffled voice shouting. “Mr. Rodriguez, are you there?”
She tried to scream, but only “Mmmph mbbmmg mmmth” came through the duct tape. Lenny heard her attempt and threatened to backhand her. “Shut up, bitch. You just shut up.” He strode to the door and bellowed, “Go away. I’m busy.”
“But, Mr. Rodriguez, I have a package from Manny Manicotti. Please open up, he told me not to leave it without your signature.”
“Manicotti?” Lenny focused on the closed door. “About the movie?”
“Yes, it’s about the movie, please let me in.”
Godiva’s captor turned the lock and inched the door open. Standing there, wearing a Food Broadcasting cap and holding out a thick manila envelope was Chris Cross. She directed her thoughts to the locked closet.
Goldie, it’s Chris. Warn him!
Goldie screamed and pounded on the inside of the closet door. “Don’t come in! Call the cops! Get help!”
Godiva saw the startled young man freeze. Her heart sank when Lenny grabbed him by the shirtfront, knocking the official Food Broadcasting ID tag off his pocket. “You! You don’t work for Manicotti!” He hauled the startled young man inside, slammed the door and leaned against it. The knife appeared in his other hand and he lined it up with Chris’ face. “What is this anyway? Get Rodriguez day?”
“But...but Mr. Rodriguez, I do work for Food Broadcasting! See, here’s my ID.” He blinked when he saw that it wasn’t there. “Um. I mean...” Lenny twisted his arm and whipped him around, pressing the vicious blade just below his chin. Chris’ eyes widened. One of the twins was taped to the kitchen chair.
Godiva whimpered and tried to scoot toward her captor. Goldie started to kick the walls of her smelly little cell. “Lenny! You let that guy go, you sick bastard!”
“
Jesus Christos
! God damn you people. Now see what you’ve done?” Spittle flew from the writer’s curled lips as he spun toward the closet. His swarthy face blanched and his eyes narrowed to slits. “You’ve made me insult The Savior by using His name in vain!”
Goldie tried another tack. “Lenny, we’re sorry. Jesus will forgive you. Trust me.”
“Shut up,
perra
!” His foot lashed out at the filing cabinet in front of the closet. “I shoulda taped you up, too!” Chris tried to wiggle free while Lenny was distracted, but no dice. His assailant began to giggle again; the menacing knife wobbling millimeters from the young man’s horrified face.
“I know who you are. You’re Wesley Wellington. The kid I met in the bar. Yeah, I saw you at the studio, too, but you didn’t even give me a second glance.” His high-pitched cackling pierced the air. “You snuck in right under Daddy’s nose, didn’t you? And he didn’t even know who you were. But Leonardo the janitor did.” He snickered. “Were you getting up the nerve to kill the old man yourself? Well, I saved you the trouble, buddy boy.”
“Oh shit.” Chris’ eyes widened with a flash of recognition. “You had a...a...moustache. You’re the...guy who...came in to clean the coffee stain, aren’t you?”
Chris swallowed hard. “Listen, Mr. Rodriguez, I really owe you one. I think God will bless you for what you did...for ridding the world of that vicious bastard.” Chris’ voice wavered but he pressed on. “Wh-why don’t you let me go? Forget about these women, let me buy you a drink...”
Lenny fiddled with his crucifix. “Oh, aren’t you cute? You’re no better than the rest of them.
Quidado, muchacho
.” Then he spit in Chris’ face. “The Mexican janitor was just a nobody cleaning guy, wasn’t he? Just like a nobody in the bar. That’s all.” His voice became an icy dagger. “But I am not a nobody. I am a somebody. A somebody you’re going to wish you never met. And now,
muchacho
, you tried to pull a fast one on me, just like your lady friends here. You will all pay.”
“No, that’s not...”
Godiva almost heaved when Lenny poked the knife at Chris’ chin with light, slow pricks. A soundless cry formed on his lips as Chris watched little droplets of blood skitter down the front of his shirt. At that instant he was transformed into frightened little Wesley who had cowered beneath the blows of his father’s beefy fists.
Oh God, Goldie. He’s gonna kill Chris!
Stay calm, Sis. Maybe the neighbors heard us. Take deep breaths.
At first Godiva thought she was hearing things. A little tap at the door. Then another. Her gaze swung to the window where she caught a glimpse of cotton candy hair through the half–closed blinds.