BLACK Is Back (10 page)

“That really fleshes it out for me.”

“It just came naturally to me. I’ve always been nosy.”

She tiptoed and whispered in his ear. “So am I. Curious. You’d be my first private dick. They still call them that, don’t they?”

Black felt the blood rushing to his face and was struggling to answer without sputtering when Sylvia came around the corner of one of the motor homes. Genesis stepped away and winked at him, then went off in search of someone else to torment as they waited for the shoot to get underway.

Sylvia approached, a neutral look on her face, and smiled humorlessly. “Something I should know about, Black?”

“Who? Genesis? No. She’s B-Side’s PR person.”

“She’s certainly good at it, judging by how much of her perfume I can smell on you. Did she bathe in it?”

“That’s just how entertainment people are. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s all about power and dominance.”

“She’s striking, I’ll give her that.”

“This gentleman prefers blondes.”

“That’s the right response. Still. It didn’t look like strictly business the way she was pawing at you.”

“It’s nothing, really. Just her way. She does it to everyone.”

“That’s got to be exhausting. Not to mention chafing.”

“I didn’t think to ask.”

“Is that a bio-hazard symbol tattooed on her shoulder?”

“I didn’t notice.”

Sylvia took his hand and pulled him close, the first time he’d detected even a hint of possessiveness in her. He wasn’t sure he minded.

All thoughts of Genesis vanished when the huge gas motors on the speedboat revved to life, sounding like twin Harleys on steroids. The director gave B-Side and the girls some last-minute instructions before he handed a radio to the captain – also dressed like he was straight out of South Central – and discussed the shooting plan. The captain nodded, and Black saw flashes of diamonds and gold on his hands and around his neck, which figured if he was going to be in the shot.

B-Side followed the director down to the boat, the girls in tow, sporting little more than dental floss and beaming smiles, with the captain bringing up the rear. Two techs waited by the dock along with a deckhand. The larger camera boat, a sixty-five-foot Hatteras, floated in front of the speedboat, two cameras already on board, one up on the flybridge and the other in the cockpit. The six-camera crew looked like ants on the huge yacht, and Black marveled at what this hour or two of shooting must be costing.

The rapper climbed onto the boat and then up onto the bow, the two girls behind him, all three carrying champagne glasses. A chrome ice bucket awaited them there, affixed to the bow deck with caulk, alongside a bottle of Cristal. The two technicians scrambled to make final adjustments to the playback speakers and amplifiers in the narrow cabin below, and then they disappeared from sight as the deckhand untied the speedboat and the captain goosed it away from the dock.

The first part of the filming took place in the harbor as the two boats made it out to the breakwater. Black watched in the monitor as B-Side lip-synched the same four lines over and over again, the women fawning over him like he was made of candy. Sylvia drew closer every time Genesis walked by; to Black it was clear that battle lines had been drawn. Not that he was tempted to take Genesis up on her unexpected offer. Still, it was always nice to be invited to the dance by more than one partner.

The helicopter’s turbine whirred to life as the boats approached the breakwater. A harbor patrol vessel ran ahead of them to ensure that the way was unobstructed by any gawking pleasure craft, and the big rotors whipped at the air before it lifted slowly into the sky, the downdraft buffeting the accumulated crowd with the force of a tropical storm.

Genesis approached carrying a clipboard and took up position on the opposite side of Black from Sylvia, and he suddenly felt like a high-pressure compressed slice of deli meat between two pieces of delectable bread. He was just beginning to believe it was his lucky day when a huge explosion sounded from the ocean in front of the breakwater and a fireball blew into the air, followed by a massive plume of black smoke. The crowd gasped and Black pressed closer to the monitor, where the cameras had recorded the speedboat exploding, its gasoline-filled fuel tanks detonating like a liquid bomb.

“Oh my God…” Genesis said, her hand over her mouth, and she gripped Black’s arm unconsciously. Sylvia didn’t seem to care. Her attention, like Black’s, was on the monitor, where the horror was being recorded in real time from two camera positions. A second monitor showed an aerial view – the boat destroyed, only the forward-most section of the bow still floating; the helm where the captain had been standing, as well as most of the cabin, had been vaporized.

One of the cameras scanned the ocean’s surface and then froze on B-Side, stunned but blown clear of the boat. His two escorts were treading water next to him, and the camera zoomed in before the camera boat swung around to return to where the survivors were floating. B-Side’s face was already swelling and a streak of crimson dripped from his nose, but he looked alert, if shocked. The two bikini models were panicked. Then the boat video stream shut down, leaving only the helicopter’s images still transmitting. They watched as the big sports fisher drew alongside the rapper, and then two of the techs dove into the water toting life-vests. The remaining cameramen tossed more floatation devices over the side, and in a matter of minutes all three of the survivors were on board, towels wrapped around them, shivering but alive.

The harbor patrol boat was barreling down on the site of the wreckage, siren blaring, throwing a rooster tail high into the air, and it was joined by a second from deeper in the harbor. Genesis had released his arm and was on her phone, standing apart from them as pandemonium set in, and Sylvia pulled away from Black, her face pale.

“That wasn’t part of the shoot, was it?” she asked.

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.”

“So the captain…and the crew…”

“Doesn’t look promising.”

Sirens screamed from the street as more police arrived. The area quickly dissolved into chaos: the uniformed crowd-control officers yelling warnings to the press of fans, the film crew running behind the line, the director barking orders and his assistants scrambling to locate a boat to take him out to where the yacht floated a quarter mile offshore with his star in unknown condition, radios blaring static and incoherent messages as everyone fought to bring order to the scene.

Black turned to her and handed her the Cadillac keys. “Sylvia, take my car. Get out of here. This is going to take a long time to unwind, and there’s no point to you staying.”

“But how will you get home?”

“I’ll take a cab. It’s a legitimate expense. And they’re paying. But I have no idea where this goes from here, and I need as much time as it’s going to take. I’m on the job now.”

“I…I’ve never driven in America before.” Her voice was tiny, ashamed.

“What? Really?”

“Really.”

“Do you know how to drive?”

“Of course I do. I’ve just never driven here.”

“Do they drive on the same side of the road in Switzerland?”

“Most countries drive on the right side. I’m not from the UK.”

“Okay, then, it’s not serious. Just go north to Venice Boulevard, and make a right. Take that all the way until you get to La Cienega, and make a left. You know how to get home from there, don’t you?”

“I think so.”

“Just go north on La Cienega till you hit Sunset, make a right, and keep going about twelve blocks. You’ll see your street. And remember, this isn’t a race. Take your time. There’s no hurry.”

She looked unsure, but nodded. “Right on Venice, left on La Cienega, right on Sunset. Got it.”

“Good. Call me when you get home so I know you made it.”

“You’re sure about this? I can stay…”

“No, it’s probably best if you don’t. Trust me on that.”

“All right, Black. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He watched her walk to the car, and caught sight of a fire engine making the corner, wailing like a banshee straight out of hell. The catering people were yelling to each other – someone had run into the food and beverage table and knocked half the contents onto the asphalt, and the whole area looked like a battle zone rather than the orderly staging site from only a few minutes before. “I’m going to need it,” he muttered to himself, then turned to the monitors to see what had happened while he’d been distracted.

Chapter 14

Black wasn’t surprised when Stan rolled into the lot in his unmarked sedan an hour later. As one of the top dogs in the LAPD homicide detective pool, he tended to catch the high-profile homicide cases, and it was hard to imagine a higher profile one now than this – in light of the prior incidents, the explosion was being treated as a triple homicide.

B-Side and the girls had been taken to the hospital, so Black was left to his own devices as Stan and his partner tried to bring some semblance of process to the scene. Camera crews from all the networks had arrived, and the air over the explosion site was clogged with news helicopters jockeying for position as the rescue teams searched the area.

Stan caught his eye and nodded, then broke away and bee-lined for him. “Well, well. Like a bad penny. Mr. Black,” he said, his demeanor all business.

“Is it my fault that people keep dying around me?”

“Everyone’s gotta have a hobby.”

“So what do you think?” Black asked.

“Way too early to say, but either something went wrong with the boat and the fuel tanks blew, or somebody went online and researched how to wire the tanks so a spark would ignite them. We probably won’t know for a few days for sure, if we ever do – that’s going to be up to the divers retrieving enough to be able to make a determination.”

“How difficult would that be? Wiring it?”

“Not terribly. Usually with a bomb the hard part’s finding the explosive material. But the gas solved that problem. With diesel it wouldn’t have been so easy, but because it was gasoline all you’d need is a cell phone or a radio transmitter and something to create a spark. Kaboom. Like magic.”

“I guess maybe B-Side should be avoiding anything that runs on fuel until we sort this out.”

“Yup. And electricity. And food, drink, windows, outdoors…”

“Makes it hard to enjoy your money if you’re locked in a vault with it.”

“Even that wouldn’t be safe. You could wind up with the air shut off.”

Black nodded, his gaze taking in the scene. “So where do you start?”

“Interviewing everyone. Trying to find that one person who saw something strange. And of course, the marina security and everyone that lives around here, who might have spotted something on the dock. Because if this was rigged, it didn’t happen with everyone here. Which means that the perp had to know what boat was going to be used for the shoot. That narrows it down some.”

“To only everyone the captain and owner might have told, the camera crew, the director, the record company, B-Side and his entourage, the security company, LAPD, Harbor Patrol…”

“You can see why I might not be optimistic about our chances.”

“That sucks.”

“Tell me about it. But while we’re on the subject, how long were you here?”

“I arrived just a few minutes before B-Side, so I’m not going to be much help.”

“And I don’t suppose you saw a guy wearing a little black mask and a cape, holding a remote control detonator or anything?”

“Mm, no, I missed him. Or her. Or them.”

“Bastard. What good are you then?”

“According to my exes, none at all.”

“You wouldn’t by any chance have any theories, would you?”

“Not yet. And don’t forget, my theories are usually, er, incomplete, at best. Until I put it all together. Which I’m not even close to yet.”

Stan caught a glimpse of Genesis over Black’s shoulder and his eyes widened, a rarity on his hangdog face. Black followed his look and then nodded.

“I understand she likes older cops.”

“Older cops like her.”

“She’s B-Side’s PR flack. Probably a galaxy or two out of your league. No offense.”

“None taken. But I’m not so sure. If the older cop thing doesn’t cinch it, maybe my borderline alcoholism and poor hygiene will.”

“Guy’s gotta dream.”

“Ain’t that the truth. All right, so we can put you into the ‘I don’t know nuthin’’ category on this one, right? For the record, you didn’t kill them, did you?”

“Not unless I bored them to death.”

“They were too far out of range to make you a credible suspect.”

Black’s cell phone rang, with an AC/DC ringtone clamoring “The Girl’s Got Rhythm” at eighty decibels, and he fumbled in his pocket before answering.

“Black.”

“It’s Sam. What the hell happened?”

“We don’t know. But if I had to guess, somebody rigged the boat to explode.”

“Damn. How?”

“Apparently it’s not all that hard to do. Go figure.”

“I just got off the phone with B-Side. He’s at the hospital. And he wants to talk to you.”

“Which hospital?”

“UCLA Medical Center. Doesn’t sound like he’s really hurt. But they want to run tests and keep him for observation, at least for the next twelve hours.”

“How urgent is it that I see him now?”

“At two-fifty an hour? I’d say he should be your top priority. If he wants you to bring him a forty and a spliff, I’d be all over it if I were you.”

“Touché. Text me the room details and I’ll head over there right now. I think I’m about done here. Where are you if I need to get hold of you?”

“I’m in my car. But I’m always available at this number.”

“All right. I’m on my way.”

Black turned to Stan. “You got anyone going back to the city anytime soon?”

“Probably not. Why?”

“Sylvia’s got my car, and I need to get to UCLA.”

“Call a cab, cheapskate.”

“It’s not that.”

“The hell it isn’t. I know you.”

“Okay, it’s that.”

“Bill B-Side.”

“I intend to.”

Black decided to give it one more try, and as Stan went off in search of his partner, Black approached Genesis. “Hey.”