Crown Jewel (10 page)

They were in bed at 10:25.

Together.

At 6:15 the following morning, Ricky Lam's socks were on the balcony. There were also a bell and a whistle on the glass top table, thanks to Roxy's nocturnal wanderings.

The mating couple rolled over, looked at one another as they groaned simultaneously.

“Where in the name of all that's holy did you learn to do
that?”
Ricky gasped.

“Just never you mind. Did I win or did I win?” Roxy crowed triumphantly.

“Damn straight you won. We aren't dead, are we?”

Roxy lifted the covers. “Hmmm, you are. I'm not!”

He reached for her.

 

What seemed like a long time later, Ricky opened one eye, his hand reaching out to the other side of the bed. All he felt was emptiness. Where was Roxy? He almost called her name when he heard low murmurings coming from the living room. Who would Roxy be talking to at this hour of the morning? He strained to hear the conversation and finally got up, crossed the room, and listened at the door. Roxy was on the phone, her back to him. A chill washed down his spine. Even at this distance, she looked tense, like she was doing something on the sneak. He thought he heard her say, “He's going back to Los Angeles to my house to break down the door. I knew I should have taken an ax to it myself.”

Ricky shook his head to clear the sleep away. Was last night a dream? What the hell was Roxy talking about? More to the point, who was she talking to? All he had to do was walk out to the room and ask. Just like that. Instead, he headed for the shower, his head buzzing. He would have staked his life on the fact that Roxy was on the level with him and that bygones were bygones. Now, he had something else to worry about.

Heads turned when the two tall, virile brothers walked through the Miami airport to make their connecting flight. Both were oblivious to the admiring glances and outright overtures, their minds on other things. It was easy to see the resemblance between the two. It could have been the dark-colored eyes, the same bedroom eyes of their father. Both had sandy hair, regulation cut on their father's insistence, winning smiles, and a devil-may-care attitude that was obvious. The easy camaraderie between them as well as the fact that both were dressed in khakis and open-necked polos enhanced the resemblance. It was Max who yanked his brother's arm to lead him into a restaurant where weary travelers were bellied up to the bar. He elbowed his way closer, held up his hand to a cute waitress in cutoff shorts and a tight spandex tee shirt. “Two Buds!” He winked as he handed over a twenty-dollar bill, and said, “Keep the change.” The waitress grinned and winked back.

“What?” Tyler grumbled. “You aren't going to say something that's going to make me regret coming on board at the eleventh hour, are you, Max? I see it in your eyes, feel it in my gut. You're up to no good, Bro.”

“What? What? What? You sound like a parrot. I think we should cancel our flight to the islands, hop a plane for L.A., and go out to the old man's house to wait for him. Hell, you know there's no time like the present to do things. It's that old, ‘time is money' saying he drummed into our heads. I have this really weird feeling our father is going to get his ass in a sling if someone isn't watching over him. I know the code to the gate
and
the code to the alarm system.” Max took a long gulp from the Bud bottle, his eyes following the waitress in the tight, spandex tee shirt.

Tyler upended his Bud. “And we're doing this because…Oh, I get it. So all
three
of us can get our asses in a sling. Is this off the top of your head, or have you been thinking about it? The only thing that might possibly bother me is if something suddenly happened to that bountiful inheritance or the trust funds old Ricky set up for us. Are you thinking his reputation is going to be destroyed? I didn't know you cared, Max. I never thought I would say this but I'm getting used to this
good life.”

Max gulped at the frosty beer. “There is that possibility. Strength in numbers, that kind of thing. Yeah, it is off the top of my head. Those are usually my best thoughts. Hey, it can't hurt. Look, the resorts are in good hands. A few days with us away isn't going to make a bit of difference. Don't forget, we're bosses, not employees. What do you say, Ty?”

“What if he doesn't want our help? What if he kicks our respective asses off his property? There's a whole bunch of what-ifs here, Max.”

“Then we go home. Nothing lost, nothing gained. He's been pretty damn good to us. By the same token, we've been pretty damn good to him, too. I never wanted to admit it, but the guy grows on you,” Max admitted.

“Yeah, he does. Grow on you, I mean. Okay, let's do it! We need to make some calls to square things away. You take care of the calls, Bro, and I'll change our tickets.” Tyler took off, his duffel slapping against his back.

A young woman with a deep tan and sun-bleached hair whistled approvingly. Max watched as his brother looked over his shoulder and waved enthusiastically. He burst out laughing until the young woman zeroed in on him, and said, “Oooh, I
love
twins.” He made a beeline for the bank of phones.

Two hours later after landing at LAX in the wee hours, Max punched in the code to his father's security gate. They sailed up the long winding road to the mansion.

Tyler climbed out of the car and looked at his brother. “Okay, smart-ass, you said you had the code to the gate, the code to the alarm system, but do you have a key to the house? I'd say that's paramount to this little caper.”

Max slapped at his forehead. “Son of a bitch! No, do you?”

“Hey, I'm just along for the ride.” Tyler grinned. “I guess we can sleep on the lounge chairs or in the cabana until Pop gets here.”

“Pop?”

“Yeah, Pop. Yeah, that's how I think of him these days. I stopped thinking of him as Ricky a long time ago. I never call him Pop out loud, though. How about you?” Tyler asked.

“I wanted to think of him as Dad because I never had one. I can't say the word, though. Pop's good. I think I might be able to get used to that.” He poked his brother's arm to show that once in a while he came up with a good one.

“Let's pretend we're as smart as we know we are. Where would you hide the key if you were him? I think I'd probably hide it in one of the cabanas,” Tyler said.

“No. Too many people use the cabanas. I'm thinking more like under a flowerpot, over the door, taped under a windowsill, maybe under a mat. Maybe in one of those magnetic boxes that hooks on to something. I have a car key under one of my rear fenders. Then again, maybe that's too obvious. Hell, I don't know,” Max grumbled.

Three hours later they found the key taped to the drain in the deep end of the pool. Max surfaced, the key clamped between his teeth. He shook his head wildly to get the water off his face and out of his eyes. “To the victor go the spoils!” he shouted gleefully.

“What spoils?”

“Pop's duds. I say we get cleaned up and grab a nap after you cook something for us. Then we head for town and visit some of Pop's old haunts. We can hatch a plan while we're eating. You did say you knew how to cook, right?” Max said hopefully. “I'm starved. All we had on the plane were pretzels.”

“Yeah, eggs and toast. Is this another one of those off-the-top-of-your-head ideas? The house has been closed up for a long time. I don't think there are any eggs or anything else. Maybe there's something in the freezer or canned food in the cupboard. If all that fails, we
could
go to a restaurant.”

“Should we call Roxy?” Max asked as he fitted the key from the bottom of the pool into the lock. He quickly punched in the code to disarm the alarm system. He immediately went to the huge Sub-Zero refrigerator. It was loaded with juice, water, soft drinks, and ice tea. The side-by-side freezer held enough frozen food for an army. It was all rock solid but neatly labeled. He shook his head.

“Nah. I think we can handle this. Why tip her off? She might call Pop. Hey, look, here's some canned soup, some tuna, and canned spaghetti. We aren't going to starve, that's for sure. Why do you think we should call Roxy?” Tyler asked.

“Maybe she can point us in the right direction, tell us where Ricky goes in this town to see and be seen…if, in fact, he really still does that kind of thing. Our father isn't exactly a party animal these days. I'm thinking before we came into the picture, he wasn't doing that bar-hopping scene. Special events, premieres, that kind of thing. Think about it, Ty, he's
old
now.”

“Jesus, you better not let him hear you say that. You know those Hollywood leading men. The word
old
is like a dirty word to them.”

Max looked at his watch. “If we aren't going to call Roxy, then we need to come up with a plan.”

“My simple mind tells me we snatch this guy, Dicky Tee, and beat the hell out of him, starting with his fingers so he can never type another word, then go to his teeth so they have to wire his jaw shut,” Tyler said. “That's my plan. I know it's a little rough around the edges but with two of us ganging up on him, I'm thinking he'll see things our way. I even know what the jerk looks like because I've seen his picture in the tabloids. Wait till he sees us. You realize, of course, that the movie world doesn't know Ricky has look-alike sons. We're going to blow his jockeys off. He's going to think he has the biggest scoop of the year, Bro.

“If you don't like that scenario, we could snatch him and bring him back here and hold him captive until he agrees to scuttle what he considers to be his future Pulitzer prize. What do you think?”

“It is rough, but right now I can't think of anything better, so let's go with it.” Max nodded thoughtfully. “The hottest ticket in town is a place called Whispers. It's Friday night, so I say we go
live
. First, though, we throw out some bait. Whom should we call first?”

“To say what?” Tyler asked.

Max rolled his eyes. “Dicky Tee! I say we call the sleazeball and tell him to go to Whispers because…because…it will help him with the book all Hollywood knows he's working on. You can disguise your voice, can't you?”

“Me!”

“Yeah, you. This way I can do the talking when he shows up at the hot spot, and you can keep quiet. All you have to do is look threatening.”

“Where do you come up with this stuff, Max? All right! All right! I'm thinking that weasel is not in Pop's Rolodex. So how do we find him?

“The phone book, or information, where else? You know, hot tips, that kind of stuff. His number will be there.”

Max opened two cans of spaghetti and two cans of tuna, while his brother checked with the information operator. His fist shot in the air when he saw him scribble down a number.

While his brother stirred the spaghetti on the stove, Tyler dialed the number the operator had given him. “Dicky Tee, please. Oh, you're Dicky Tee. Is it true you pay for tips? How much? Well, this is a pretty hot tip. Three hundred at the very least. I want to see the color of your money before I spill my guts. Yeah, I'm legit. I heard you're working on a book about that Ricky Lam. Yeah, well, go to Whispers tonight, and you'll get an eyeful. No, I didn't say earful, I said a real eyeful. I'll find you, don't worry about finding me. Just have the bills ready. What time? Time's money, pal,” he said, looking at his brother. Max held up ten fingers. “Ten o'clock.”

Sweat rolled down Tyler's face when he hung up the phone. “He even sounds like a weasel. I haven't eaten canned spaghetti since I was ten years old. Couldn't you doctor up the tuna with something?”

Max looked pained. “You were supposed to do the cooking. All I know how to do is open the cans. I don't want to learn either, so eat it and shut up. Ten o'clock, huh?”

“Yep. We should be able to take care of business in two hours and be back here a little after midnight if everything goes according to plan. Pop's going to be on the red-eye, so he'll be here when we wake up. I don't have a good feeling about this, Max. Too many things can go wrong in a place like that. The guy himself, the crowds, the bouncers. Cops show up. Think free-for-all! Worst-case scenario, the old man finds out, and our asses are grass. You following me here, Bro?”

“Stop raining on my parade, Tyler. We can ace this and do Pop a big favor and he will never need to know. We'll be the Golden Boys.”

“Okay, Bro, let's hit the sack. When we get up, we'll need to find some hot threads for tonight. Our father is a fashion plate, so his sons need to look just as good. We're all the same size, which is good for us. We'll be stylin', Bro.”

 

“Jesus, Pop must own stock in Armani,” Tyler said at eight o'clock as he perused his father's wardrobe. Trust me when I tell you, these ain't off the rack. These are
custom.”

Forty minutes later they stood before a long pier glass and looked at each other. “We look just like him,” Max said, his expression full of awe.

“It's damn spooky,” Tyler said, his voice sounding jittery. “More so because there are two of us. What do you think that slimeball is going to do?”

“I don't have a clue, Bro. We're winging this. You know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking there are going to be other tabloid reporters lurking around at the club. I think I read somewhere that they stalk those young actresses and actors, hoping for some low-down dirt. Those tabloids actually assign their people to specific actors and follow them night and day. All they need is a few good exclusive shots, and they can retire.”

“You read that, huh? If you tell me you read the
Enquirer,
and you have an inquiring mind, I'm going to belt you.”

“Sometimes guests leave those things lying around. I read the headlines. Okay, let's get this show on the road. You can drive, Bro. Hey, how are you fixed for money?”

“I have a couple of hundred. How about you?”

“I think I have four hundred. We might have to grease a few palms to get into that place. Pink is definitely your color, Bro,” Max said, pointing to the shirt Tyler was wearing. He fingered his own pale yellow one.

“We look good enough to make the cover of
People.”
Tyler picked an invisible thread from his brother's sleeve. “Remember, we stick together.”

 

It was like any other noisy, crowded club in the country. Designated as the hottest club in town, Whispers was favored by the in crowd on a nightly basis. It was a place to be seen, not necessarily heard, with the loud music, the patrons shouting to each other above the roar of the music, while colored lasers highlighted the gyrating couples on the dance floor.