Crown Jewel (12 page)

When he reached the second floor and his own room, he blinked at the mess he was seeing. Someone obviously liked his wardrobe. “Anyone here?” he shouted before he turned on the television. “I'm armed!” he shouted again as he pawed through his clothes. His two favorite suits were gone. Son of a bitch! He looked in the bathroom and smelled his aftershave and cologne.
Some asshole broke into my house, used my bathroom, then stole my clothes.

He swiveled around when he heard his name mentioned on the television. A frown rose between his brows as he walked closer to view the screen. The reporter was babbling a mile a minute, and Ricky had a hard time following what was being said. A heartbeat later he saw his two sons being pushed into a police car. He groaned when he heard the newsman say, “They're both Ricky Lam look-alikes but claim their names are John Jones and Joe Smith. Neither man carried ID, so we don't know who they really are at this point.”

Ricky sat down on the edge of the bed and watched as still pictures flashed on the screen, courtesy of a photographer named Gracie Lick. He groaned again when he saw both his sons haul off and land some wicked punches. He laughed out loud when he saw a girl who looked like her clothes were sprayed on jump on Max's back.

Brawlers.

His sons were brawlers.

What were they doing at Whispers?

Wearing my clothes?

The phone rang. “I just saw it on the news,” Roxy said. “Are they okay? Are you okay?”

Ricky thought she sounded like she cared. “Just this minute I got in and turned on the television. I'm thinking they spent the night in jail. I don't know what the hell they're doing here, and I sure as hell don't know how they got into the house, but they did. I'm going to take a shower and go down to the station to bail them out. I'll call you when I know something. They were wearing my two favorite suits,” he said, outrage ringing in his voice.

“Get over it,” Roxy said, a chuckle in her voice. “They're brawlers like their old man. Makes sense from where I'm sitting.” Ricky could hear her laughing as she hung up.

Ricky Lam caused a bit of a stir, especially among the female officers and detectives, when he walked into the police station. He knew that some of the old-timers were recalling his hell-raising days. He stopped in his tracks as memories assailed him. How many times had Philly bailed him out in those early days? Probably somewhere around a hundred times, maybe more. Probably another hundred times Philly had picked him up from some club or party where the owner intervened on his behalf before the cops showed up. Good old perfect Philly.

The desk sergeant, one of the old-timers, looked at Ricky and grinned. “Strange seeing you on that side of the desk. You here to bail out the boys?”

“Yes. What are the charges?”

“Do you want me to name them all, or do you just want me to hit the highlights?”

Ricky listened to the litany of charges. When the desk sergeant wound down, he said, “Neither one was carrying ID, Ricky. They did have a pocketful of money, though. Personally, I like the one about inciting a riot. The drunk and disorderly wasn't bad either. I'm not so sure about the assault and battery one. You were charged with inciting a riot nine times as I recall. We arrested eighteen people last night. None of them have made bail yet. Are they your boys? Didn't know you had kids.”

“Yes. Yes, they are. Did they call a lawyer?”

“No. You need a lawyer for bail. Come on, Ricky, you know how it works.”

No, he really didn't know how it worked. Philly had always handled that end of things. But he pretended he did. He walked over to a pay phone and dialed Timothy Andreadis's number. He needed to think about getting his own lawyer. Timothy Andreadis belonged to the past.

Ricky looked around. He'd seen the inside of a lot of different police stations over the years. They all looked the same—sickly yellow or puke green walls—and they all smelled the same—burnt coffee, sweat, and that undefinable smell of anxiety. He'd played a rogue cop once. He shuddered at the memory.

A K-9 cop with his partner walked through the door. His partner was four-legged and wore a bulletproof vest like his two-legged partner. He wore his shield proudly around his neck. Before he'd left California, Ricky had donated thousands of dollars to the K-9s for bulletproof vests.

“Harry Baker,” the two-legged cop said to Ricky, holding out his hand. “My partner, Cyrus. Shake hands, Cyrus.” The giant shepherd held up his right paw. Ricky shook it and didn't feel silly at all. He'd been busted four different times by drug-sniffing K-9s. In his other life.

“I'd like to personally thank you on behalf of the whole squad for the vests you donated to the K-9s. You in some kind of trouble?”

“Not me personally. My boys hit a bit of a rough patch last night at Whispers. I'm here to bail them out.”

“Cyrus aced that one last night. He found so much dope I bought him a T-bone for breakfast. Didn't see your boys, though. Good luck and thanks again.” Ricky nodded as the beefy cop walked to the back of the station.

Ricky made his way back to the desk sergeant. “Can I see the boys?”

“Sure. Hey, Joe, take Mr. Lam to lockup. He wants to see his kids. Listen, are you bailing out Gracie and her brother, too?”

“Gracie and her brother?”

“Yeah, Gracie. She gets hauled in here on a regular basis. She's a reporter for one of those rags. Nice kid. This is the first time for the brother, though. He tends bar at Whispers. Seems he smashed a camera belonging to Dicky Tee, and Dicky is pressing charges. You know who Dicky Tee is, right?”

“Yeah, I know that weasel. Sure, add them to the list. Explain it to the lawyer when he gets here.”

“Follow me, Mr. Lam,” the officer said. “You back in Hollywood for good or just visiting, Mr. Lam?”

“Just visiting.”

“Can't stay away from this place, huh? Can I get your autograph? My girlfriend would love it. We're both fans.” He pulled a small tattered notebook out of his breast pocket. Ricky scrawled his signature. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Hands jammed in his Dockers, Ricky looked through the bars at his sons. He wanted to laugh, but he managed to keep a straight face. They looked pathetic, but they didn't look remorseful. He eyed his two favorite Armani suits, his expression pained. One of the sleeves on the suit Tyler was wearing was ripped off at the shoulder. He could see Max's hairy leg through the slit in his trousers. The pink and yellow shirts were nothing but strips of fabric. He leaned against the wall, and said, “Do you have any idea how much those suits cost?”

“Kind of,” Max said.

“Not really,” Tyler said.

“Do you want to tell me what happened, or do you want me to guess? What the hell are you two doing here anyway? How'd you get into the house, for starters? Never mind, tell me later.”

“Hey, Mr. Lam, I can tell you everything you want to know,” a voice chirped from somewhere behind him.

“Don't believe anything she says. She's one of those scummy tabloid reporters,” Tyler and Max said in unison. “She's the reason we're in here.”

“That's a lie about me being scummy. I have ethics,” the voice chirped again. “The reason I'm in here is those two…those two…jerks said I was their ringleader. Listen, my brother and I need to get out of here. We have classes today. Are you two cruds going to tell them the truth or not?”

“No!” Both Lam brothers shouted at the same time. “You spell that, n-o! No!”

This time the chirping voice snarled. “Assholes! See if I help you again! Wait till you read the story I'm going to write! Hollywood doesn't like
boxers.
They like
jockeys.
I saw yours! Green! No one wears
green
underwear.”

“You're wearing my underwear, too?” Ricky hissed.

“And your shoes!” the faceless voice shrilled. “One of them is barefoot! What do you think of that? I'm writing all that down!”

“Shut up, Gracie! Why can't you be quiet like your brother?” Tyler said, pressing his face against the bars so his voice could be heard down the hallway.

“Don't tell me to shut up, you poor excuse for a movie star's son. I'm hungry! Don't they feed you in here? This is police brutality! I'm going to write about this!”

“Shut up, Gracie. No one cares! I'm personally going to strangle you when we get out of here!” Max bellowed, his voice echoing in Ricky's ears.

“And just what do you think I'll be doing while you're
trying
to strangle me? You two
wusses
don't even know how to fight! I had to help you. Me! I helped you! Did you hear that, Mr. Lam? Did you? Well, did you? He threatened me. I'm going to sue. For big bucks!”

“Let me tell you what you'll be doing, Miss Gracie Lick! You're going to be dying!” Max thundered.

Ricky had had enough. He slammed his hand into the crook of his elbow. “Time-out here!” He walked down the short hallway, to where Gracie Lick was kicking at the bars of her cell. He didn't know if he should laugh or faint. He could see now that she wasn't even five feet tall, and he doubted if she weighed even ninety pounds. She stopped her tirade long enough to look up at him. Ricky held out his hand. “I'm Ricky Lam. I assume you are Gracie Lick.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm Gracie Lick. This is my brother Wally.” She pumped Ricky's hand vigorously. Wally stayed where he was.

“I'd like to personally apologize for the boys' crude behavior. Sometimes they can be
oafs.
I'll see to it that they apologize when we straighten this all out. In addition, my attorney will bail you and your brother out of here. I would also like to invite you and your brother out to my house for breakfast. No one is going to strangle anyone.”

“We accept,” Gracie said gleefully.

“He said we were
oafs,”
Max said.

“It's a Hollywood word. It means jerks, or in our case, assholes,” Tyler said. His voice was so sour-sounding, his brother patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“I'll be back,” Ricky said as he made his way to the door. “Try not to kill each other till we get out of here in one piece.”

 

Two hours later they could have posed for the Keystone Kops as they snapped and snarled at one another, with Gracie Lick's voice the loudest.

Ricky looked at his Porsche with the two bucket seats and, in the
hope
of preventing bloodshed, opted to take Gracie back to Whispers so she could get her car. Tyler, Max, and Gracie's brother piled into a cab.

Gracie stuck her head out the window. “If my car was impounded, your ass is grass!” she shouted, as Ricky blasted forward, her neck snapping backward. “Nice wheels,” she said in a normal voice. “I've never been in a Porsche before. So, how come you're being so nice to me? I'll have to pay you back a little at a time for the bail. Don't worry, I always pay my bills. What are you three up to? I know you're up to something. I can
smell
it. I have journalistic instincts. They never fail me. Now, if you give me an
exclusive,
I could make some bucks and pay you back sooner.”

Ricky looked over at her. “What's a nice girl like you doing hustling like this?”

“It beats waiting tables. Even though I'm young I don't want to risk getting varicose veins. Wally and I are putting ourselves through college. It's taking us forever. Rent is sky-high here in California. We have a fifteen-year-old sister we're responsible for. Teenagers require a lot of money, and we have to start thinking about college for her. We have cars and insurance, and we have to eat. We both work, but I'm the one who makes the most. Yes, I'm aggressive, but in this business you have to be.”

He didn't want to know, but he asked anyway. “Where are your parents?”

“They're dead,” she said flatly.

“I'm sorry,” Ricky said.

“No, you're not. That's what people say when they don't know what else to say. You didn't even know them, so how can you be sorry? My dad was driving my mother home from a church bingo game, and while he waited for her, he was drinking. The accident was his fault. No car, no insurance. An aunt took us in, and when she got done spending the small life insurance policy, she told us to take a hike. Now you can say, ‘I'm sorry to hear that.' ” She started to cry.

Ricky bit down on his lower lip as he risked a sideways look at her. “There are some tissues in the glove compartment. Sometimes life isn't fair,” was all he could think of to say.

“Most of the time it out and out sucks,” Gracie hiccuped.

“That, too. Okay, we're here. Do you see your car?” The Porsche slid to the curb.

“It's the Beetle over there,” she said, pointing to a beat-up yellow car with rusty bumpers and a dent in the passenger-side door. “Tell me where you live, or do you want me to follow you? Or was that invitation to breakfast just something you said back there at the police station to shut me up?”

“You do talk a lot. Is it a defense mechanism?” Ricky asked curiously.

“Yes.” She blew her nose with such gusto her whole body shuddered. “Thanks for the ride. Don't drive fast. My car can't go over forty miles an hour. It's good enough for going around town, and I don't have to worry about someone stealing it. Even when I leave the keys in it, no one takes it.”

“Remarkable,” Ricky said.

“Yeah, it is. What are you making for breakfast?”

“It's a surprise.”

“Oh. That means toast. I was thinking of something a little more substantial. I kind of like the mouthy one named Max,” she called over her shoulder on her way to the yellow Beetle. “Remember, don't go over forty.”

Five minutes later, a cab rolled to the curb. Ricky watched as his sons stepped from the cab. They looked worse in the bright day-light. They pointed to the rented BMW parked four car lengths behind the Beetle. He waited until Wally settled himself in the Beetle before he pulled away from the curb. Gracie tapped her foggy-sounding horn to show she was following him. In spite of himself, he started to laugh and couldn't stop.

 

“Wow!” Gracie said when she climbed out of the Beetle. “This is beautiful, Mr. Lam. I can't wait to see the inside of the house. This pool is gorgeous. That cabana is as big as our whole apartment. I can't believe I'm actually here seeing this place. It must be nice to be rich.” She sighed.

Ricky watched as Max sidled up next to Gracie. He looked like he was about to say something smart. Obviously, Gracie thought so, too. She turned, and, with one mighty shove, Max went flying into the pool. Tyler skidded to a stop, his eyes registering shock, before she swung around and kicked out. Tyler joined his brother in the deep end of the pool.

“That's for telling those cops I was your ringleader. You don't want to mess with me because I can wipe up the floor with you. That means I can tie you into a pretzel and not even break a sweat. I had to take karate because I'm so small. I have a brown belt.”