Larger Than Lyfe (32 page)

“Mars, WAIT!” Keshari said to his locked door. “There is so, so much that you don’t understand. We’ve opened discussion on this issue. Please…let’s finish it. That is not my life anymore! I’m risking my life to walk away from that life! Please…just open the door.”

The response to her plea was silence. Keshari stood at Mars’s locked door for what seemed like forever, hoping that Mars would open the door. He never did.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Heartbroken tears spilled down Keshari’s cheeks as she picked up her purse, left the keys to Mars’s apartment on the cocktail table, and hurried out while DEA agents captured her tearful departure on film.

T
he following week was misery. Keshari cried for days. Then she was furious with herself for having gotten
involved with Mars in the first place. Then she cried all over again, missing him, thinking of him, loving him. Then she had to try to regroup, remembering the gravity of her situation overall.

Media commented that there may be trouble in paradise for music’s power couple. The press constantly worked to convey celebrities’ lives to the public like some kind of reality soap opera. There were few insiders offering up juicy information to tabloid writers to confirm or deny the Keshari and Mars situation, however. Most of the people surrounding Keshari and Mars didn’t really know what was going on and the few who did would not dare betray their privacy.

Mars took a couple of days off work and stayed in his condo with the blinds drawn. A man known for his suave, all’s-under-control demeanor was at his breaking point. Anger, sadness, hurt, resentment, disgust, and judgment at the choices Keshari had made in her life drowned out everything else around him and he needed a little time to get his head back together. He also didn’t want to run into another reporter in the garage of his office building, hounding him with questions.

Mars had been deluding himself from the very beginning, from the day that he’d told his best friend about Keshari, and his friend had warned him to be careful, he knew that he had almost
intentionally gone into a state of denial. When Keshari gave confirmation to the truth of the words of the DEA agent, in an instant, something shattered that night like glass between the two of them. Mars was absolutely in love with Keshari and it was a feeling that he could not simply turn off. Never in his life had he ever fallen for a woman the way that he had for Keshari, but he didn’t know if they would ever be able to repair what was now broken between the two of them, especially now that he knew what he knew.

Meanwhile, “Nationwide Search for a Star” continued to move. The televised grand finale series would be a week-long event promising to showcase some of the hottest, unsigned talent in the country and some of the biggest names in music would be judging the contest and choosing the winner. Keshari had budget and production meetings every other day to distract her from her broken heart, and then she sat in the studio to hear LTL’s newest, rising star producer, Mack-A-Do-Shuz, put the finishing touches on sure-to-go-platinum tracks. At the office, she appeared to be bravely holding it all
together. Almost everyone at LTL knew about her break-up with Mars, but felt certain that the two would quickly get back together, and only a few shared in hushed whispers why the two had broken up. Keshari went home in the evenings and dropped her brave facade and felt like she might fall apart.

Exactly one week and a day after Keshari’s break-up with Mars, Keshari headed home early. Since first thing that morning, she’d been on the set of a video shoot for her label’s group, C-Walk, because, as usual, the group were posing a problem to themselves and everyone around them. For three days, C-Walk had been
coming onto the set drunk, reeking of marijuana, with their parasitic entourage in tow. Their management was little more than one of their homies from the ’hood. He had no experience managing their budgets and even less experience managing their ridiculous behavior. C-Walk found it difficult to take constructive criticism from anyone and they refused most advisements offered to them by professionals. What was supposed to be a three-day video shoot for their new single, “Stripper Song,” was now running overtime as well as over budget. C-Walk showed up late, practically coerced video models
to provide sexual favors for them and their entourage, and then could not seem to follow the guidance of the video’s director at all. Before everyone working on the video got pissed enough to walk, the director called Keshari to ask her to immediately intercede.

Keshari’s presence on the set had definitely improved working conditions and the crew was finally back on timeline to wrap the shoot before dark. Nevertheless, Keshari was thoroughly prepared to drop the group from her label. They were far more trouble than they were worth and their first CD had barely sold 300,000 units. When she got home late that afternoon, she was still pissed at having had to waste valuable time babysitting one of her label’s artists. She made a stiff drink, and then threw herself into bed before the sun even set.

One of the regular guards at Keshari’s residence was starting his vacation that evening and another security officer would be temporarily taking his place. The security officer arrived with his special clearance documents from the security firm hired to protect Keshari and her residence. The gate at the entrance to the
mansion slid open and the new officer drove the short distance up the drive to park and report to the property’s security office.

Samuel Perkins, head of security, sat in the security office sipping a cup of coffee and chatting with Donald Schweitzmann, one of the senior officers. Sam Perkins watched several monitors linked to the property’s numerous cameras, always keeping an eye out for intruders.

“Hi, I’m Tim Harris,” the new officer said. “Reporting for assignment.”

Sam Perkins looked over Tim Harris’s clearance forms, cross-referenced them to the ones that had been faxed to him earlier, and then escorted Tim Harris outside to give him a walk-through of the grounds and to go over procedures with him. Tim was introduced to the other regular guards who patrolled the property during the evening. Then he was shown the area of the grounds that would be under his watch.

The evening was cool and Tim Harris wore his company-issued jacket. He carried his company-registered .9 mm Baretta in a holster on his hip. He wore a second gun in a shoulder holster. He strolled across the terrace outside the mansion’s solarium and admired the quiet opulence of the record mogul’s residence. He stared up at the balcony and the open, French doors leading into the bedroom of the woman they were hired to protect. Her bedroom was dark, but he knew that she was home. He headed back down onto the grounds and stood his post. Sam Perkins radioed him.

“Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tim answered. “Just admiring the beautiful property.”

“Keep your eyes open,” Sam Perkins said. “I’ll radio you again around break time.”

Tim stood his post, walking back and forth toward the cliffs that composed the area that he patrolled. He could just make out the lights of Catalina Island in the distance. The security that Keshari
Mitchell maintained was very expensive, running her upward of almost $100,000 each month, depending upon her schedule, itinerary and level of security that she required. Something serious must have transpired recently because, at the current time, Keshari Mitchell maintained the highest level of security and maintained it around the clock. Most officers hired to protect Keshari Mitchell were former police officers and FBI agents or had been members of highly trained, special units in the military. Tim Harris himself was a former Navy SEAL who had just joined the security firm hired
to protect Keshari Mitchell and her home.

Tim walked the perimeter of his patrol area a few times, and then diverted his path and headed up the stone steps leading to the balcony outside Keshari Mitchell’s bedroom. Keshari’s Rott-weilers, “Marcus Garvey” and “Hannibal,” immediately started to growl as Tim approached. Tim reached into his jacket pocket for a handful of steak treats he’d picked up at the pet center. He tossed the treats off down the steps and the two massive, purebred dogs bounded off to get them.

Poised in the doorway, Tim Harris watched as Keshari Mitchell slept. The covers were pulled up, practically covering her face. He’d seen many photographs of her and she was exceptionally beautiful. What Tim Harris was about to do was purely part of a business transaction. This mission was not personal. He was not some sort of stalker.

Tim screwed the silencer onto the gun from his shoulder holster. An expert marksman, he took a shot and Samuel Perkins, who’d been carefully watching his movements, took a shot at the very same time. Tim Harris’s shot landed in the pillows directly next to Keshari’s head. The head of security’s bullet landed in the side of Tim Harris’s neck. Tim Harris fell to the ground. Keshari snapped up in her bed.

The head of security quickly radioed the police department.
Then he radioed the other security officers and told them to secure and lock down the premises. They had an emergency.

Keshari looked at the pillows beside her and the mess of down filling that protruded from the pillows’ gaping holes. An almost successful attempt had just been made on her life. The bile rose in her throat and she rushed into the bathroom to throw up.

When Keshari came out of the bathroom, her mansion was the chaotic venue of police cars and television crews attempting to get as close as they could to the dramatic scene of death and a nearly accomplished hit.

Misha rushed as fast as she could to be at her best friend’s side. Keshari broke down and cried in her arms.

“It’s all falling apart,” Keshari sobbed. “It’s all falling apart.”

“Get it all out,” Misha soothed, stroking Keshari’s hair and holding her best friend tight. “I’m here for you, girl, as long as you need me.”

Misha knew that her brother had ordered the hit on Keshari and the wheels of Misha’s mind were already turning, plotting the appropriate way to use what she had on Ricky. David Weisberg, Keshari’s attorney, also rushed to be at Keshari’s side. The police wanted to question Keshari, and David Weisberg assured the investigators that Keshari would cooperate fully with all of their questioning later in the day. She was simply too distraught, he said, to be of any real help to them now.