To Henry

I

A ringing cellphone woke Lester up the next day. He jerked awake, picked up his jeans from the floor and put them on; then fished the cell out of a pocket. Daniel Bruckheimer was calling.

“Yeah?”

“Lester?”

“Who were you calling, Daniel?” Lester went looking for a fresh T.

“Right. Anyway, I woke up, but the girl, Jeanine, was gone, and so’s the watch…”

“Stop mumbling!” Lester cut him off; the black Breitling watch was right there in his watch cabinet. “Relax, Daniel, what’s wrong with you?”

“I just…”

“Yeah, I know. All’s taken care off, just go about your day.”

There was a pause, and Lester had time to put on a plain blue T-shirt.

“What about that other thing?” Daniel asked on the phone.

Lester smirked. “Do you have any idea, how many ‘other things’ I have?”

“The contract, Lester, stop playing with me!”

“Fair enough. We, or, rather, you’ve still gotta find a way to make Cynthia sign it, far as I can tell. Maybe Buksly will help with that, which I doubt, but hey…” He went into the bathroom, putting Daniel, who fell silent, on speaker. “So?”

“And how do I do that?”

“You do expect me to take care of it all, don’t you? Because I can, but where’s the fun in that?” Lester clicked off. There was only so much time he wanted to waste on fruitless phone calls that morning.

He washed quickly and went out onto the enormous balcony-terrace of the 62-floor penthouse of The Warner Tower. It was almost eleven in the morning, and the city down there was busy as ever. Lester lit a cigarette. He was indeed thinking what could be done to make Cynthia sign the damn contract. There was always money, of course. In the end, money was the only thing that got shit done, in his experience. But like he’d told Daniel, where would the fun in that be? He’d have to get back to it…

He butted out the cigarette. There was nothing to do in the apartment; most importantly, there was nothing to eat, so he crossed the living room and walked through the door into the hallway. He gave a nod to the security guy sitting behind the bulletproof glass and went to the private elevator. Half a minute later he walked into The Platinum through the staff entrance.

Lester’s booth was all set, as usual, only this time Jeanine was sitting there, enjoying a salad. There was a teapot and two cups on the table. Lester joined her with a smile on his face.

“Morning to you.”

“Thanks, Les, back at you.” That Thursday was her day-off, and she was wearing a colorful see-through dress with a white bra underneath.

Lester took a seat and poured some tea.

“Mm, jasmine, perfect!”

Jeanine winked.

“So, did you enjoy last night?” He asked.

“Oh, God, yes! Thank you so much, Les. For the ride, too, it’s just…”

“I know, I know, Jeanine. Happy to oblige. So, tell me, how is he?”

She paused to finish her salad, then laced her fingers around one of the teacups.

“He’s… miserable, to tell the truth. He was tender, if you know what I’m saying…” Lester nodded. “…but he’s not well. After we shared a bottle of wine he pretty much broke down. Kept calling me Stacy, too…” She shook her head ruefully.

“He did? Dammit, Danny…” He whispered; something got on his mind.“Pardon me a minute.”

Lester stood up and stepped aside, dialing a number. After a few rings the call came through.

“Lester?” Daniel answered with surprise.

“Where are you, Daniel?”

“Walking…”

“Not what I asked.”

“Why? What’s the matter?”

“You aren’t walking to a certain brownstone, are you?”

“What if I am?”

“Then turn around and walk the other way. This is not gonna end well!” Lester said a bit louder than he anticipated. “Now, Daniel!”

But Bruckheimer clicked of. Lester was angry, and for no apparent reason. What was the matter with him? He wasn’t involved with Ms. Kessler; he wouldn’t be, either way. Yet Lester felt his head getting heavy. He walked back to the booth fast.

“I’m sorry, darling, gotta go. You have a pleasant morning now.” Lester squeezed Jeanine’s hand lightly and hurried away.

He cornered The Tower, catching fresh air on the way, trying to remain calm. Down in the underground parking lot he fired up the nearest car to the exit, which was a 1960s Stingray, and drove out fast, barely avoiding the rising barrier.

Lester was only a fast driver on highways, but this time he really stepped on the gas, even though it was Manhattan, and at this hour the trip would have taken him no more than fifteen minutes anyway. He dialed Stacy Kessler, and she answered shortly.

“Hello.” She sounded cheerful.

“Morning, Stacy!” Lester uttered.

“Good morning, Lester. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to ask if you’d like to have a brunch with me. Would you like that?”

“Me? Why me?”

“I was thinking of you this morning…” He lied. “Thought I’d swing by and pick you up. We could go to Heaven on Earth or something…”

“Ermm… I don’t know, Lester…”

“Please?”

“Okay, alright, just give me ten to get dressed.”

Lester mouthed a kiss and put the phone away.

Sure enough, ten minutes later the Stingray hauled to a stop at a curb by Stacy’s brownstone. Lester lit a cigarette. He was nervously checking the rearview mirrors, waiting for Daniel to appear from around the corner. But that wasn’t happening, and after ten more minutes of waiting, Stacy stepped out of the building.

Lester went to meet her. “You look wonderful today!”

“Thanks, Les!” She smiled.

He walked her to the passenger side and opened the door. “Please.”

As he was circling the car, it happened. Lester looked up the street, and there he was – Daniel Bruckheimer, strolling towards him. Lester thought, panicky, of driving away fast, but he dismissed that idea as silly, of course. Instead, he just stood there, waiting for the inevitable. Daniel saw him too now, at first with a little interest, but then it hit him, and he doubled his pace.

“What are you doing here, Lester?” He asked from twenty feet away.

“I’m…”

“What the hell?” He glanced at the car.

“This is not what it looks like, Daniel!”

“That’s what you’re going with?” He was outraged; he grabbed Lester’s collar with one hand and jerked him aside. “What’s this?” He leaned to look at Stacy, who, to her credit, kept her cool, not even turning to look at him.

“Daniel…” Lester started saying, but only got jerked by the collar again.

“You motherfucker! What…?” He shook his head. “You know what? Fuck you! And fuck your fucking help! Fucking prick!” He pushed Lester hard enough for him to trot. “I should have seen it…”

“Not so easy when you’re drunk out of your skull, huh?” Lester said, playing along.

Daniel was breathing through his nostrils, about to punch the crap out of Lester, but in the end he did nothing. “Go fuck yourself, Lester. You too, hon!” He kicked the Stingray angrily until its door dented. “Fuck!”

With that he started walking away, fists clenched at his sides.

“I told you it wouldn’t end well!” Lester called after him, but he kept walking.

In the car, Stacy sat looking straight ahead.

“Have a smoke?” She asked, when Lester joined her.

He took two cigarettes out of his pack and passed her one.

“Thanks.”

“Still up for that brunch?” Lester asked, blowing smoke.

She shrugged. “We may as well eat, no?”

II

I took a long walk. I almost ran at some point. Fucking Lester with his fucking money. Plotting little bitch! I should have seen it coming, with him being there at Stacy’s for no reason every time and again. And Stacy, what the fuck was her problem? The kid’s nineteen! Surely I’d have sold myself for a hundred billion, but damn, bitch…

With thoughts flowing along those lines, I walked all over Manhattan, without really looking ahead, smoking one cig after another. Later I felt guilty about saying, hell, about even thinking all those things, but as I was turning on 11^th Avenue, I was still angry with them both. With that fucking Lester, mostly. He, driving his fancy cars, playing Simon sayswith everyone around… Fuck them spoiled brats…

So I walked along the Ave all the way to 28^th Street. They’d demolished a corner building there recently, and there were buzzing excavators messing around in the piles of brick. A truck stood at a curb of the lot, and a couple of men were unloading sections of blue fence.

I stopped on the sidewalk to light another cig and watched them doing real work. And I thought that maybe that’s what I should have been doing. Instead of pitching stupid scripts, I should have been working at a construction sight or maybe join the Coast Guard… And then I looked across the street at a Porsche dealership. I smiled, and the builders gave me annoyed glances. I was quick to resume my walk. I crossed the 28^th Street and stopped again in front of the sports car showroom. I looked at the cars, which price ranged from eighty thousand dollars to three hundred thousand, and I thought that no, construction work was out of the question. It was honest work, sure, but if I was ever going to drive one of these…

“Danny?” A girl called from behind me.

I turned and saw a shiny Porsche stop beside me. A stunning blonde stepped out, a smile of recognition on her face, which, alas, I couldn’t return.

“Danny Bruckheimer?” She extended her hand. “It’s Nicole! Nikki Rhodes?”

“Hey!” I held her hand briefly. “I don’t believe we’ve met…”

“I’m a friend of Stacy Kessler? Oh, you wouldn’t remember. Silly me! I was there when Lester Warner brought you in, you were sooo out of it!” She laughed. It was a pleasant jolly laughter that made me smile with her.

“That I remember… So…”

“Yeah, I work here. Just saw you peering in and thought I’d say hi. Looking to buy?” She smiled again, but this time it was a salesman’s smile.

“Do I look like someone who could afford a Porsche?” I smirked and drew on my cig.

“In our business you never know! A guy comes in wearing sweatpants – ends up spending quarter million dollars. So I’m just asking. If you ever do want to buy one of these beauties, though…”

“Nikki Rhodes.” I said.

“You got it!” We laughed. “I guess I’ll see you around, Danny.”

“Let’s hope so!” I said and watched her step inside the dealership.

Some day, I thought, I’ll see you around, Nikki.

I turned around and walked back towards 49^th Street. I called ahead the hotel receptionist and asked him to restock my mini-bar. When I got there, it was full of wine and whiskey and vodka and…

III

The waitress arrived with Stacy’s flan and more coffee for Lester. They were sitting at a round table atop of a Central Manhattan skyscraper, observing the busy city through the panoramic windows. Helicopters were humming low above them, but their hum was lost in the piano riffs coming from the corner of the room.

“I don’t get you, Lester.” Stacy said, digging into her dessert.

“How so?”

She thought for a moment, then asked. “Why? Just… Why?”

“Why what exactly?” He asked, not really asking.

“Why do you do what you do? With Danny, I mean, you keep… playing. Was it on purpose today?”

Normally, Lester would have come up with a story that would explain everything; he always carried a pocketful of such stories, just in case. But he didn’t want to ‘play’ this time.

“Today didn’t go as I’d planned, to say the least. I was late.”

“Okay…”

“If we skip the awkward excuses for my actions, Stacy, point is as follows: he’s bad for you and vice versa. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She was half-through the flan. “And, who are you again, Lester? I’m starting to think all that wealth got to your head…”

Lester laughed. “Yeah, I get that a lot! That’s what people do, when they’re looking for easy explanations – they point at the obvious. ‘This guy’s wealth got to his head!’” He grimaced. “’That guy’s poverty drove him to it!’ You get the picture. But I like to believe I’d be able to tell if I were… I digress. I like him. Daniel, I mean. I wouldn’t call it love per se…” He raised his eyes quickly at her, but to his surprise, she sat studying him and listening, not an emotion on her face. That eased him some. “And I wish him good. But I can’t…”

“Can’t come out and say it?” She helped him, finishing her dessert.

He shrugged. “Yeah. Could you imagine that, me telling him? Telling anyone, for that matter?”

“You told me.” She said.

“I did, didn’t I? But not him. I can’t…” He felt very lonely suddenly, what joy there was drained away from him.

Stacy touched his hand. “It’ll sort itself out, Lester. Maybe you should just stop trying to control everything.”

Lester smiled, remembering the day he and Daniel were driving to the Hamptons party, and how he let go of the wheel. Stop controlling everything… Oh, the irony.

Lester’s cellphone rang then. He hoped it was Daniel, but was utterly disappointed.

“Yeah, Cindy, I’m listening.” He said, all business-like.

“Lester! Wanna guess who called me just now?” Cynthia said in that vile manner of hers.

“Dunno. The Devil himself?”

“Oh, you’re such a little kid, Warner!”

“Well, I am a teenager, technically…”

“Nobody likes a smart-ass, you know!”

“You didn’t call me to like me, Cynthia, right? So, Buksly called you. How did that go?”

“It didn’t, Lester, how did you expect? What’s your play here, tell me? Cause I honestly don’t see it.”

“Maybe keep your eyes open, Cynthia.” He hung up.

So, Buksly was a no-go. No surprises there…

“What’s up?” Stacy asked. “Business?”

“You can say that…”

“Something urgent? Cause I’m done here.” She took a sip of her tea.

Lester was lost in thoughts. Something had to be done about Cynthia. She’d been right – it looked like he had no play here. Except…

“Les?”

“Huh? Sure, yeah… Let’s go.”

Lester shook the manager’s hand on their way out and the porter in a bright red suit took them to the ground floor. Lester opened the door before Stacy, then got behind the wheel.

…except family.

IV

With my eyes closed, I could tell I was lying on some damp surface. Somewhere far above my head a waterfall roared, sparkling in the sun, no doubt. I could imagine a rainbow, too. The sound of water was deafening; it was muffling my thoughts. My clothes, wet and sticky, were slowly drying in the breeze. It smelled of pine, I think. I didn’t want to open my eyes – it was all too bright. I buried my face in the baggy sleeve of my shirt. Water splashed my neck in tiny droplets. I had sleepy legs though I couldn’t remember what had happened. I thought I’d fallen down at some point. I thought I’d been on a boat. Had I been? I remembered rocking, so, yeah, it could have been a boat. I’d been drinking. Whiskey, most likely. And vodka. And rum, too. And then I’d lost my balance…

I opened my eyes suddenly, and banged my head on the fucking toilet. The flush button was jammed, allowing water to overflow. The tiled floor was damp and reeked of all the things a toilet floor normally reeks of. My legs hurt. What a colossal disgrace, I thought in my hungover head.

My phone was vibrating somewhere in the room 704. I lay on the floor, waiting for my legs to wake up. It stung, and the post-liquor sickness only added to the horrible feeling. I crawled into the shower stall and sat under pouring cold water. It was something of a relief.

I took off the wet clothes and dried off. The phone was still vibrating. It was Lester.

“Daniel, you there?” He asked, concerned.

“Uh-huh.”

“Listen, I wanted to tell you…”

“Yeah, Lester, tell me this: when was the last time you fucked yourself? Because I really think you’d better get to that now. And once you’re done – go at it again. See you around.” I hung up. Fuck Lester.

Ten minutes later the hotel phone rang.

“What?” I was in a really bad mood.

“Mr. Bruckheimer? I’m calling to give you a notice from Mr. Warner. You have a week left at The Time Hotel.”

“That be all?”

“Yes, sir.” The reception lady replied.

“Very well. Please, next time Mr. Warner calls, politely invite him to eat shit. Thank you.” I hung up again. Fuck The Time Hotel.

I got some fresh clothes and put them on. I still had a couple of grand on my credit card; I’d manage without Lester’s charity for another week or two. I thought to take a walk and then grab something to eat. There was a sweet bar across the road…

V

A week, almost to the hour, passed in a flash. Lester was having another brunch at Heaven on Earth, this time on his own. He was meaning to eat well and then ride out to the Hamptons mansion to check on Max and Gabriel.

They’d been distant lately, to say the least. Neither was answering his phone, not a sign of them on Manhattan. Lester felt at least partly responsible for the crap Cynthia had given her men, so he thought he had to pay them a personal visit.

But first thing’s first. He dialed The Time Hotel.

“Hi.” He said before the receptionist could greet him. “This is Lester Warner, calling about room 704.”

“Yes?”

“Well, is it still occupied?”

The receptionist checked. “It is.”

“And who’s paying for it?”

“I can’t disclose that, sir.”

Lester exhaled audibly. “Call the man in charge to the phone, please.”

“Just a minute…” The receptionist put the receiver down.

A minute later it was picked up again and a low voice asked. “How may I help you, Mr. Warner?”

“I trust my inquiry has been passed on to you.”

“Yes, concerning the payment for the room 704. All I can tell you is this: you are not the one paying for it anymore.” The manager said firmly.

“Okay, listen…” He was at loss for words. “A week ago I specifically asked to evict Mr. Warner today.”

There was a long uncomfortable pause. Then the manager said. “Sir, but that’s against the law.”

Lester hung up. He knew it was a stupid idea – trying to evict Daniel like that. He cared too little for anything to be spooked so easily. Nor would Daniel cooperate.

“Oh, well…” Lester whispered and gulped his coffee.

He’d had a big plate of pancakes with maple syrup, and was now all set to go.

Again, he shook the local manager’s hand, and again he rode the elevator down with a red-suited porter. Lester’s car, the Jaguar E-type, newly delivered from Stockholm, was parked at the curb in the same spot as the previous time. He took off and two hours later reached the Hamptons mansion.

The gates stood open, like before, so Lester rode into the driveway and to the garage. There was only one car left – the million-dollar Enzo – as, Lester was sure, the other ones had been sold already. Lester parked the Jag and walked to the marble steps. The doors were wide open.

Inside, the hall was all dust and trash. There were cigarette butts all over the floor and a number of empty bottles and dirty take-out containers. It was a mess. Lester crossed the hall and stepped out onto the terrace.

“The fuck do you want?” It was Gabriel. He was moderately drunk at 3pm, which, Lester thought, wasn’t that surprising. Drinking has become somewhat of a hobby for these guys.

On the terrace floor were the four duffel bags Lester had given him. Two of them were empty and flat, and the third one was almost there as well.

“It’s been a week, Gabriel. One week. But you managed to blow two hundred thousand dollars?”

Gabriel frowned. “It’s all about money with you, isn’t it, Richie Rich? The fuck do you care anyway? You spend that much a day…” He hiccupped. “Pardon me, your highness!” Snicker.

Lester didn’t say another word. There was no sense talking to this junkie. He went upstairs instead, looking for Max. He found him in the main room of the second floor. It stank of sweat and booze.

“Jesus, Maxime!”

“Looky here! It’s Mr. Warner himself! I bow before you!” Surprisingly, Max seemed to be sober; at least more sober than his son.

“What’s good, Max?” Lester asked.

“What’s what? Good? Nothing’s good, Lester, surely you ain’t blind.”

“I ain’t. No word from Cynthia?”

“Not to me, at least. I hear they’re starting casting for your kid’s script next week. They say it’s the shit.”

Now that was news to Lester. “Pullman? You sure?”

“You know any other movies Silk Pictures is working on?” He laughed sadly.

“So, they’ve signed the contract with ‘my kid’?”

“Fuck do I know, Les? Look at me.”

“Fair enough. What’s your plan, Max? You gonna sell the house?”

Maxime grinned. “They’re offering me twenty-five mil, Lester, can you imagine? The freakin’ golf lawn alone is worth that much!”

“Tough break…”

“No kidding. But check this out!” Max waved Lester to come closer and stepped to his desk. He delved in a drawer and came up with a stack of papers. “Take a look!”

Lester took the papers and read the header: INSURANCE POLICY. He scanned it quickly, meaning to look up the Number. It was eighty million. Lester looked at Maxime, who was grinning devilishly; his disheveled hair added to the crazy look.

“What do you think?” Max asked, sparkles in his eyes.

Lester considered this. He’d come to ask Maxime for help with Cynthia, but saw now that Max was the one who needed help. The help Lester didn’t think he deserved. He tried to appeal to his feelings then, but found nothing there for Max. He was wasting his time there.

“I’m sorry, Max. Have a nice life.” He handed him the papers and left the room.

Downstairs he spoke to Gabriel, in hope he’d be more reasonable. But he was just more drunk.

“Okay, Gabriel. I’ll just say what I feel like I need to say. Call it my final offer. You wanna help out your da, right? Well, your Ferrari is rather rare…”

“Fuck off!”

Lester didn’t listen. “…and I’m willing to pay for it. I’ll even hold a private auction for you right now: million dollars one… million dollars two… million dollars…”

“Go fuck yourself, Les.”

“Hm, that seems to be a popular bet these days. I’ll be back next week, Gabriel. I expect you to make the right choice. Yeah, you can keep the duffel bags, too.”

With that Lester left de Puire men to themselves. He got into his shiny vintage Jaguar and rolled out of their driveway and back towards Manhattan.

VI

It was another Wednesday morning. I’d paid for the previous two weeks out of my own pocket, and at the rate of two hundred a night I was now almost broke. I had two hundred in my pocket and five more in my bank account, but that was all.

Neither Lester nor Cynthia had called me. Not about the movie, not about anything. I was pretty much on my own, travelling from one bar to another on daily basis, just drinking away what money I had left.

That Wednesday morning, as usual, I was having bacon’n’eggs at Pigalle, when my cellphone rang for the first time in days. It was an unknown number.

“Hello?” I said as if I’d never encountered a phone before.

“Danny boy!” The man cheered in British accent. I couldn’t mistake that voice for a life. It was Henry, my old UCLA pal. “Surprised to hear my voice, mate?”

“Surprise barely scratches the surface of what I am, Henry! Tell me everything there is to tell! Start with how you found me!” I was so excited I just wanted to keep talking.

“Well, I’ve retreated to The Islands after the graduation. Hung around for a while, you know, doing nothing much. And one day not two weeks ago, a friend of mine, an actress, invited me to accompany her on a trip to the Land of Freedom. So we came here last week and today they’re auditioning her for a role in a film. Pullman, it’s called. Rings any bells?” He said through a smile.

“Unbelievable…”

“My thoughts exactly, dear friend! So, where are you?” He asked, and I told him.

We agreed to meet at Pigalle in half an hour. Meanwhile I was nervously drinking coffee and dying for a smoke.

Henry and I were good friends back at UCLA. We studied creative arts, blowing off most of it, but still managed to major. I got a shitty job as a manager’s assistant in some next-to-nothing firm, making next-to-nothing money, barely paying the rent and the whole nine yards; not much else to tell there. And to think that was only a year ago!

Now Henry, he was luckier than me. A whole fucking lot luckier. While we were ‘studying’, Henry’s father, a British immigrant, originally, worked as a chauffeur for some hot-shit Mexican oil king, who lived in New York at the time, but that’s not the point. Now despite being an oil king, the Mexican was, apparently, dumber than a brick, because from all of the existing means of payment he chose to reward Henry’s father with stock of his own oil company.

Sure enough, at some point the stock price went through the roof, making Henry’s dad a single-digit millionaire, which for a chauffeur was more than enough. Anyhow, being a good dad and all, Henry’s dad shared his newly acquired wealth with his son, who inherited it all after the man’s passing.

It was about that time that we graduated, and Henry has fallen off the radar. Now I knew he’d spent the past year fooling around in Europe. As good a pastime as any, I thought.

Half an hour later to the minute Henry entered the café. I was relieved to see him: a tall, handsome young man, his hair gelled and all. A Brit, too, so I could only imagine the effect he had on girls…

“Danny boy!” He spread his arms, ready to hug me as I stood up. We did hug, and it felt fantastic. I felt like after these long days of estrangement I finally had a friend on my side.

“Please, sit, Henry! So, tell me all about it!”

He did tell me all about it that morning. He described his long European holidays, which soundedto me like a lot of the same. He told me how he’d managed to quadruple his fortune playing the stock markets, and how he was thinking of moving to the Big Apple permanently.

“I’ve already got myself a nice little penthouse, you know!” He bragged. “You should come over sometime!”

“I will, just tell me where and when!”

We laughed a lot, remembering the good old days. At some point he mentioned that friend of his, the actress, who’d dragged him all the way to the States. She went by the beautiful name of Pauline Leclercq, and Henry told me I’d find her lovely. I never doubted his words.

We spent most of that day at Pigalle, talking, laughing, reuniting.

VII

That Wednesday morning, as he’d promised, Lester got into one of his cars and started towards the Hamptons. It was a long and tiring ride. Not to mention Lester’s expectations of the upcoming meeting were lower than ever.

But still, he took the 475 and drove the McLaren the way it was meant to be driven. He thought he’d get it over with as quickly as the circumstances would allow him and get the hell out of there, forgetting all about those de Puire drunks. The father, the son…

At noon, when Lester was still forty minutes out, his phone rang. It was Cynthia.

“Afternoon, Cindy, what’s good?”

“Oh, thank you so much for asking! All is well. We’re about to begin auditioning for Pullman. Which reminds me: get that fucking idiot to sign the deal, Lester!” She snapped suddenly.

“I haven’t spoken to Daniel in two weeks…”

“I don’t care!” She barked at him, but then calmed down. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, Lester! Isn’t it what you want? Because that’s what I want…”

Lester laughed. “You keep talking bullshit, Cindy, and the satellite’s gonna fall down from the sky!”

“Listen, you little shit-”

But Lester was beyond listening. “You listen, you old bitch.” He said calmly. “You do as you see fit and just see what happens, I dare you. But quit bothering me with your shit. You want the guy’s dick – well, that’s your fucking problem. Deal with it, Cindy.” He clicked off, distressed and angry. He held tight to the wheel and tried to focus on the road. He stepped on the gas.

Soon he rushed through the open gates of the mansion, and the tires screamed when he hauled to a stop in front of it. Inside it was even more of a dump than the previous week, but Lester disregarded that. He lit a cigarette to calm down and went to the terrace.

Gabriel was naked in one of the wicker chairs. On the round table beside him was a zipper bag full of weed and an overflowing ashtray. Gabriel himself had a joint stuck between his teeth. Lester saw the four duffel bags were lying around the floor, all of them empty.

“Hey, your fucking highness! Come for this?” Gabriel squeezed his dick.

“Jesus…”

“Nope. Try again!” Gabe’s bloodshot eyes couldn’t focus.

“What do I evendo with you…?” Lester shook his head.

“Dunno, Les… Go ask my daddy, why don’t you? The old prick’s tried to burn the house twice this week. Or was it last week? Ah, fuck it…”He inhaled and let the smoke out slowly.

“He did?” Lester was getting mildly concerned. “You know, I think I’m gonna call the cops on you, Gabriel. There’s just no other way.”

“What are you some fucking snitch now, Les?”

Lester wouldn’t dignify that with an answer. He dialed 911 and a lady asked what his emergency was.

“Not that much of an emergency, but there was an attempted arson, and I’m smelling pot…”

He recited the address and clicked off. “Don’t go anywhere, Gabe.” He went inside and started up the stairs. Gabriel was looking after him with a dropped jaw and horror in his eyes.

“You fucking cunt!” Like the previous time, out of nowhere, this crazy naked junkie brought out a gun and lunged after Lester. This time he meant business.

Lester was halfway up the steps, when Gabriel rushed into the hall. He let out three misguided shots and ran on, his junk swinging and all. Astonished, Lester crashed on the stairs, chuckling in shock. A bullet hole had pierced one of the steps mere inches from Lester’s thigh.He heard the Enzo roar and its tires squeak. Gabriel was gone.

After the shock had receded, Lester stood up and went on up. The door to the main room of the second floor was locked.

“Max? You okay? You in there?”

There was nothing for long moments.

“Max? Let me in!”

Silence, and then Max mumbled. “Go away, Les, there’s nothing for you here.”

Lester considered banging on the door or even breaking it in, but he did neither. He just stood there, thinking. Upon consideration, there really wasn’t anything for him there. As he’d decided the previous time – Max de Puire was not worth his time. He was a drunk and a failure, a useless parasite. These thoughts were only making Lester angry, and he decided to let them go.

“I’m sorry, Max.” He said quietly.

“Yeah. Me too.”

With that Lester left, stepping slowly down the stairs and out of the trashed seventy million dollar mansion. He got into the McLaren and drove off, no hurry.Soon he was back on the 475, doing 70mph on the wide highway.

Thirty minutes into the ride he heard fire truck sirens ahead. He dropped the speed and slowly approached a traffic jam. Two bright red trucks and a cop cruiser were blocking the road, all of their bright lights shining. There were clouds of black smoke and at some point – a bright orange flash. Lester stopped the car and stepped out. On his way towards the scene he dialed Jeanine.

“Afternoon, Lester.”

“Listen closely, darling. Call Arthur Buksly and set up a meeting with Daniel Bruckheimer. Make it tonight at The Platinum, my treat, as always.”

“Got it. And what if they decline?”

“Tell them I might have an edge regarding that contract.”

“Got it, Lester, bye.”

He clicked off and stepped through the crowds of gawkers to the police yellow tape. Yes, Lester definitely had an edge now. There was a torn off wheel in the middle of the road, unmistakably, a wheel of Gabriel’s Ferrari.

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 594