Chapter 13
Rows of Harleys hulked along the parking lot perimeter of Stubbs, an iconic gathering place for two-wheel enthusiasts ranging from dentists out for a weekend fantasy ride to hardcore bikers - although the latter had diminished significantly due to the criminal justice system and the rigors of time. The restaurant/bar was only half full on a weekday, and Black easily found a spot near the entrance for the big Cadillac.
He checked the time and saw that he was a couple of minutes early, so he settled in to wait after putting the fabric top up - his concession to discretion. It was cool enough out so that he didn't need to run the engine to power the vintage AC unit, and he listened to the stereo, turned low so as not to attract attention, which he quickly realized was pointless given that every new arrival felt obligated to gun their motors with an ear-splitting roar before shutting down.
Hunter arrived on his bike, a custom-shop sled that easily cost a hundred grand, and backed it into a slot near Black before ambling to the front doors. Black watched him as he entered the establishment and took a seat at a window booth where another man sat waiting.
Black's ear piece chirped and he fumbled for his phone. "Black."
"I swear you sound sexier every day, darlin'."
"Hey, Colleen. How's it going?"
"Good. Okay, that's a lie. How about, as well as can be expected?"
"Works for me."
"Hunter called me this morning and told me that you'd worked a deal with him. Congratulations."
"It might be too early. I haven't done anything but pocket his check."
"If there's anyone who can get to the bottom of whatever's going on, it's you, big boy. I've got faith in you."
"Misplaced, obviously, but appreciated nonetheless."
"I just wanted to say thank you for giving it another shot."
"Hey, I like a full stomach as much as the next guy. Hunter agreed to my terms, so we're kosher. Now all I have to do is figure out why he's being targeted, who's killing the paparazzi, and whether he's complicit himself. Piece of cake."
"What? Why would he be involved? He hired you to find out who's after him."
"True, but I can't help but notice that he's been the beneficiary of a lot of coverage since all this started. He claims it's the wrong kind of coverage, but scandal always sells, so I'm not so sure..."
"You're barking up the wrong tree. He's straight. And he certainly wouldn't be involved in murder."
Black winced as another big bike revved past, its rider a woman with more arm muscle than Schwarzenegger. "I don't think so, either, but I want to cover all the bases. And LAPD didn't pull him in because they wanted his autograph. He's a suspect, whether he likes it or not, which he knows."
"Which is why he hired you, tough guy. Don't make this more complicated than it already is. You're wasting your time looking at Hunter. If I was you, I'd be raking Freddie Sypes over the coals. He's as dirty as they get, and it's his firm that's also in the headlines."
"Wait, you think Freddie is somehow involved to generate publicity for his firm? That he's killing his own employees to generate buzz?"
"I'll bet his traffic has gone through the roof since this all started. Honey, I don't know who's doing what to whom, but all I know is that when a scumbag like Freddie is in the neighborhood, bad things start happening. I don't trust him. Never have. He's a backstabbing cockroach who would do anything to further his ambitions. That's all I'm saying."
Black leaned into his seat. "I'll be looking into him as a matter of course. At this point, everyone's a suspect. That's rule number one of investigative work: never assume anyone's innocent."
"I thought rule number one was to get paid."
"Fair point. Oops. Sorry, Colleen, but I have to go. I'm on a stakeout."
"A stakeout! Look at you, like Sam Spade or something. Take care of yourself, darlin'."
"Count on it."
Black was sliding his phone back into his jacket pocket when Hunter emerged from the double restaurant doors. Apparently his meeting had been a short one. As he stepped into the sunlight, a pair of rough-looking men in greasy denim and black leather vests were arguing with a young woman wearing a neon pink tank top and a skirt so short it was an afterthought. One of them grabbed the young woman's arm and began manhandling her. Hunter paused, stared at the two men, and then approached them, his flat black half-helmet clutched in one hand.
Black's internal alarms triggered as the actor moved toward them, and he hastily swung his door open as Hunter engaged. Within a few seconds the altercation had turned ugly, and one of the bikers took a swing at the actor. Hunter ducked the clumsy punch and swung his helmet, striking the big man in the head with it, and he went down, hard. His partner released the girl and moved on Hunter, his stance unmistakably menacing. Black was ten yards away and sprinting when the second assailant's blow went wide and Hunter punched him, following the blow with one to the solar plexus. The second man fell to the ground clutching his stomach, and for a brief second Hunter stood in the bright sunlight looking for all the world like one of his action film heroes, his bare biceps rippling beneath his vest and tank top.
The girl ran to Hunter and was thanking him just as Black arrived. A small crowd had gathered as the pair of miscreants struggled to get up. Camera shutters clicked behind Black, and he positioned himself between the men and his client.
"All right, boys. Show's over. I saw everything. You threw the first punch. That's assault. This man was just defending himself," Black said loudly, hoping that his declaration would make a suitable impression on the bystanders. More importantly, he hoped that these two didn't have another dozen buddies inside Stubbs.
"I won't press charges if they get the hell out of here and leave her alone," Hunter said, his tone dangerous, gripping his helmet like he was ready to go another round.
"You heard him. Scram, or you can explain to the police why you assaulted a respected actor," Black said, realizing that the crowd had now recognized Hunter. He hoped common sense would kick in and they'd want no part of an escalation that would undoubtedly have them both behind bars for a long time.
The men clawed their way upright, holding their faces, and snarled at Hunter before retreating to their motorcycles and pulling their helmets on. Exhausts rumbled across the lot as Hunter stood, one arm protectively around the girl, until the bikes roared off with a contemptuous growl as they tore onto the street and sped south.
"Are you okay?" Black asked Hunter, eyeing the girl, who seemed somewhat in awe of the actor.
"Sure. Just a couple of two-bit punks." Hunter turned to consider his new companion. "You going to be all right?"
"Yeah. Thank you. I just want to get out of here," she said, nervously scanning the growing crowd.
"Black, would you get her a cab or something?" Hunter asked. The girl pulled away from him, the moment past, and as Black escorted her to the street he dialed his office. When Roxie answered, he quickly told her what he wanted and where the cab needed to go.
"Yes, master. Should I pick up your dry cleaning while I'm at it?"
"Roxie, please just do it. Now."
The line went dead, and Black debated calling back but decided not to. Roxie would call. She might be insolent, but she was highly competent.
"A taxi's on its way. Do you need anything?" Black asked the girl.
"Nah, I'm cool. Thanks. That whole thing just freaked me out. Creeps."
"Do you know them?"
"Sort of," she said, and Black took the hint. It was none of his business.
"Wait here. The car should be around shortly," he said, and she sat down on a concrete bus stop bench, resigned to her aborted day on the town.
Black returned to where Hunter was pulling on his helmet, having signed a dozen autographs for his fans. Hunter looked over his shoulder after swinging a leg over the motorcycle's seat and flipping off a car that two men with cameras were piling into. Black watched them pull out of the lot and Hunter grinned.
"Who was that?" Black asked.
"Paparazzi."
"Kind of convenient that they were here for that little scuffle, wasn't it?" Black asked, his expression betraying nothing.
"I'm not sure what you mean," Hunter said. He hit the ignition and gunned the throttle, ending the conversation. "You've got my itinerary. See you when I see you, big man," he called as he pulled away, and then he accelerated across the lot and edged into the sparse late-morning traffic.
Black watched him go, uneasy butterflies flittering in his stomach, and then he turned and walked back to his car, wondering what had really just happened.