back in Jersey.'
He didn't answer, so she went on. 'I'm just saying, let Homicide do the Carol White investigation. I've got good people on that.'
'You got a drunk, overweight dirtbag on it. Lou Ruta is the primary. He's gonna work it for the minimum forty-eight hours required on an active homicide, then it's gonna go in the cold case file because he thinks she was just a junkie whore and he doesn't want to waste his precious time on her.'
'I'll make a reassignment. I'll give it to Sergeant Peterson. You know Swede; you like him. He's a hard worker.' 'He's in Hollywood, not Rampart.'
'You're quibbling. I'll talk to both division commanders and set it up.'
'Okay,' he said, and took a swig of beer. It tasted flat.
'You know, I do love you for caring.'
'Yeah.'
'No, really.'
'Look, Alexa, I know you mean well here and I know you're trying to make me feel better. But do me a favor: Let's save this for later, okay?'
'Done,' she agreed. 'So how 'bout them Dodgers, huh?' She was bone-tired but suddenly smiling, trying to help him get past it.
His wife was beautiful. She could take his breath away. She was funny, tough, smart, loyal, and she was his. So why couldn't he forget about Carol White? Why am I acting like such a rookie over this?
'Wait'll you see our new house on North Chalon. You're gonna love it,' he said.
'It was down to just me and Brooke…' Carol whispered in his memory.
'Another beer?' the Chinese waiter asked.
Chapter 17
'These guys are soulless killers,' Nicky was saying. Despite the frigid air-conditioning, he had started sweating; the collar and front of his silk shirt were drenched. They were sitting in the magnificent lobby at CAA, one of the most powerful and respected talent agencies in show business.
'You gotta let me do all the talking, bubeleh,' Nicky instructed. 'I know how these deals are made. Singh's agent, Jerry Wireman, is a fire-breathing serpent, a gontser macher. He's gonna want his pound of flesh.'
'How can it be that tough? We've got a hundred thousand dollars. They've got a script that's collecting dust. We trade?'
'The hundred large is bubkes… parking meter cash. You gotta readjust your thinking, babe.'
'What time is Dennis Valentine's party?' Shane asked, trying to change the subject.
'It's at six this evening in the garden patio of the Beverly Hills Hotel. The guy loves that hotel; drives all the way from Mandeville Canyon in the Palisades to have what he calls his power breakfasts in the Polo Lounge every morning at ten. Only he eats alone or with one a his apes, so it's more like breakfast at the zoo.' Nicky's gaze shifted down to Shane's blazer. 'Where'd you get that thing?' He scowled. 'The Navy Surplus store?'
'What thing?' Shane looked down at his jacket.
'If you're gonna be my partner, we gotta do something about your threads. You dress like an NBC page. 'Zat tie left over from when you were in the Boy Scouts?'
Shane glanced down at his plain blue tie. When he'd picked it out this morning he thought it looked nice with his dark blue blazer. Now, in the harsh sunlight streaming through the glass lobby of CAA, he had to admit it was pretty cheesy.
'Mr. Wireman is ready to see you,' a very attractive black woman said from behind her two-ton semicircular, granite reception desk. Roman legions had held passes in the Alps with smaller fortifications. Shane and Nicky stood.
'Sixth floor, end of the hall,' the receptionist said. 'His secretary, Barbara, is waiting for you.'
Barbara was pretty enough to be an actress herself. She led them down a very busy corridor where hyperfocused secretaries of both sexes were hammering out deal memos and contracts on computer keyboards. She showed them into Jerry Wireman's office.
The agent was aptly named: wiry body, wiry hair, wire glasses, wire-gray eyes… Wireman. He exuded all the personal warmth of marble statuary.
'Sit. What's up?' That was all he said. He made it clear by his elimination of all superfluous words that he had a minimal amount of time for them.
They sat.
'Go'
This guy is going to be a treat, Shane thought.
He waited for Nicky, who was their predesignated talker, but Nicky didn't say anything. Shane looked over and saw that his new partner had frozen. He was just sitting there, his hands clasped together, breathing through his mouth, jaw clenched. Sofa art.
'Go,' Jerry Wireman repeated impatiently, frowning at his Cartier timepiece as if the watch dial contained distressing results from his last cholesterol test.
'Mr. Wireman, Mr. Marcella and I are partners in CineRoma Productions,' Shane started.
'Never heard of it.'
'Yes, well, we have become extremely interested in a script I believe you represent, called The Neural Surfer, by Rajindi Singh.'
'Great merchandise. Ferae naturae-a term we use, meaning full of untamed nature. That product has endless shelf life. It's why we've been in no hurry to accept an offer. The Neural Surfer demands concept-friendly execution.'
Shane looked over at Nicky, who was now sweating big drops. They were dampening and curling his hairline. He seemed to have gone into some kind of semiconscious trance. 'Jerry, we share your enthusiasm for the material,' Shane finally said.
'Hard not to,' Wireman said. 'Piece is transitional… transcendental. It blends neo-impressionist heroism with gut-wrenching social commentary.'
'Exactly.' Shane didn't have a clue what he had just agreed with.
'Okay, good deal.' Wireman glared at his watch again and frowned. He looked as if he were about to start tapping the dial.
'So gimme the drill,' he suddenly said. 'Does CineNova want to buy it?'
* 'Cine-Roma,' Shane corrected him. 'Not buy it just yet. What we'd like is to get an option.'
'A priori of that, we have an existing quote sheet on this material, and I'm afraid our price is solid. We're not negotiating.'
'Apre-what?' Shane asked, bewildered.
'A priori,' Wireman responded, 'means conceived beforehand.' He looked at them askance. Tney didn't understand Latin. They had just lost important player points.
'Oh, I see,' Shane said. 'So what is the price?'
'The cheapest, front-end-friendly option I can offer is two hundred thousand for six months. The important non-negotiable soft clauses include no rewriting or line changes without Mr. Singh's written approval, and all rights revert back to Mr. Singh in six months. Absolutely no extensions-hoc tempore.'
Shane wanted to hit him, but said instead, 'That sounds like a pretty tough deal.'
'We're talking filmatic breakthrough here. This isn't Charlie's Angels where you got three gorgeous chicks running around in see-through dresses. This is a work of inestimable depth-fac et excusa.'
'Huh?' Nicky grunted from the sofa, finally reentering Earth's atmosphere.
'Means make your move. This is a straight yes-or-no proposition.'
Shane was close to feeding this asshole his wire-rimmed glasses. He looked over at Nicky, who was still
