'What was all that about Dante Watts and the key man clause?' I asked.
He took a moment to decide if he wanted to confide anything in me. But then, because I'd just brought him some useful information, he gave a small shrug and said, 'This is already on the vine, so what the hell.' He leaned on the edge of his desk. 'In the late nineties Dante Watts was a label exec and A amp;R man for Lethal Force. He discovered a lot of new acts. But he had his own way a doing things, and that pissed the Malugas off. Two years ago, Dante discovered Curtis and Floor Score on an underground label.'
Curtis Clark again shifted slightly.
'Dante hooked Curtis up with Lethal Force and got an outside attorney to cut his first two-album deal. Watts picked a good lawyer, and without telling Curtis, he had a clever escape paragraph written into the contract. The language was good and the Malugas' business affairs guys completely missed it; so did Curtis. The key man clause stated that if Dante Watts ever left Lethal Force or died, Curtis could walk out of his deal. Dante had a sweet cut of Curtis's coin and he put that clause in to protect his ass from Lou in case Lou tried to fire him or kill him. Last year he got into a big row with the Malugas over missing royalties and performance fees on Floor Score's concert appearances. He thought the Malugas were skimming net profits and holding back prepayment guarantees. In the middle of this beef, Dante Watts just disappeared. That's Lou's way of making problems go away. He disappears you. He musta whacked poor Dante before he could tell him about the clause. Stacy was the one who finally told Curtis. Apparently, she reads all the contracts and found the clause. We've been doing a forensic audit and we're still trying to get to the bottom of it. Looks like somebody over there illegally pocketed about ten million dollars. The bottom line is when Dante went missing, it gave a multi-million-dollar act his right to walk. Now Curtis is gonna record for me, but that's not gonna be a headline until we file our lawsuit.'
'You guys are missing a piece,' I said once he finished. 'She helps Curtis break his contract and then goes to Lou and uses that knowledge to get him to commit a murder. You got a few dots that aren't connecting.' The room fell silent. Then I asked, 'How about your problems down on Sixtieth Street?'
'Everybody has a past, my friend, even you.'
Then Lionel's desk phone rang. He picked up a headset off his desk and spoke into it. 'Hang on a minute, Patch. I'm almost done here.' He watched as I retrieved my tape recorder.
'Why don't you take me on as temporary security?' I said.
'With all this intrigue, it might be nice to have a badge-carrying cop on hand.'
He smiled. 'I run my security team under strict State of California guidelines to eliminate any hassles with your buddies down at Parker Center. So unless you've already been to the Bureau of Security and Investigative Services and have your PPO license, I can't use you.'
Without my noticing, Vondell Richmond and his partner, Taylor Hays, had quietly reentered the room, and were standing just inside the door, summoned mysteriously at exactly the right moment.
'You're making a mistake,' I said.
'Then you're invited to my funeral,' he said without an ounce of sarcasm or irony.
Vonnie and Taylor escorted me out of the room while Curtis Clark practiced his Murder One stare.
The outer office was momentarily unoccupied. Patch McKenzie was off beautifying some other part of the building. I glanced down and noticed some backstage passes in envelopes lying on her blotter. While Vonnie and Taylor moved ahead of me to the elevator, I palmed one off her desk.
'You guys better strap up,' I said to them as we all stepped into the elevator. 'I think your boss is gonna need you tonight.'
'That's why we come to work every morning,' Vondell said pleasantly.
The doors closed on this plush-pile wonderland and we zipped down to the ugly realities of the street below.
Chapter 41
It was a little past two by the time I left Wright Plaza. I got into Chooch's Jeep, opened the envelope I'd just lifted, and extracted the backstage pass. The awards show was something called the Tip-Top Hip-Hop Oasis Awards. The performance segment was called: star wars. Given what I knew, probably an unfortunate choice of words. A separate printed sheet said that the show started at eight p. M., but instructed all of the performing acts and their visitors to be in the El Rey Theater by seven p. M., when the backstage doors would be locked. Sound checks were from seven to seven-forty-five. The El Rey was in the Mid-Wilshire district.
If somebody wanted to kill Lionel or Curtis, what better place to do it than a music awards show where there was a long history of past gang violence and where members of rival Crip and Blood gangs would be in attendance? There'd be enough beef jerky standing around to fill Dodger Stadium and half of them would be strapped. For the shit to jump off, all that needed to happen was one insult from a guy wearing the wrong colors. Once the guns came out, confusion would reign and people could easily die. Even though there would be hundreds of people, there'd be no witnesses because everybody from the hood is gunshot-blind.
There was nothing else I could do before seven o'clock, but I wanted to visit Alexa. I needed to hold her hand and tell her how much I loved her. I knew she wouldn't be conscious, and if the cops from PSB were there, I might get busted. But still…
I headed down Ventura and turned onto Coldwater. Half an hour later I arrived at UCLA Medical Center where I parked in the main structure, went through the double glass doors to the elevators, and rode up to Neurosurgery. No cops, no trouble. So far, so good.
As I walked down the corridor, it occurred to me that this was exactly the kind of dumb-ass move I'd been making my entire life. Break the rules, ignore the consequences, go down in flames. Repeating the same behavior while expecting a different result my own definition of insanity.
I spotted Chooch in the partially filled waiting room studying his USC playbook. I cleared my throat and when he looked up a concerned look passed over his face. I indicated I needed to use the bathroom, then headed toward the men's room down the hall. A few seconds later Chooch arrived.
'Dad, what are you doing here? They're gonna see you.'
'I needed to come.'
We hugged each other, and then he reported that Alexa's condition still had not changed. The doctors were keeping her in a drug-induced coma that would continue until just before the operation, when the anesthesiologist would take over. 'They won't let anyone but her doctors and Luther see her,' Chooch concluded.
'I know, but I'm gonna try, anyway.'
'Dad '
'I've got to, son.' He looked at me for a long moment. 'You know all this stuff on TV where they're saying your mom was in a relationship with Slade?'
'That's a total lie,' he said, hotly.
'I know, but for a few hours yesterday, I was buying into that. I had some time when I didn't believe in her. Now I feel horrible about it.'
'Dad, if you go back there and they catch you, they'll call security. You know where you're gonna end up.'
'Just go to the front desk and keep the head nurse occupied. I'm going to find out where they keep the gowns and masks. Nobody will recognize me.'
'Don't do this, Dad.'
'If this goes bad tomorrow, I've got to at least tell her I'm sorry and how much I love her. It may be my only chance.' He held my gaze. 'What room is she in?'
'Six-ten.'
I found a supply closet down the hall and grabbed a set of green surgical scrubs, a cap, mask, and paper slippers. I returned to the men's room and gowned up, then walked back toward the waiting room and nodded at Chooch.
While my son went over to the nurse's station and started an animated conversation, I crossed to a side door, opened it, and quietly slipped inside.
Alexa looked much smaller than before, like she was slowly wasting away under her surgical dressings. Her
