Crashed

“I’ll take your word.”

“You were saying something. When he came in, I mean. About the Achilles Heel or something.”

“The right way to look at the problem,” I said. “You’re not going to like it.”

She flipped up her indicator for the turn. “I don’t much like any of it.”

“It’s all very well to steal costumes and send people to places where the crew isn’t. But if you want to bring this movie down once and for all, there’s only one thing you need to knock a hole in, and that’s Thistle.”

Tatiana said, with great feeling, “Oh, fuck.”

“And you,” I said. “You were going to tell me what scares you senseless.”

“It’s Thistle, again,” she said. “I’m not sure she understands what kind of movie this is.”

14

Dead wet girls

“I need to hire someone to sit outside her apartment tonight,” I said. “I know a guy who’s perfect for the job. It’ll run maybe three hundred fifty bucks.”

“And you think this is necessary,” Trey Annunziato said. She’d dumped the yellow outfit in favor of a one- piece, high-collared garment in black that looked like something that might be worn to a Star Trek funeral.

“Necessary? Only if you want to make your movie.”

The head-tilted-to-one-side pose. “Because …”

“Because she’s ground zero. If anything happens to her, you haven’t got two sticks to rub together.”

Trey was wearing long dangling earrings, little gold chains about four inches long with a good-size diamond at the end of each. One of the stones had tangled in her hair, and I watched the lazy expertise of her long fingers as she freed it. “Whom do you have in mind?”

“You don’t need to know. Someone I trust. Someone who has nothing to do with your family or its operations. I can guarantee it.”

“How can you guarantee that?”

“Because he’s fully employed by a Chinese firm.”

“Ah,” Trey said.

We were back in the conversation area, having a conversation. The password at the gate had been “buttercup,” and I wondered if Trey was just having some fun. I had things to do, but I figured that fidgeting would just inspire her to prolong the chat, so I sat back and smiled.

“Fine,” she said, once the earring was dangling free. “Do it.”

“Do you know anything about a couple of girls? I mean really girls, one of them maybe fourteen, and the other under ten.”

“No.” Her lack of interest was palpable. “Why?”

“They followed me out of here yesterday.”

“You were followed by children? And you couldn’t lose them?”

“If I’d lost them,” I said, “I wouldn’t have gotten close enough to know they were children.”

“Point taken. No, no idea. Maybe that’s all they were, just kids, following you for fun.”

“Maybe. Probably. Listen, do you really think Thistle can do this?”

The look I got went through me and continued right through the wall behind me. “Do what?”

“This movie.”

For a moment, I didn’t think she’d answer. Then she said, “Of course. Would I be shelling out money like this if I didn’t think she could deliver?”

“Fine.” I got up.

“Would you like to tell me what prompted that question?”

“The doctor says she’s a mess. A couple of people on the production don’t think she even realizes she’s going to have to do sex.”

“She’s had the scripts,” Trey said icily, “for six weeks.”

“Having them and reading them aren’t the same things.”

“She’ll do it,” Trey said, and her face was practically rigid, “or I’ll personally see that she’s sitting on some curb in Hollywood with one hand out for change and the other trying to pick invisible bugs out of her skin.”

My throat was suddenly tight. “Whereas if she does the movie, she can use both hands on the bugs and pick at them on the couch in some flophouse.”

“How Thistle Downing chooses to live her life is not my responsibility. She could also take the money she’s going to make and go clean herself up. And I have to say that I don’t much like your tone.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“You haven’t even met her, and you’re already buying the poor Thistle legend. Would you be so consumed with pity if she were male? I doubt it. You’d think, what a jerk. But since it’s a woman, you get all teary and turn her into a helpless little waif, battered by the big bad world. You know something? Crooks are the world’s biggest sexists.”

“I’m asking a question you should be asking yourself,” I said. “Your movie depends on her.”

“Do you think I haven’t thought about this? I’ve done everything I can to make it easy. She starts with two days of dialogue, no nudity at all, much less sex. I’m willing to use a body double for some of the worst bits. She’s got women all over the sound stage, and Rodd might as well be a woman for all the interest he has in the female sex. I’ve-we’ve-talked to her about the movie. I’ve done everything except tattoo the script on her arms, and I’d do that too if it wouldn’t show on camera.”

“Got it.”

Now she was standing, too. “Remember which side you’re on, Mr. Bender. Your job is to prevent this movie from getting derailed, and if that means keeping that little junkie on the beam, you’ll do it. I don’t know what Lyle and Wattles are squeezing you with, but I can’t imagine it’s very pleasant.”

“I’ve enjoyed our chat,” I said.

“I don’t care one way or the other. What’s your man going to be looking for tonight?”

“Trouble. Anyone who might want to borrow Thistle the night before she’s supposed to start working. And I’m going with Doc tomorrow morning when he picks her up.”

After a moment, she said, “Good thinking. Wait a minute.” She turned and said, “Eduardo.”

And there he loomed: black-clad, servile, and dangerous, all at the same time. “Yes, Miss Trey.”

“I need an X-acto knife.”

“One second.” He wheeled and left.

I watched him go. “Who says you can’t get good help?”

Trey looked at me but her mind was elsewhere. “Your friend, he’s competent?”

“He’s a professional look-out man.”

“Good.” She favored me with a smile that didn’t have much behind it. “Sorry if I got a little snappish. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“You going to do the flower shops?”

“Too much wastage. The damn things die before you can sell them. Too fragile.” One hand came up, palm out, in a stop gesture. “No parallels with Thistle Downing, please. No wilting blossom or fragility metaphors. Thank you, Eduardo.”

She plucked a wicked-looking, silvery X-acto from his hand and went to the painting. It took her about five seconds to slice the face of the handsome, Byronic man out of the canvas. She did it quickly and expertly, leaving a face-shaped hole in the painting.

“Give this to your friend,” she said, handing it to me. “Tell him to memorize this face, and if he sees the man who owns it, he should kill him.”

I took it, said I’d pass the word along, and went to see my daughter.