Steven Bochco (13 page)

CHAPTER 24

Some fucking adventure it turns out to be.

The thing is, by definition you never know where adventure will take you, and I can guarantee you that not even Dennis could've predicted what Bobby would be doing while Dennis is romancing his (soon to be ex-) wife.

Properly loaded, having had his fill of scotch and videotapes, Bobby weaves his way up to the bedroom, where he rummages around in his jewelry drawer looking for the spare key to the Toyota, which Vee took when she left. Finding it, he then opens his little strongbox, the one hidden inside a phony book that sits on the shelf beside his bed, takes out five one-hundred-dollar bills and two fifties, and stuffs them into his pocket along with the car keys.

From the back of his desk drawer, Bobby retrieves Ramon's little black book, along with the videotape of Vee brushing her teeth with Ramon's dick (which he'd thought for a while he might anonymously send to Jared Axelrod).

Going to the garage, where he keeps a five-gallon can of gasoline for emergencies, Bobby puts it in the trunk of his car. Then, throwing the videotape and the little black book into the glove compartment of his Boxster, Bobby pulls the car out of the garage and heads down into Hollywood.

Hollywood Boulevard is to hookers what Van Nuys Boulevard is to used cars. Block after block of product is lined up, priced to sell according to age and condition, and in both cases, what you see isn't always what you get, the operative word being
used.
Let's just say the cautionary “buyer beware” applies big-time.

Bobby shops Hollywood Boulevard slowly until he catches the eye of a gaudily made up whore, who minces over to his car on her three-inch heels when he pulls to the curb.

Bobby opens the window on the passenger side and leans across to speak to the hooker, who bends down to check him out.

“Hey, honey,” she says. “Wanna party?”

“How much for a blow job?” Bobby asks, cutting to the chase.

“How do I know you ain't a cop?”

“I'm not,” Bobby tells her. “What do I have to do to prove it?”

The hooker climbs into Bobby's car and puts her hand on his crotch. “Take your thing out.”

Bobby unzips his fly and pulls his dick out. “How much?”

“For that little thing?” she says, laughing, knowing no cop would expose himself like that.

“I promise you,” Bobby says. “The closer it gets to your mouth, the bigger it'll look.”

“Fifty.”

“Okay,” Bobby says, not haggling, knowing he probably could get it for twenty but happy to pay the extra thirty for the goodwill he's going to need after she blows him.

“Up front,” the whore says, surprised Bobby's not looking to negotiate.

Bobby gives her the fifty, and she stuffs it into her little purse. “Drive around the corner and park up the street a ways.”

Once parked, Bobby comes around to the passenger side of the car and slides in, and the whore kneels down between his legs and takes care of business.

“Now that you know I'm not a cop,” Bobby says, zipping up, “how about you help me get right?”

“What've you got in mind, honey?”

“I need you to score a couple of grams of blow,” Bobby says. “One for me, one for you.”

“You're talkin' four, five hundred bucks,” she says.

Bobby hands her the five one-hundred-dollar bills, which she quickly stuffs into her purse before he can change his mind.

“Sounds like a plan, baby,” she says, not having a clue about how much of a plan it really is.

Twenty minutes later, armed with a five-gallon can of gas, the videotape of Vee fucking Ramon, the little black book, and a gram of newly acquired coke, Bobby drives over to West Hollywood—8221 Norton Avenue, to be exact—and parks across the street from Vee's apartment complex. There's a carport that runs the length of the building, and before Bobby gets the gasoline out of his car, he saunters over to make sure Vee's car is there, which it is.

Working quickly, Bobby unlocks her car with the spare key and sticks Ramon's little black book in the glove box, along with the videotape. Then he takes the gram of coke and drops it on the driver's seat, in plain view.

Safely back in his own car, Bobby calls 911 to report a car fire. Then, not wanting to destroy the evidence he's planted, Bobby waits until he hears the wail of sirens in the distance before quickly dousing Vee's car with gasoline and setting it on fire.

Next thing you know, two big-ass fire engines arrive on the scene, sirens wailing, and Bobby watches from a safe distance down the street as the firefighters put out the blaze before too much damage is done.

When they open the car door to drain out the water, they find the cocaine on the seat and immediately radio for the cops. It must be a slow night in West Hollywood, because within another few minutes, two sheriff's units arrive to scour the car, and it's somewhere in the midst of all this activity that Dennis and Vee arrive on the scene.

From across the street and a couple of hundred feet away, Bobby watches, first delighted, then stunned, as he sees Vee and Dennis get out of Dennis's car.

That motherfucker,
Bobby thinks.
He's fucking my wife behind my back.
And whatever reservations Bobby might have had about putting Vee in a jackpot evaporate in the reflected heat of the smoldering Toyota.

Fuck both of you,
Bobby thinks, and drives off, unnoticed in the commotion of deputies and firefighters surrounding Vee's car.

By now Dennis has tinned the deputies, and they show him the cocaine, telling him, almost apologetically, that they're going to have to arrest Vee and impound her car.

If you think Dennis is stunned, you should see Vee. Her car is a smoldering mess, the deputies are reading her rights to her as they put her in cuffs, and she has no idea how in hell a gram of cocaine wound up inside her car.

“Dennis, I swear, this is crazy,” she pleads, terrified and in tears. “I don't use drugs. I've
never
used drugs. This has got to be a mistake!”

Her shock and distress are so genuine that even allowing for her being an actress, Dennis is inclined to believe her, and as they're putting Vee into the back of the car to take her to the West Hollywood sheriff's substation, Dennis tells her not to say a word to anyone.

But before the car pulls away, another deputy comes over to show Dennis the little black book and the videotape they found in the glove compartment. Telling the deputies that the tape and the book are important pieces of evidence in his murder investigation, he says he's going to want to question Vee down at Hollywood Division before they process her on the drug charge. And since murder trumps simple possession, Vee gets handed off to Dennis. He thanks the deputies for their cooperation and promises that as soon as he's done with her, she's all theirs.

With an odd mixture of pleasure and regret, Dennis realizes his case is back in play and that the game has finally come to him.

CHAPTER 25

It's well past midnight when Dennis shows up to relieve the night-duty detective who's been keeping an eye on Vee. Her eyes, already red and swollen from crying, well up with tears all over again.

“You've got some problems,” he tells Vee.

“I know this sounds crazy,” she says, “but I think Bobby put those drugs in my car.”

“Why would he do that?” Dennis asks.

“Because we had a terrible fight today.”

“What about?”

“He showed up at my lawyer's. It was supposed to be a settlement conference, but all he wanted to talk about was getting back together again, which I told him wasn't going to happen. He got angry, then I got angry, we called each other names, and I walked out. This is him trying to hurt me—I know it.”

“Forget about the drugs,” Dennis says. “That's not your problem.” And the flat sound of his voice, his
cop
voice, the one she's never heard before, suddenly chills her.

“What do you mean?”

“There was also a little book in your glove compartment that belonged to Ramon Montevideo, and it lists all the women he's had sex with the last coupla years, plus his little comments about what they do and how well they do it. You're in it: oral, B plus, screamer.”

Vee's hand reflexively covers her mouth, and her eyes go wide. That's the thing about secrets. The very one she never thought would wind up biting her in the ass just has, and now the only question is, How poisonous is the venom?

“Plus,” Dennis says, “there was this videotape,” and he slides it out of its shiny black cardboard container.

“Oh God, no,” Vee says, realizing suddenly that when Dennis had asked her if she'd ever heard that Ramon secretly taped his sexual escapades, it wasn't an idle question.

Dennis turns on the TV set and puts the tape in the VCR.

“Please don't,” Vee begs him. “Please.”

Dennis hits
PLAY
anyway, and there it is, Vee going down on Ramon, and it's the most humiliating thing she's ever seen in her life. Flooded with shame, blinded by her own tears, Vee drops her head, unable to look.

Mercifully, Dennis stops the tape, takes it out of the machine, and puts it back in its cardboard sleeve. Handing her a box of tissues, he says, “This is where we are. You had an affair with this guy—”

“It
wasn't
an affair. It only happened once.”

“Whatever. You had sex with him. He taped it. Then he winds up dead on his bedroom floor, and you have the tape, plus his little black book, in the glove compartment of your car.”

“Dennis, I swear, you've got to believe me. I only had sex with him the one time. I don't know why. I guess I was angry at Bobby. Ramon made me feel attractive . . . It was stupid, I never should have done it, I was ashamed of myself then and you'll never know how ashamed and embarrassed I am now. But I didn't kill him. I had no idea that tape existed, and I never knew anything about a little black book. You've got to believe me. Please. I swear to you.” And now she's looking straight at Dennis, her eyes wet with tears but steady. “I know I'm in trouble. I know you probably won't ever want to see me again. But please believe me. I don't use drugs. I didn't kill Ramon. And I have no idea how that stuff got into my car.”

“Listen to me, Vee,” Dennis says. “You
are
in a world of trouble. And it doesn't matter whether I believe you or not. There's enough evidence right here to indict you for murder, plus you don't have an alibi.”

“Yes I do,” Vee says, past being humiliated, past holding on to any reasonable expectation that Dennis will ever think she's anything more than a cheap Hollywood broad trying to fuck her way into a career she couldn't earn on the merits. And so she tells him about her affair with Jared Axelrod, about the afternoons at the Peninsula, how even Bobby will confirm it, having accidentally seen the two of them there together, which precipitated the fight that caused her to walk out on the marriage. She says she was with Axelrod in his suite at the Peninsula Hotel the night Ramon was murdered, and the reason she didn't tell Dennis is obvious. When you think you may be falling in love with one guy, you don't tell him about the affair you were having with another guy. Besides, he is married, he's got children, and she wanted to protect him and his family from an embarrassing situation.

“Are you still seeing him?” Dennis asks.

“No,” Vee says. “It's over.”

“I believe you,” Dennis says. “But until I check it out, I can't let you go.”

“Do I have to go to jail?” Vee asks.

“No. I can't let you go home, but I can keep you here for now. And if your story checks out, I'll talk to the D.A., see what we can do about the cocaine charge.”

“Thank you, Dennis. And for what it's worth, I am so sorry.”

“Listen to me, Vee. I'm a cop. I've seen and heard lots worse. We all do things we're ashamed of. I'm no angel myself. Okay?”

Off her grateful smile, he tells her to sit tight. And for the first time in hours, Vee's fear and shame recede a little behind the realization that Dennis may be one of those rare men actually capable not only of understanding but of forgiving.

CHAPTER 26

At eight forty-five in the morning, Dennis tins his way onto the Fox lot and walks into Jared Axelrod's outer office, where some hatchet-faced secretary named Sylvia is guarding the palace gates.

“May I help you,” she says, the subtext being
I don't know who you are, you don't look like anyone important, and you are going to get in to see my boss over my cold, dead body.

“I'd like to talk to Mr. Axelrod for a few minutes if you don't mind,” Dennis says, showing her his badge. “My name is Dennis Farentino.”

“Mr. Axelrod's in a production meeting and can't be disturbed. Can you tell me what it's about, and I'll have him call you?”

Dennis smiles and says to her nicely, “Tell Mr. Axelrod it's about a murder I'm investigating, and if he doesn't see me right now, I'll break his door down and drag him out to my car in handcuffs.”

Now he's got her attention. She picks up her phone, punches the intercom, and says, “There's a Detective Farentino here to see you. I told him you were in a meeting, but he insists.” Hanging up, she says, “Mr. Axelrod will see you.” And if looks could kill, Dennis would be taking the Big Dirt Nap as we speak.

“Thanks,” he says, flashing his best smile, and opens the door to Axelrod's office.

“Come on in, Detective. Jared Axelrod,” he says, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you. Buy you a cup of coffee?” This said as they shake hands.

“Sure, that'd be great,” Dennis says to this phony prick, hating him already. “Black.”

“Sylvia! Bring the detective a cup of coffee, black!” And he gestures to the couch. “Sit down, sit down.”

Dennis sits. “She said you weren't available, you were in a production meeting.”

“The only meeting I was in was the meeting between my ass and my toilet seat. I was having my morning dump.” And when Sylvia enters with the coffee, Axelrod says, for her benefit, “Sylvia's the Mother Superior around here. Half the time she tells
me
I'm not available.”

You could crack glass with what passes for a smile on Sylvia's sour puss, but Dennis just says “Thanks” when she puts the coffee down, and both men wait until she's left and closed the door behind her before Axelrod says, “So. What can I do for you, Detective?”

And because Vee is sitting down at Hollywood Division with her whole life up for grabs, Dennis doesn't fuck around with his Columbo act. “We need to talk about Vee Wallace,” Dennis says, seeing Axelrod's eyes go momentarily wide.

“What about her?”

“You've been having an affair.”

“Whoa, hold on, Detective. That is
totally
not true. I'm a married man, for God's sake. Plus, even if I weren't, she's an actress, which is kind of like shitting where you eat, if you know what I mean. Not to mention her husband's a friend of mine as well as a professional colleague.”

“Don't bullshit me, Jared,” Dennis says, “or the next time we talk it'll be at your house, at dinnertime, with your wife and your kids wondering what the hell some Hollywood homicide detective wants with Daddy.”

“Aw, man,” Jared says miserably.

“You've been observed at the Peninsula Hotel. I know you keep a suite there. I'm not looking to embarrass you, but I will unless you start telling me the truth right now.”

“All right,” Jared says, getting smaller in his fat, cushy chair. “We spent some time together. What's this about?”

“I'm trying to place her whereabouts on the night Ramon Montevideo was murdered.”

“Jesus Christ,” Axelrod says. “You're looking at
Vee
?” And Dennis is reminded of that asshole junior agent Ari Goldstein, who had pretty much the same reaction, with almost the same kind of involuntary glee.

“Were you with her that night?”

“Is she saying I was?”

“Now you're fucking with me, Jared, and I thought we were past that.”

“Look, Detective, I need to know. Is this going to bite me in the ass? Because if it is—”

“How many different ways do you want me to say I'm not looking to hurt you? Besides,” Dennis says, “I'm a big fan of your work.”

“Okay,” Axelrod says, looking marginally relieved. “We had a little thing going. You know how it is. It's not like I go looking for it, but when it drops into your lap, as it were, it's un-American to say no.” Like now they're just two guys in the locker room talking about pussy.

“So you
were
with her the night Ramon was murdered.”

Axelrod nods. “But it's over now, I swear,” he says, adding, “I could really use a break here, Detective.”

Dennis takes one last sip of coffee and stands. “Your secret's safe with me, Jared, and I appreciate your candor.”

If irony were rain, Axelrod would be a drowning rat.

At the door, within earshot of Hatchet Face, Dennis says, Columbo-like, “Oh, by the way. You might want to let Sylvia know that next time I call or drop by, you'll find time for me.”