Trial Junkies (A Thriller) (4 page)

— 6 —

D
ESPITE ITS NAME
, The Monkey House was your typical Irish pub, located in the heart of University Village.  

Stepping inside was like stepping through a portal into the past. The place had a kind of worn, old world feel to it, accompanied by the nearly overpowering smell of stale beer. You half expected to see a bunch of weathered old coots bellying up to the bar.

But, as always, it was packed with college students, many of whom were under the legal drinking age—not that it mattered. In the name of commerce, management had always been pretty lax about checking IDs.

They all looked like babies to Hutch. He sometimes felt as if he had aged thirty years in less than a decade.

On the cab ride over, as he watched the city streak by, he had started to reconsider this little excursion. Had wondered if he was making a mistake by accepting Nadine's invitation. While Ronnie and Nadine seemed happy to see him, he doubted Matt or Andy or any of the others would be all that thrilled about making room for him at the table.

He was a stranger to them now, no longer part of their world, and he knew they must resent him for his failure to stay in contact. He hadn't helped matters much by quickly exiting the church after promising Nadine he'd catch up with them. But he'd needed to be alone. Wanted to walk the streets for a while and reacquaint himself with the city he loved.

Then halfway through the cab ride, he had almost told the driver to turn around and take him to the apartment in Lincoln Park. His parents had left him the place and he had decided to stay there tonight rather than grab a late flight out. It had sat dormant for years and he had been meaning to sell it for some time now, but it was the one small piece of his folks—and the city—that he still had left, and he was reluctant to let it go.

There was a time when he had dreamed about moving into the place with Jenny. He had just finished a movie in France—a miserable experience for everyone concerned—and was back in L.A. feeling a little lost and a lot lonely, and had thought about chucking it all and giving Jenny a call.

But he was only halfway serious. He had been two weeks away from shooting another movie and he knew that Jenny was involved with someone—a guy from the Chicago District Attorney's office. He may not have kept in contact with her, but he
did
keep tabs. His life never felt complete without knowing how she was getting on, and he'd freely admit to occasional Google searches to find out. She was a fairly well-regarded corporate attorney and he was never surprised by the number of hits he found. 

But he hadn't called—then, or in all the months that followed. And as he rode in the back of that cab, he kept wishing there was a way to take it all back, to erase all of the mistakes he'd made.

This wasn't possible, of course, but maybe meeting up with his old friends was a way to make up for some of it. To atone for his sins.

So, instead of telling the cabbie to turn around, Hutch had remained silent, lost in his thoughts as he rode toward University Village. Less than twenty minutes later he was walking through that portal into the past, a knot in his stomach as he instinctively moved toward their old table in back.

He was halfway there when he heard a familiar voice behind him say, “Hey, stranger...” and a pair of hands grabbed hold of him and spun him around. And there was Ronnie, pulling him into a hug, the faint smell of lavender wafting off her skin as she kissed his cheek.

Then she held him at arm's length, looking at him with tear-stained eyes. "I thought you might've chickened out and caught the next flight back to L.A."

"No such luck," he told her. "In fact, I may even stick around for a couple days."

The thought hadn't really occurred to him until that very moment, but seeing The Monkey House after all these years made him realize just how much he missed living here.

Seeing Ronnie may have had something to do with it as well.

"Hell of a thing, isn't it?" she said.

Hutch assumed she was talking about Jenny. "She didn't deserve it. Not this."

"Who does?"

"The guy who did it to her, that's who. I'm not usually vindictive, but I'd like five minutes alone with the bastard."

"Assuming they ever catch him."

Hutch's eyebrows went up. "I thought they had a suspect?"

She shrugged. "Depends on who you ask. They're working on some leads, but I figure something like this, it's gotta be some kind of serial killer. And if Jenny was a random victim, how the hell will they ever find him?"

"Please don't say that. You don't know how badly I need them to catch this guy."

Ronnie's eyes teared up again and she gave him another hug. "Oh, Hutch, you poor thing. Don't even listen to me, okay? Nobody else does."

"Then who do I listen to? Matt? Is he still with the Post?" 

"Last I heard, although they're cutting staff like crazy."

Hutch pulled away from her. "Is he coming by tonight?"

She nodded. "They're parking the car. I rode over with him and Andy."

"That must've been an interesting trip."

She grinned. "Did you feel your ears burning?"

"No. Should I have?"

"Let's just say your name came up once or twice."

"But in a good way, right?"

Her grin widened. "You really want me to lie?"

Maybe he did. Maybe he wanted her to tell him that he was still well loved by all his old friends, because thinking that might make him believe that coming here hadn't been a mistake. "So how many times was the term 'jerk off' used?"

"We're talking about Matt and Andy, so use your imagination." She gave his arm a squeeze and said, "God, it's good to see you. Come on, let's go grab our old table before the young'ns do."

"Young'ns?"

She gestured. "I don't know if you noticed, but we're senior citizens around here."

She grinned again, then moved through the crowd, pulling him along with her. He got a few surprised stares along the way, but he ignored them and let Ronnie drag him to the back of the bar where the old table was miraculously empty.

Then he saw the
RESERVED
sign and realized someone had called ahead.

"Thank God for Nadine," Ronnie said, then slid onto a chair and patted the one next to her. "Don't think you're getting away from me for the rest of the night."

Hutch wasn't sure he wanted to. He was relieved to discover that Ronnie and he had slipped quite easily into their old personas, the camaraderie between them familiar and comfortable. If he hadn't been obsessing over Jenny, he might have noticed how attractive she'd grown over the last few years.

Maybe he did anyway.

But before he could sit down they were suddenly assaulted by two fast-moving figures, the first of which—Andy McKenna—slid onto the chair that Hutch was about to occupy. "Sorry, dude, this is
my
spot."

Ronnie tried to shove him away. "Jesus, Andy, do you always have to be so rude?"

"You don't want to sit next to me?"

"I'd rather sit next to somebody civilized, thank you."

Andy looked at Hutch. "You see how it is? Without the movie star looks, all I get is the cold shoulder."

What Hutch saw was that nothing had changed. Andy McKenna, God love him, was just as boorish as he'd always been. The only reason anyone had ever tolerated him was because he was Matt's best friend, and everyone loved Matt.

Speaking of whom, Matt himself scraped a chair back and sat across from Andy, telling him to "Quit being a douche, all right?" Then he looked at Hutch and nodded his head toward the chair next to him. "Have a seat, stranger. It's good to see you."

In light of his conversation with Ronnie, Hutch wasn't sure how sincere the words were, but he told himself to take them at face value. They shook hands and he sat down. "How've you guys been?"

Andy shrugged. "How do you think? I'm stuck in a cubicle all day. Ain't like I'm rolling around in the sheets with a hottie-of-the-month like Gina Wakefield."

Hutch had expected comments like this. The sheets in question had been on a Paramount sound stage, surrounded by a lighting crew, a continuity girl, a DP and an obsessive-compulsive director who had no idea what he was doing. Oh, and most of the shots had involved a body double named Bridget whose voice was so high and whiny it was like a knife to the skull. But Hutch didn't bother to point that out.

Ronnie frowned. "Jeez, Andy, can't you dial it back for just a few minutes?"

"Buy me a drink, hot stuff, and I'll do whatever you want." Then he turned to Hutch, a sullen look on his face. "I've got a bone to pick with you, Hutchinson."

Here we go. "Oh? Why's that?"

"I sent you a script about a year back, and you never said a word. If it sucks, it sucks, but you could at least give me the courtesy of picking up the phone and telling me."

Matt said, "Give it a rest, Shakespeare. This little soirée isn't about you."

"No, no," Hutch said, "that's okay." He looked at Andy. "Thing is, this is news to me. Where did you send it?"

"To your agent, with a nice little note telling her I'm a friend of yours."

Hutch frowned. "Do you realize how many emails my agent gets every week from so-called friends of mine? I have a two-minute conversation with a car wash attendant and we're suddenly long lost buddies."

"So?"

"So I never got it. And knowing my agent, it went straight into her trash folder."

"What the hell kind of agent is that?"

"The kind who's trying to protect him," Ronnie said, "from morons like you."

Andy shot her a look and Hutch asked, "So do you still want me to read this thing?"

Andy's eyes brightened. "Hell, yeah."

Hutch hadn't known the guy was a closet writer, and was skeptical that the script would be any good. Ninety percent of the screenplays that managed to get
past
his agent were complete dreck. But it wouldn't kill him to take a look. "I'm thinking I might stick around for a couple days, so if you can get it to me before I leave..."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely."

Andy stood up. "Hell, I'll go get it right now."

"Oh, for chrissakes," Matt said, "give the guy a break. You can email it to him later."

"I'm like six blocks from here. I'll pop it on a thumb drive and be back before you finish your first drink."

 There was a sudden desperate eagerness to Andy's demeanor that made it impossible to discourage him. Hutch had seen it a million times before—people on the outside looking for a way in. And despite his agent's love of the trash folder, he figured everyone deserved a shot. Even Andy.

"Have at it," he said. "I'm here for the duration."

Andy clapped a hand on his shoulder, a transformed man. "Thanks, Hutch. You're a pal." Then he was threading his way through the crowd and out the door.

"He seems pretty chipper for a guy who just came from a funeral," Ronnie said.

Matt shrugged. "Everyone has their own way of coping."

"Or he's just an egocentric jackass."

"There's that, too," Matt said, then turned to Hutch. "You do realize you just made my life a living hell."

"Why's that?"

"Because no matter how this turns out, I'm never gonna hear the end of it."

— 7 —

A
NDY WAS LESS
than a minute gone when a chorus of voices called out to them.

Three familiar faces emerged from the crowd—Monica Clawson and Tom Brandt, with Nadine Overman pulling up the rear.

Hutch rose from his chair and the next few seconds were filled by hugs and kisses and shaking hands. He felt a sudden warmth envelope him, his trepidation about coming here melting away with each new embrace. They all seemed genuinely glad to see him, and he felt the same.

Back in college there had been others who had fallen in and out of their little tribe—boyfriends, girlfriends, hangers-on—but the core members were here tonight, and it reminded Hutch how much he missed those days. He didn't want to be one of those maudlin jerks who dwelled too much on the past, but tonight was different. Tonight he could allow himself to wallow a little without feeling foolish.

When they were finally done greeting one another, chairs scraped back and everyone sat down.

"Where was McKenna rushing off to?" Tom asked.

"Chasing a dream," Matt murmured. "He's got a script he wants Hutch to read."

"That's intriguing," Monica said. "Any idea what it's about?"

"Not a clue. Today was the first I've heard about it."