Try Try Again (24 page)

“And how many shots were fired all together? Please tell the
jury, shot by shot.”

Gardner seemed to want to count on his fingers, but didn’t.
“Sure,” he said. “Now I’m not sure which shot went where or how many there
were, those buildings on all sides around the parking lot, y’know, the sound
really bounces around and sounds like more shots than there were, but the first
shot I knew, that one hit my hand, here. When I was reaching for my weapon.”

Hub moved ahead on the tape.

“The second shot, you know it might have been the second or
third shot or whatever because everything happened so fast, well, the second
shot hit Congressman Barnes in the shoulder. He staggered back and a spurt of
blood came up from his shoulder and hit him in the face.”

“Thank you,” Nielsen said. “So what happened to the two
bullets – the two we’ve been discussing so far?”

Gardner looked concerned and licked his lips. “Later that
day, we found bullet fragments, and two chipped areas in the concrete wall
behind the speaker’s platform. Those fragments hadn’t been there before the
rally. We’d checked the site all over very careful.”

Nielsen nodded. “Thank you. Now let’s move on to that third
shot.”

“OK,” Gardner said. “OK, well I guess it was the third shot,
y’know. Anyway, I couldn’t tell at first, but I heard the shot and then the
deceased staggered back and fell, and later we found he’d been hit in the
chest. That’s when we went and gave him first aid and there was a doctor showed
up out of the crowd but the deceased was already dead.”

“And there were no fragments from that bullet?”

“The M.E. told me the bullet had fragmented in the
deceased’s spinal cord after passing through his heart.”

Judge DuCasse looked up. “Counselor?”

And Liv said “Not in contention, your honor.”

“What was that all about?” asked Hub, stopping the tape.

“Nothing,” said Liv. “Small legal point. Go on.”

“And the next shot, if there was a next shot?” Nielsen was
saying.

 “We never found a bullet. Pretty much, it had to have been
wild or it would of hit something we’d find.”

“And that next shot come from where, to the best of your
knowledge?”

“Must of been the defendant, ’cause neither me or Jerry ever
fired our weapons.”

Suddenly, the picture cut to a shot of several obviously
expensive wrist watches.

“OK,” said Hub, stopping the playback. “So that’s what
Gardner said, and then we get this ChronoSwiss commercial and then Gardner says
some more and then Liv cross-examines him.”

“Let’s continue on a while,” said Liv.

Nielsen went on. “And did you immediately begin to conduct
an investigation of the incident, officer?”

Gardner: “Chief. Yeah. Part of my job and some investigators
from D.C. and Harrisburg were there too within an hour or two and they pretty
much took over.”

“But wait,” Jill said, “Look: Gardner says “must have been
the defendant” who took that one final shot.

“But Gardner just supposes that, and in fact Charley
didn’t,” said Liv. “He was running away. He pushed a man down but didn’t shoot
him. And then he was out of sight.”

There was an interval of knotted brows.

“But then,…” said Hub.

“Who fired that last shot?” asked Liv.

“Maybe we’ll never know,” said Hub. “Does it matter?
Whatever, it seems to have gone wild, since no one else was hurt.”

“Hub,” said Jill, “can you use your magic remote to delete
that commercial so we can see what Gardner said and immediately continue on to
Charley’s startle? I want to see exactly where Charley begins to react, to the
second. In season one, please.”

Hub did so. He played it over three times, and they agreed
Charley’s startle occurred right at the point where Gardner says, “’cause
neither me or Jerry ever fired our weapons.”

A moment before that, Charley’s face had shown a puzzled
look at Gardner’s saying, “Must of been the defendant.”

“But Charley didn’t fire after he started to run,” said Liv.

“How do you know that?” said Jill, “because he said so?”

“Because he was facing the wrong direction to shoot at
anybody, since there was no one in front of him. And yes, he said so. And he
had no reason to shoot anywhere at that point, or to lie about it either; it
would just have slowed him down as he was trying to escape.”

“That’s a pretty weak assumption,” said Hub. “He could have
fired accidentally. He could have had his finger still on the trigger and it
just happened.”

“But then he wouldn’t have looked surprised,” Jill said.
“Look. Think about this: there was a shot, maybe the fourth shot but nobody’s
clear about that, and Charley assumed either Garner or Sullivan had fired at
him, not that it mattered since no one was hit. But it did matter to Charley,
because if he didn’t fire that shot and Gardner didn’t and Sullivan didn’t,
then who did? And then, why did Charley react so strongly, just because of an
unexplained shot that could have come from anywhere? A shrug would have been
more typical of him.”

The three looked at each other. “Let’s think about it,” Hub
said. He glanced at his watch. “It’s seven o’clock, and dinner is served,
courtesy of the best chef in Hollywood.” Jill and Liv stood up, Liv somewhat
unsteadily, and followed Hub into a dining room fit for a small restaurant.

“This must be the ‘
très
grand,’” said Liv.

There were several courses, each with exquisitely
appropriate wine pairings. Hub became the genial host, telling the women, blow
by blow, how he had become rich and famous although talented, this last
intended as a joke. He laughed to make sure the others were aware it was a
joke.

Liv told Jill and Hub about losing her job, being
unemployed, then getting on with a small CPA firm, and then becoming instantly
famous. Fortunately, she lived in a small town and most people knew her anyway,
so fame hadn’t been as rough as it would have been, say, in the D.C. area. She
looked at Jill.

“This was just now, a few days ago,” said Jill, “so nothing
very startling has happened yet. I was interviewed by
The Post
and the
Falls Church News-Press
, and aside from all those investment
advisers got only a few crank calls including from my ex-husband Roger, all of
whose calls I consider ‘crank.’”

“What’s he trying to do?” asked Liv, with what might have
been professional interest.

“He’s trying to claim our divorce is invalid because of some
misprint and we’re still legally married and he wants money.”

“But Virginia’s not a community-property state,” said Liv.
“He doesn’t get any of your money, even if you’re still married to him.”

“I know,” said Jill, “but he could refuse me a divorce until
I give him money to get lost, make a nuisance of himself.”

Liv leaned forward with interest. “What occasioned the
divorce?”

Hub glanced at Liv as if recognizing the professional tone
in her voice. From her look, so did Jill. “He was screwing another woman in our
bed when I was at work,” said Jill.

“Can you prove that?” said Liv.

“He admitted it.”

“Well, if you can get him to admit it in front of a witness,
then you can divorce him without his concurrence.”

“He did,” Jill said. “He was on the phone with me when my
neighbor Ellie was there. Roger and I got pretty loud and Ellie heard it all.
She told me so.”

As dinner neared its end, Liv’s second Irish coffee was half
drunk, as was she. But an idea came to her. Trying hard to appear sober, she
said “You know, Charley wrote that letter and said he was ready to talk, if I
could get protection for his daughter. That was just before he was killed in
prison. I think Charley’s letter was prompted by that last shot. He must have
heard that shot and thought it was fired by Gardner or Sullivan. But if it
wasn’t either of them who shot, then…”

“Someone else shot!” Jill exclaimed.

“Who?” asked Hub.

“I’d bet on
George
,” said Liv. “You know we’ve been
talking about a conspiracy and that last shot is a strong indication – not just
planning, but at the scene itself, or nearby. Someone – and that was probably this
George
– took a shot at Charley to shut him up after the assassination –
and missed.”

Hub looked thoughtful, then said, “How do we know that shot
was aimed anywhere near Charley?”

“Where else could it have been?” Liv said.

“Well, lots of places,” said Hub. “Where are you going with
this?”

“That shot came from somewhere and the bullet went somewhere
unless it was a blank, which I doubt,” said Liv. “It didn’t hit anyone in the
crowd and it didn’t hit that big concrete wall behind the speaker’s platform.
Plus, four or more shots were heard, but only three shots were actually
witnessed. Doesn’t it make sense George would want to eliminate Charley, to
keep him from talking?”

“Sure,” said Jill, “but that isn’t evidence.”

“Yes, you’re right,” said Liv. “But we’re all agreed that
final shot – let’s call Charley’s startle when he heard about it ‘The Clue,’
that’s the key to this whole mess. Especially, why was The Clue in the
season-one tape but deleted from season two?”

The others nodded slowly. Hub started to speak but then
didn’t.

“So what do we do now?” asked Jill. The others were silent.

Then Hub spoke. “Look,” he said, “it’s getting late and I
need to orient you to what’s going to happen at the Awards Ceremony tomorrow. We
can continue the sleuthing later if we want to. I guess we have a pretty strong
case against ‘George,’ but the authorities haven’t been able to find a George who
would fit or find anyone to ID him, and Charley, who could, is dead. So we need
to sleep on this. I think our amateur sleuthing may be, perhaps regretfully,
over – it would have made a great movie.”

“Or a novel,” added Jill.

“Now,” said Hub, “the Awards Ceremony is tomorrow evening,
and we need to discuss some arrangements. You’ll both be seated in the celeb
section, so be as crazy dressy and bare as you like, within reason of course.”

Liv thought oh shit, all I have is black and severe, and
that’s all I ever wear and that’s all I want to wear. But at least that’s in
character – would Jill dress the same way? Liv hoped not. She took a deep gulp
of her drink. Lawyer off the shoulder? Not hardly.

“And then,” Hub continued, “when your name is called you’ll
come to the podium and I’ll introduce you and you bow or wave or blow kisses or
whatever. You can come up together if you like, or one at a time, Liv first,
probably. But I have to know by first thing tomorrow which is which, or right
now is better.”

Liv and Jill looked at each other. What’s the protocol here?
Better say “together” or Jill will think I’m unfriendly or ashamed of her or
whatever. “Together,” Liv and Jill said in near-unison, the combined sound
reaching Hub’s ears as “totogetherer.”

“Fine,” he said. “‘Fine’ is a really great word, by the way.
I picked it up from my wonderful friend Kiefer Sutherland in
24
,
and I like all sixteen ways you can say it, expressing anything from transcendent
joy to utter disgust.”

“So it’s together,” Hub said, “a great photo-op. You both
wouldn’t want to – ah – dress in character – would you?

Liv saw Jill smile. No, please God, not dressing alike, webV
come to life. Yes, Jill might actually like that. But not me. Never.

“Not really,” Liv said, but I’d rather not go on stage at
all. Just a spot on me in my seat, if you must. You know last year I marched up
there and that was enough.”

“You were great, dear, lovely. Everybody…”

“I don’t want to,” Liv said, firmly. “If I’m on stage I’ll
appear with Jill, here, but to repeat, I’d rather not at all. Especially not
as...”
twins? Mother and daughter?
But Liv didn’t finish her sentence.

Jill wondered if she’d have the same attitude if she were –
what? fifteen? twenty? years older. But now, sure, she’d love to get on stage in
character, and be applauded and wave to people and throw a kiss and collect a
check for three million dollars, one of those six-by-four-foot cardboard fake
checks like those ads on the webV when some insurance company or clearinghouse
or BegaBucks presents a giant simulated check to the bereaved widow or widower,
or the lottery winner –

In any case, her money was in the bank, and she was already
fending off firms that promised to double her money etc, but asterisk asterisk.

“OK,” shrugged Hub. “Jill, it will be just you on stage. Is
that OK?”

“Sure!” said Jill with innocent pleasure.

After a few minutes of polite conversation, Hub called the
limo service, and the two women left together.

Back at the hotel, Jill buzzed Ellie and asked her if
everything was OK. “OK?” Ellie emoted, “You should see all the stuff I bought!
See you tomorrow; I’ll be dressed in some of it!”

Jill wondered if Ellie had really splurged, and if so how
she could pay for it. The perils of being rich, she thought, and once more she
was concerned about how she should deal with Ellie: should she give her money?
Would she or Ellie feel bad if it were too much, or not enough, or if she gave Ellie
money at all? Troubled, she went to bed and tried not to think of Roger.

December 1, the day of the Awards Ceremony, dawned to an
unexpected chill in the L.A. air. Hub hadn’t slept well, thinking for hours
about why that specific bit of the show, Charley’s startle, had been clipped
out of season two. Was it just a coincidence that The Clue had been left on the
cutting room floor? If it wasn’t a coincidence, then who was behind it? Well, I
should just drop the whole thing, he thought. No, a second thought after a
moment, I’ll keep asking questions.

Hub phoned Frank Dickstein. He had to get Frankie alone at
that ceremony, try to figure out if Frankie himself might be part of the plot,
if there was a plot. No one else could have authorized the tweak right at the
point of the show that contained The Clue. Sad if a shit like Frankie were
corrupt. Sadder if he hadn’t cut Hub in on it. Hub’s sour thoughts were
interrupted by a voice.

“Hello. You’ve reached…”

“Pick up, Frankie. It’s Hub. Won’t take a minute.”

Hub heard a faint click as the voicemail service cut off and
Frankie picked up.

“How about a second?”

Hub ignored the question. “At the ceremony, Frankie, I need
to speak with you alone. Just for a little while.”

“Without all my hangers-on and spongers and leeches? – Yeah,
I’ve heard you call my associates that.”

“Ah –“

“But OK, for a great friend like you, ten minutes right
after the ceremony. Catch me back stage.”

“OK, Frankie, you’re on,” said Hub. “And you know I never
said anyth…” A buzz of disconnect played in his ear. “Fuck that asshole,” he
said out loud, and then amused himself at the thought. No, Frankie wouldn’t
like that. But Hub might – if Frankie were twenty years younger.

The Awards Ceremony was held in the ballroom of the hotel that
evening at eight p.m., Wednesday, the same night of the week the show had
aired. Jill walked in, puzzled as to what to do, and finally was seated by an
usher.

The MC was a face-lifted Personality, seemingly grateful for
a chance to be in the spotlight again. He told a few jokes, brought a tear with
some fictional reminiscence of his mother, and then introduced “the Noted and
Wonderful Producer of ‘Try Try Again,’ Mr. Frank Dickstein! Let’s all hear it
for Frankie!” An enormous sound filled the room, some of it live.

Frankie made a few off-the-cuff comments, an art at which he
was not very good but the audience laughed anyway. And then came the
introduction of all those wonderful people and artists who’d made the show a
success! They trooped across the stage one by one and hugged Frankie while
keeping their faces toward the camera: the assistant producer; the second
assistant producer; the sound engineer; the music director, who had nothing to
do with the show since music wasn’t used on the show but protocol required him
to be recognized anyway; and many others.

The MC lip-synched a ballad, then introduced “Mr. Hubert
Landon! Come on up here, Hub!” Hub did so.

Hub accepted an award, and then introduced the people in the
audience he needed to introduce. The spotlight shown briefly, among others, on -
“Olivia – Liv - Saunders, our wonderful defense counsel!” The light hit her
face and moved on, and others had their shining moment too.

“And now, tah-dah,” Hub said, spreading his arms, “the five
top winners of season two!” He named them, hurriedly. Jill and four others,
three men and a woman, trooped to the stage and stood in a line, smiling nervously
and waving a hand or two. The light flicked across the five faces and returned
to Hub. She had come here for this? She was annoyed and knew that Ellie, seated
in the darkness, had picked up on that. The five received their giant cardboard
checks and returned to their seats. Hub had not said “Let’s give these great Agonauts
a big hand, folks!” just motioned them to return to their seats.

“And finally,” Hub announced, “a Congressman! A real live
Congressman in the audience, ladies and gentlemen, who got his start, his big
chance, on ‘Try Try Again,’ our very own show! I have the honor of introducing
the Honorable Brent Nielsen, State’s Attorney for Grantwood County, Pennsylvania,
and Congressman-Elect from the Seventeenth Congressional District of the
Keystone Staaaaaaaate of Pennsylvaaaaaaaaaaaania!”

The spotlight spotted Brent who rose from his seat, raised
his arms, and did a “victorious boxer” over his head. Those who remembered the
murder of Ezra Barnes must have found the gesture disturbing, as Barnes had
made the same gesture just before he was shot. Brent beamed so brightly one
might have thought he was looking at his own voters.

Liv was startled; she’d known about Brent’s surprise
victory, of course; had even intended to vote for him. But she never expected
to see him here in Hollywood, mugging for the audience. Of course! she thought.
Half the people in America knew who he was from two seasons of “Try Try Again.”
He’d parlayed that exposure into Ezra Barnes’ old House seat by sending Barnes’
killer to prison. How things go around and come around!

She had an instant of annoyance at the thought she could
have taken advantage of the show’s publicity, too. But no; that wasn’t her
style. Anyway, something would have gone wrong. It always did.

There were several more events, musical and otherwise, even
a comic who did impressions of several of the show’s figures, including Brent
(animated), Liv (rigid), Judge DuCasse (very rigid), and two members of the
jury who’d been caught dozing off in the middle of a sidebar.

Frankie wrapped up the evening by promising viewers they
would just
love
season three; and then the ceremony was over.

As the audience was filing out, humming with importance and hurling
air-kisses, Hub found Liv and then Jill and Ellie, herded them together in an
alcove. “Look,” he said, “I’m going to catch Frankie and ask him a few
questions about that ‘Clue’ we spotted. Hang around here a few minutes. I’ll be
right back and we’ll have a late supper – on me!”

Hub went backstage, where Frankie was holding forth. Anxious
young men, and various other kinds of human beings, were besieging him with
their proposals for new webV series or their place in one, shaking his right
hand while thrusting prong-bound proposals into his left. Frankie was playing
the great man, a kind of European monarch touching people to cure the King’s
Evil. He beamed on everyone. His slightest sigh drew forth responding breaths.
Hub could predict what would happen when Frankie left: he’d say “What a bunch
of assholes!” and throw their scripts into the nearest recycling bin.

Hub waited for some of the crowd to disperse, then waved to
Frankie from the edge of the remaining mob.

Yes, Hub thought, Frankie would consider it wise to speak
with Hub, who was after all the director of Frankie’s greatest hit, “Try Try
Again.” Not that he looked like he wanted to speak with Hub. That has-been?
That one-hit wonder?

Hub gave Frankie a big distasteful hug and stepped back.
They exchanged flowery expressions of cautious worship.

“So, Hub! A great day for you! Did you like our new
millionaire? Think Jill can be on the screen?”

Hub didn’t think so, but he said, “Great idea! Our new star
is a Jillionaire!”

Frankie laughed appreciatively, wondering who Hub had paid
to think that one up.

“All right! You know I haven’t been to bed yet, so I’d love
to…”

Hub bet Frankie had indeed been to bed; several times the
previous night, probably. But he said “Just a quickie, Frankie,” suddenly realizing
he was still thinking about Frankie’s legendary exploits.

“You know those changes you made to the show, those cuts?”
Hub continued. “I’d like to speak with your tech people about those, and I’d
like them to cooperate with me.” An odd request from the show’s Director, he
thought with some annoyance, but he knew he wouldn’t get anywhere without a
blessing from the Holy Name of Dickstein.

“Sure!” said Frankie, “Not much to tell, but go see Stan at
WizWhiz. I’ll send him word to cooperate with you.” He motioned to an aide to
make that happen. “But you know there was a woman named Stephanie Bloomberg here
who was interested in those cuts. She said she wanted to finance my next film,
but turns out she was a phony. A God-damn phony. Anyway, she talked to Stan and
so he can tell you about her.”

Frankie threw out a few more details about “Stephanie” and
then turned away from Hub toward more interesting fare that was inhaling deeply
and approaching him with arms and lips apart.

Hub found Liv, Jill, and Ellie, and escorted them to his
very large car. “How about Mexican?” Hub asked. “There’s a great little place
over on Santa Monica Boulevard.” The women said that would be good, even though
none of them really liked -Mex food, whether Tex- or not.

Fifteen minutes later, the three were seated in a booth in
the rear of the Peso Queso, next to a sign reading “
dinero pequeño
is
our middle
nombre
.” Since it was a Wednesday, they were almost alone.
They ordered food and drink. Jill and Hub had Negro Modelos. Ellie ordered a
Dos Equis. Liv had a margarita, frozen, no salt, double.

After dinner, Hub nodded toward Jill, who asked Ellie if
she’d please excuse them because they had business to discuss. Ellie didn’t
look happy about being ejected, but Hub phoned for a driver and Ellie was soon
on her luxurious way back to the hotel.

“There’s definitely something wrong,” Hub began. “Our show
is involved in some kind of scam – I don’t know what it is, but if it blows up,
my Hollywood days are toast.”

He summarized Frankie’s conversation back stage. “That woman
– actually the way he described her she reminded me of you, Liv, but older,
claimed to want to fund Frankie’s next production, but right after that she
visited WizWhiz and asked them about the season-two cuts; then no one saw her
again. Frankie checked her out then, but there was no such person. A complete
fraud. I’ll bet she was the reason The Clue was cut from the show. This shit
just gets deeper, doesn’t it?”

“And that’s another proof,” Liv said.

“Proof of what?” Jill asked.

“The conspiracy. Many people thought Charley didn’t act
alone – he said as much to the police and to me, though I think I was the only
one who really believed him. But now, we know that The Clue was threatening
enough to someone that he – or she in this case – would risk becoming known to
Frankie Dickstein and to WizWhiz. So, there is a ‘George,’ and now a
‘Stephanie,’ east coast and west coast. This whole thing is getting a lot
bigger.”

“So – what was so important?” Jill asked. “Not that Charley
was threatened by an ‘Art’ or  a ‘George’ into killing Barnes – we knew that.”

“Well,” Liv said, “The Clue must reveal more than the bare
fact that there was a conspiracy. It might give us a hint not just that there
was such a conspiracy, but who was behind it, and perhaps why as well. Who this
Art / George was. If not, the people behind the assassination wouldn’t care if
anyone had seen The Clue or not. Since they do seem to care, that must mean
there’s something to be found out. Something for us to find out, perhaps.”

“So, where do we go from here?” asked Hub.

Hub and Jill looked at each other, and then at Liv.

“We’ll have to do some investigating,” Liv said.

“OK,” said Jill. “I’ve got time on my hands now that I’m an
Instant Republican.”

“OK,” said Hub. “That’s what we’re talking about here. What
to do.”

“I haven’t heard any specific ‘what to do’s’ from either you
or Jill,” said Liv. “I’ve got an idea of what ought to be done going forward on
this thing. I worked up some ideas on the flight in, but I’ve been thinking
about it for two years, those unexplained reasons for Barnes’ death and then
Charley’s. Just the lawyer in me, I guess. I propose we divide up the work and
then regroup in a month to compare notes.”

Jill and Hub looked surprised, but both nodded. “Okay,” said
Hub, “maybe. Let’s hear it.”

You know,” said Liv, “Charley was killed a week after I
visited him in prison, when he asked me to put Darlene somewhere safe and then
he’d tell me more. That death was pretty suspicious, wasn’t it, just because of
the timing if nothing else? And I was on my way to see him to discuss a letter
he’d sent me when he was killed.”

“But that means,” said Jill, “that someone was spying on
Charley in prison and communicating to the outside. Who could do that?”

“Anyone,” said Liv. “Anyone in prison, unless he’s in
solitary 24/7, can communicate with the outside. That’s always been true. With
a guard’s help or not.”

Jill persisted. “But what did he tell you that caused
someone to arrange his death, and so elaborately that it didn’t look like he
was targeted? Wouldn’t that have taken more planning and power than just a gang
member’s telling his friends on the inside to do something? And wouldn’t the
existence of a daughter not be enough to keep Charley from talking?”

“Actually,” said Liv, “the implausibility of that means Charley’s
telling me about Darlene wasn’t the reason he was killed.”

Jill shrugged. “OK,” she said, “just a thought.”

“Well,” said Hub, “we do need to follow up on the daughter
angle. Maybe something we find out in the next month could shed some light on
it.”

The others nodded.

After a moment, Liv spoke up. “Charley said George mentioned
Roanoke, and that’s where his daughter Darlene Timmons was, as far as he knew.”

“Do you think she’d know anything?” Hub asked.

“Doubtful. But someone could have been keeping a watch on
her, in case she needed to be kidnapped. I think that’s what Charley assumed.”

“Kidnapped or killed.”

“Actually,” said Liv, “they wouldn’t have killed her, or
they’d have lost their bargaining chip. Charley never thought of that. And now
that Charley’s dead, they would certainly have no further interest in her.”