Pretty Boy shrugged and said, “He should have found somebody else to hang out with, Chulita. Man’s gotta walk the walk if he’s gonna talk the talk.” Pretty Boy took another look at her and said, “Say, you gonna be needing a man now, uh? Fine looking lady like you, maybe I can fix you up.”
I said, “Trust me, the Maravillas don’t need that kind of trouble.”
Pretty Boy winked at me, “Whatever you say, Holmes.” We could hear sirens in the distance. They were coming our way.
I said, “You guys take off, Hondo and I’ll take care of it.” I took Hondo’s arm from Chato and put it over my shoulder.
Hondo looked at me and said, “I still ain’t heavy...”
I said, “Don’t kid yourself. You are.” Pretty Boy and the others lined up and gave Hondo and me big abrazos, then left, laughing and comparing wounds. They were a tough bunch of guys.
Bond said, “What are you going to do with me?”
“Let you tell your story to the authorities. Bob and the women will tell theirs, Hondo and I ours, and you can be last. I understand there’s a lot of international interest in this,” I held up the gym bag, “and all of them will get a shot at you.”
She stroked my arm, “Couldn’t you let me go, for old time’s sake?”
“I can’t, for any kind of sake.” I looked at Hondo, “What exactly is a sake, anyhow?”
The first police sedans came into view and I saw Landman and the women talking to them. “I wouldn’t worry,” I told Bond, “You’ll look good in prison colors.”
The officers motioned us to them and we walked slowly, with me holding up Hondo, and Bond pacing beside us in silence. Bob helped hold Hondo when we reached them, and the officers put Bond in cuffs.
We were busy with everything else when Bob said, “I’m sorry about your car.” Hondo and I looked past the police cruisers and saw the mangled forklift on top of Hondo’s Mercedes. The Mercedes was maybe two feet high.
I said, “Look at the bright side; you’ve always wanted a compact.” Hondo punched me on the leg because that was as high as he could lift his arm. The paramedics took him before he could hit me again.
**
That night and the next two days were a crazy mix of statements to law enforcement, Immigration, the Russian Consular office, every news and television reporter in the area, CNN, and Univision. Hondo even got a call from People magazine wanting Hondo and I to appear on their cover as The Sexiest Private Detectives Alive. Hondo told them we’d do it right after we saw The Sexiest Dead Private Detectives issue on the shelves. I’d kind of wanted to do it, but Hondo was still being cranky because he was back in the hospital. The same nurses he skipped out on were watching him like hawks this time.
Bob Landman came by to thank us and to talk. He turned out to be a warm and genuine person, and we both liked him. He asked us about the case, about Mickey -- we talked a lot about Mickey, and then we mentioned Hunter. He asked a number of questions about how the government treated her because of her helping us.
Bob also did us some favors without us asking. Some people say politicians can get the biggest things taken care of, but an A-list actor isn’t far behind. He made a few calls at noon the next day and by mid-afternoon Hondo and I were licensed PI’s again and licensed to carry. We received phone calls apologizing for the mistake and assurances that it would never happen again. That evening we were told they had recovered Frank Meadows’ body, but found no trace of Carl Rakes and assumed the explosion had blown him apart.
We got a call from Hunter the second morning. She was laughing and saying not only was she exonerated, but they encouraged her to “continue her productive relationship with friends of the motion picture industry”. DreamWorks had also contacted her to act as a consultant for Ninety Notches.
Bob had a good sense of humor, too and didn’t try to hide his beat up puss from the cameras. He was witty and self-deprecating to the news cameras and got a lucrative benefit from it. Gillette contacted him and offered a low seven-figure contract for a one-minute commercial with him using their new Mach razor to shave his bruised and cut face. They said it would show how gentle-yet-close-cutting their Mach was. They were sure it would rocket sales, but the trick was they
had to film right now, before Bob’s cuts and bruises faded.
So on the third day I was with Bob and a film crew shooting the commercial on the Sunset Strip. Bob hired me as a PA -- Personal Assistant, something I’d never been before. I’d had to drive there in Shamu, fin and all and that got some comments and stares. But finally, we got down to work. Bob told me all I had to do was hang out on the set and look smug. I told him I thought I could do that. The pay was good and Bob said I could call Hondo in the hospital from the set and torment him about it.
The location on Sunset was maybe thirty yards east of Siberia, still closed for renovations according to the sign.
It was mid-afternoon and I watched them put shaving cream on Bob’s face for the first take as I talked to a cute-as-a-button brunette from Salinas who was employed as a Best Boy. The name was misleading because she would never, ever be confused for a boy. I had her chuckling and trying to be quiet on the set when the first take was ready and “Action” shouted.
Bob talked into the camera with his face covered in shaving cream. He held up the razor and told of its merits and technological design. That’s when a movement coming from the right caught my eye and my first thought was, I didn’t know they had a monster in this commercial.
The figure rushing onto the set wore a charred and torn white long-sleeve shirt and oil-smeared pants, but the face was what shocked me. One half of the head was a black, scorched scalp and face with a milky white eye bulging from the socket. The other half was a mane of long, tangled dirty blond hair, and a snarling face with one blue eye. One arm was tied to his stomach with dirty rope. Dark burns showed through the tears in the shirt, and then I recognized the tattoos, and the good half of the face.
Carl Rakes had risen from the dead.
I ran forward and pulled my new Glock .45 as Carl grabbed Bob from behind. He had Bob around the neck with his good arm, and his hand held a long shard of glass against the side of Bob’s throat.
Carl backed away, “Dah, you film dis. You see Carl take de shid actor and carve him away. You vill see, you vill see. Carl vill triumph!”
I pointed the Glock, “Let him go, Carl. It’s over.”