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The first dozen notes to the theme song of Hog Hell identified the caller before Dietz heard Grady’s voice. “So? Did you find Felch? What’s his excuse this time?” Heavy breathing but no words sounded. “Grady? You there, brother? Did you butt-dial again?” He started to disconnect, when the man finally spoke.
“Yeah, I’m here. Boss, we’re screwed. Oh God, we are so screwed!” Grady’s tone squeaked and broke like a voice-changing adolescent, the stampede of words muddled in the rush. “It’s Felch, the crazy son-of-a-bitch. Christ, don’t know what to do, couldn’t stop him.”
“Slow down, I can’t understand you. Get a grip.” Dietz sat and pulled the chair closer to the desk. He’d been prepping for the radio spot, but that could wait. “What’d he do? How much will it cost me this time?” Lord, couldn’t the man stay out of trouble longer than a few hours? Three days, they needed three days of calm.
Grady’s anguished voice broke again. “Remember I told you how he got in the car with that reporter? Felch called, said there’s been an accident. Wanted me to pick him up.” Heavy breathing again.
Dietz groaned. “So pick him up, take care of any insurance or cop reports, and send me the bill. And then don’t let Felch out of your sight. I don’t have time for this; that’s your job.”
“You don’t understand. Took a while to find the place. They slammed into the front gate at this old Victorian monstrosity. Felch tells me he beat up that reporter, maybe killed him.”
Breathing stopped for a lifetime. Then Dietz licked his lips, and whispered. “What did you say?”
“Felch went off on that reporter. I’m trying to tell you! He says the guy had this story ready, drove here to talk to some woman about it, and planned to release it before the show launch. Felch had to shut him up, protect the show. We all have a lot to lose if that story gets out.”
“But he made it up! There’s nothing to the story, Felch has to know that.” Dietz stood up so fast, the rolling chair hit and dented the back wall. Even a fabricated story would ruin everything, though. “Felch beat him up? He can’t be dead.” He sat on the desk and put his head in his hand. “This isn’t happening, I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it, all right.” Grady’s voice grew steadier. “I got Felch calmed down, got him in the truck, and he says the reporter spilled everything to this animal expert. What do you want me to do?” He paused, and then added, “Want me to talk to her? Warn her off? Hell, the reporter probably has notes stashed somewhere, too.” His voice had gone squeaky-high with excitement. “We call the cops on this, and the show’s toast. You know that, right?”
“Let me think, let me think.” Dietz ran his hand through his hair until static electricity crackled. “Wait. Animal behavior expert? September Day?” He straightened. She could spoil everything. “Does she know about Felch and the reporter?”
“No. Maybe. Hell, I don’t know.” Grady rushed on. “Nobody’s going to stumble across the body. Took all my powers of persuasion to get Felch in the truck and get the hell out of Dodge.”
“Where’s Felch now?”
“Haven’t a clue. I dropped him at his place, but for all I know, he’s circling around ready to jump me.” He breathed heavily. “I’m sitting here in my car, with the doors locked, wishing I had a gun instead of this phone. If we’re lucky, Felch is halfway to Mexico by now.” Grady paused, and Dietz could almost hear the wheels turning. “You want me to call the police? Why don’t you call the paper, give them the scoop about Felch getting fired from the show. That would distance us from him. I mean, before the body shows up. And it will show up.”
The timing couldn’t be worse. “The press will want to know why he got fired. When the reporter’s found this will come out anyway, or even sooner if that woman talks to anybody.” Think, think! Dietz stood up from the desk, and paced. Damage control, he needed time to manage and massage the story, discredit the reporter, and delay any negatives until after tomorrow night’s launch. Longer, if possible. “First, get hold of the reporter’s pack of lies, and burn them.” He ground his teeth, silently cursing the whole situation. “Where are you?”
“Rabbit Run Road, half a mile from the behaviorist’s house. Sunny’s getting her hair and face done for the TV gig so I got to take her place talking BeeBo down about his sick dog. You know he’s a baby about his mutts.” His grim tone spoke volumes. “I know the job can get down and dirty, but I never signed on for this. We gotta call the cops.”
“We will, of course we’ll call the police. But if the man’s dead, waiting a day or three—until Monday, after the launch party—that isn’t going to hurt him any worse, right?” He waited a long moment, and then prompted again. “Right, Grady? Tell me you understand.”
“If somebody finds out before we report it, we’re screwed even worse. I’m not going to prison for your stupid show.”
Dietz groaned. “I have more to lose than any of you. My name’s on the show. I cast Looney Tunes Felch. We need some wiggle room. If the news doesn’t come out until after the launch party, and until after the holiday premium orders roll in, it won’t matter. We can handle BeeBo. We can manage Sunny. And we can re-cast Felch.”
“So you want me to keep a lid on it until. . .when?”
“Hell, until forever! What do you think?” He wanted to punch the wall. Success within his grasp, finally after years of failure, and now this. “Fix it. Find Felch, put a sock in it, make sure he talks to no one.” He thought for a moment, and then added, “Especially keep him away from that September Day woman. You know, it’d be terrific if she left town for a while.”
“Sure. I understand.” Grady hesitated, as if weighing his next words with care. “Say the word, and I can arrange for her to take that trip. I can make the reporter’s body disappear. But I need some guarantee this won’t come back on me. I’m taking all the risks.”
Dietz sank back into the chair. “What are you saying?” But he knew.
“I want to bury this problem as much as you, but a little more incentive would go a long way toward making the risk worthwhile. Don’t you think that’s fair?”
Blackmail? “I already doubled your pay this week. But that was to keep Felch and BeeBo in line. Haven’t handled that too well, have you?” Dietz’s face flushed with heat, and he was glad Grady couldn’t see him.
“Do you want to argue the point? What’s it worth to have this problem go away?”
Dietz took in the stack of bills on the desk in front of him, and the notes for the upcoming media events. He didn’t have time to argue. And Grady knew it. “All right. Triple your weekly salary.”
“I want a cut, too.”
“You want what?” Dietz leaned his head in his hand. Damn Felch! The man better stay in Mexico or he’d beat the shit out of him, too.
“Triple salary. Named as a full producer on the show. And a fifty percent—”
“You’re bat-shit crazy!”
“—or I could call the cops and let them handle it.”
Dietz blew out his breath. Grady waited. He didn’t need to say anything else.
It occurred to Dietz that he had no way of knowing how much the other man might be making up. Maybe he’d better have a private conversation with Felch before he slapped the snot out of him. Meanwhile, he had no choice. Promise whatever it took, for now anyway.
“What’ll it be? Boss? I mean, partner?” Grady’s words gloated.
“I don’t want a sniff of my name or the show connected. And I don’t want to know how you do it.” Dietz slapped his palm against the desk and stood up. “Just make it go away, Grady.”
“Done.”
