“WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT a hospital?” Madison asked, as she settled next to Freddie Leon in the passenger seat of his gleaming maroon Rolls-Royce.
“Off the record?” he said briskly.
“Of course.”
“My partner was shot last night.”
“Max Steele?”
“You know him?”
“Yes, we went jogging together a couple of days ago.”
“You get around.”
“Is he okay?”
“It hasn’t hit the news yet,” Freddie said, gazing straight ahead as he drove along Santa Monica Boulevard. “Right now he’s in intensive care. My wife is sitting vigil at his bedside.”
“This is terrible news.”
“It’s the reason I agreed to get out of the office today, couldn’t concentrate. You see, as of last week . . . well, Max and I were not exactly on good terms.”
“God! I hope he’ll be okay.”
“So do I,” Freddie said dryly. “Because if Max dies, everyone will say I put a hit on him. That would go nicely with my reputation. Right?”
“How can you be so cynical?” she said, wondering why he would even say such a thing.
“Let’s make a deal, Madison. Unless I signal that you can put your tape on, anything I say is completely off the record. Agreed?”
“I’ll go with that.”
“Excellent decision.”
She shook her head. “This is a very violent town.”
“Where are you from?”
“New York.”
“And I suppose New York isn’t violent?”
“I’ve been here three days, and already Salli T. Turner’s been murdered, and now Max Steele has been shot.”
“Read the papers, something happens every day.”
“Was he at home?”
“No, the police say it was a robbery in a parking lot. Apparently somebody wanted his Rolex.” Freddie sighed. “Do you know how many times I’ve warned him not to walk around with a seventeen-thousand-dollar gold watch on his wrist?”
Madison wanted to respond, “How about you in your two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car?” But she did the prudent thing and resisted. “Will you be able to keep it out of the news?” she asked.
“I doubt it.”
“And you say your wife is at the hospital with him?”
“Diana took it badly. I never realized they were so close.”
Hmm, Madison thought, there’s a telling remark.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” Freddie continued. “My head’s not in a good place right now. When I left the hospital last night I took a ride to the beach. We have a small house there which nobody ever uses. It’s the only place I can relax. I enjoy solitude.”
“So do I.”
“I’ll lend you the keys one day.”
“I’ll take you up on that. I love the beach,” Madison said, thinking that Freddie Leon was not at all like his reputation. This titan of the big deal seemed lonely and almost vulnerable.
They rode in silence for a while.
“Y’know,” Madison said. “The last thing I want is to hassle you. So if this isn’t a good time, we don’t have to talk today—we could get together next week.”
“I like you,” Freddie said, ignoring her offer. “I knew that the moment you walked into my office. Believe me—I don’t say that to many people.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Madison—interesting name.”
“My parents met on Madison Avenue,” she said lightly. “My mother was shopping, and I guess my father was looking.”
“Your parents still alive?”
“They live in Connecticut, moved out of the city last year.”
“Smart. That’s exactly what I plan on doing eventually—buy myself an old farmhouse in France and give all this up.”
“You’d relinquish all your power and leave L.A.?”
“In a moment,” he said, making a sharp turn onto Melrose.
“Where are we going?” she asked, peering out the window.
“My secret place,” he said. “Only it’s not so secret with the tourists. It’s somewhere I don’t have other agents and producers begging for favors. Also, they serve the best Danish in the city.”
“Where’s that?”
“Farmer’s Market on Fairfax.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Farmer’s Market?”
“You’ll love it,” he assured her.
“I will?”
“Yes, Madison, you will.”
She settled back in the passenger seat. This meeting was turning out to be much more interesting than she’d expected.