Manny was in the barbershop when the phone rang. He got barber shaved only occasionally, when he had a little money, and thanks to the Tessa Tweed stories he was flush.
When the phone rang, Manny was lying back in the chair, his face covered with shaving cream, the barber poised over him with a straight razor.
“Aw, hell,” Manny said.
“You gonna get that?” the barber said.
“Let it go to voicemail.”
Manny waited until he was on his way out the door before checking his voicemail.
The message was from Josh Hargrove, who sounded hysterical. Manny couldn’t make sense of what he’d said. He quickly dialed Josh’s number.
“Jesus Christ, where were you? I couldn’t reach you.”
“You got me now. What is it?”
“The shit’s hit the fan. There was a guy here, in my apartment, asking about the Tessa Tweed story. Some producer or other. I gave him your name.”
“You gave him my name?” Manny said ominously.
“He held me upside down out the fucking window. He was going to kill me, Manny. I swear to God, the guy is unhinged.”
“So you gave him my name?”
“That’s why I called to warn you. This guy is nuts. I couldn’t hold out on him, and you won’t be able to either. If I were you, I’d get out of town.”
“Good thing you’re not me.”
“What?”
“Asshole.”
Manny slipped the phone back in his pocket and walked around the corner to his office. He unlocked the door and plopped down behind his desk.
Manny kept a bottle in his desk drawer. It had started as a joke, a clichéd prop for his gossip-columnist image, but it soon turned into what it was: a bottle of booze in a desk drawer to ease the end of the day.
It wasn’t the end of the day, but it needed easing. Manny took out the bottle, poured himself a shot, and tossed it down.
All right. A producer was coming to shake him down. That wasn’t so bad, no matter what Josh Hargrove said. That coward had likely caved when the guy had given him a mean look.
Manny wondered if the producer would try to pay him off, and how much. It was a fleeting thought. He couldn’t sell out Viveca without losing a steady stream of income.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t turn a profit. It was all a matter of how you looked at things.
Manny picked up the phone and called Viveca.
“Hello, Manny.”
“Are you on the set?”
“No, I wrapped early. I’m on my way home.”
“Are you alone?”
“Aside from the driver.”
“Can he hear you?”
“The glass is up. He can’t hear a thing. Why?”
“Josh called. From the Chronicle.”
“Speaking of Josh, we should ease back on that, I think.”
“Yeah, yeah, not the point. He said a guy came to find out who gave him the Tessa Tweed story.”
“Did he mention my name?”
“He doesn’t know your name. I never gave it to him.”
“All right, then—”
“It’s not all right. Josh gave him my name.”
“Why the hell did he do that?”
“He says the guy threatened him. I think he paid him off. The guy’s not some goon, he’s a producer, for Pete’s sake.”
Viveca sucked in her breath. “Billy Barnett?”
“That’s the one.”
“Well, shit.”
“What is it?”
“He’s producing the picture I’m filming now.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. I’m not going to give you up. No matter how much money he offers, I won’t let you down.”