Director Ethan Ganey lived in a less-impressive part of town than I’d expected, but then again, his career had pretty much tanked after the Zombie Lust series. I guess that’s what happens when directors get typecast.
The building, a four-story faux Spanish hacienda, wasn’t too bad. Whoever owned it had patched the cracks left by last month’s earthquake, and the narrow strip of lawn in front had been recently mowed. However, no one had bothered to pick up the advertising circulars and plastic Circle K bags that littered the entrance. Muttering “Keep California beautiful,” I grabbed one of the bags and stuffed the others into it, along with the advertising circulars. I was about to take my haul over to the dumpster when the apartment door opened and Ganey emerged.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “That’s the super’s job.”
His wet hair testified that he’d just stepped out of the shower, and the neatness of his clothes proved that he either had a live-in girlfriend or knew how to iron.
“Looks like the super didn’t come to work today.”
He snatched the bag from me, rustled through it, then—apparently not finding what he was looking for—tossed it back onto the ground.
Whereupon I picked it up and delivered it to the dumpster. There. A little less mess in the world.
“Oh, wait. I know you, don’t I? You look familiar.” Ganey had followed me, and was standing so close I could smell his aftershave. Something expensive, which, given his low-rent domicile, surprised me.
“You’ve probably seen me on TV,” I said, meaning on the Anteaters to Zebras show, but judging from where his eyes traveled, that wasn’t where he recognized me from. “Yes, yes, I’m the naked zookeeper, but I’m also the sheriff’s wife, and I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you.”
He raised his eyebrows, but his eyes stayed put. “Surely you jest.”
“I’m not against a joke here and there, but not about murder.” Melodramatic, sure, but at least his eyes moved from my chest to my face.
His mouth twitched. “I’ve directed enough cop shows to know your qualifications are zilch.”
“True, but in this case, irrelevant. Several members of the Tippy-Toe cast already told me you missed a rehearsal the day Flaherty was killed. I found that to be quite interesting, since the show was scheduled to run the next day. It didn’t, though.”
“Of course it didn’t. Cliff having just been found dead, running the show would have been in bad taste.”
“You’re all about taste, are you?” I smiled, to take the edge off my question.
That soothed him somewhat. “Well, there are limits, even in show business. Look, I know what you’re after here, and I still say you’ve got no business poking your nose into an official police investigation—especially into the murder of a man nobody cared for and nobody misses—but if you’re so determined to know where I went that day, what the hell. I was in So Cal. A little bird had told me what was about to happen with Tippy-Toe, so I was down there trying to put something together for myself and a couple of the cast members.”
“Which ones?”
“Bird and Gonzo. But not their marionettes, for legal reasons. Just voice-overs for some anime piece of shit.”
Poor marionettes. Left out in the cold again. “And?”
“The suits haven’t made up their minds yet. Zombies are out, werewolves back in, but I did make a werewolf picture back in the nineties, so hey, we’ve at least got a chance.”
“Who was the little bird?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
Interesting answer, especially since I hadn’t asked him about his sex life. Nor was I going to, because I had bigger fish to fry. “Then maybe you can answer this. A little bird told me—probably not the same bird you’re involved with—that Cliff Flaherty once brought a civil action suit against you. What’s your side of the story?”
Instead of denying it, he laughed. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Yeah, Flaherty sued me, but he didn’t get zip, because there was nothing to get. For every film that actually gets made in Hollywood, a couple hundred of them die in Legal. Besides, I didn’t take anything that wasn’t legally mine—salary for time spent. Now, Red, not that this hasn’t been fun and all, but I’m expected someplace. So hasta la vista, baby.”
He raised his hand, and for a moment it looked like he was about to slap me on the butt, but after catching sight of my expression, he lowered his hand and hurried down the street.
* * *
Interview Number One down, I took off for Interview Number Two, not that I expected much, but you never can tell, can you? I finally caught up with Jocelyn Ravel at Pinball Wizardess, her home away from home. It being this early in the day, half the machines stood silent, making the din almost bearable. Jocelyn was cozied up to a machine titled Alien Babes, and when she caught sight of me, she bumped the machine so hard the TILT buzzer sounded.
“Dammit!” she spat. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Since it was only 10:00, and this made the second time I’d already been asked that question, I figured I must be doing something right. Cheered by the insight, I said, “Jocelyn, did you know that Ethan Ganey’s been pitching some cartoon about werewolves, and that it involves Bird and Gonzo?”
“So? No way that’s gonna happen. Not with those two losers on board.” She scowled at the tilted Alien Babes as if the machine had personally insulted her.
“When did you find out and who told you?”
The scowl traveled to me. “None of your business.”
“Big secret, is it?”
“No. I just don’t feel like talking to you.”
Three black-clad teens, young enough they should have been in school, took over the machines in the row behind us. The din in Pinball Wizardess increased.
“Was it Bird?” I yelled, above the noise. Given the man’s brain damage, he probably had trouble keeping secrets unless his roommate was there to shut him up.
“Bird?” Her laugh had a cruel edge. “That retard doesn’t even know what day it is, let alone what’s going down in Hollywood with toons.”
Somehow, I managed not to slap her. “Gordo, maybe?” I yelled again.
She rolled her eyes. “As if.”
No one in the cast, then, which made sense. When I’d run into them at the zoo the other day, they’d all seemed like one big happy family. Several more teens came in, firing up more pinball machines. Where were the hooky police when you needed them?
“Did you ever run into someone connected with the Zombie Lust movies?” I yelled louder.
At that, Jocelyn reached behind her and pressed Alien Babes’ PLAY button. It lit up again, dinging and clanging and screeching out some god-awful tune.
“Go away, Teddy,” I lip-read. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”