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WHEN WE FINALLY CALLED Nathan, it was ten o’clock DC time. We plunged right into the reason for the call without wasting time with small talk. As it turned out, it was a good thing we checked with him before we did anything rash. The DEA and ATF both had Kenneth Monnigan under confidential investigations. In fact, they were collecting evidence on his multiple but carefully concealed identities that ranged from the bogus movie producer to a real estate developer. His primary occupation, however, was fronting money laundering operations for not one, but two cartels—one involved in drugs and the other in guns.
“Monnigan, or whatever he chooses to call himself, is a dangerous guy,” Nathan said. Thank goodness you three didn’t go any farther with this. It sounds like the evidence on those flash drives will hammer another nail into his coffin. What a pity that woman had to lose her life to do it.”
When asked if there was a reward for providing this evidence, he confirmed there was and he would put people on finding Marjory’s heirs.
We wrapped up the conversation by promising to Fed Ex the drives to him first thing in the morning.
Before we did that, however, Kate insisted we make our own copies. As she explained, “You hope and pray that what you send makes it to the destination safely, but this is really hot stuff. What if it got sidetracked or lost? We can’t risk that.”
We all agreed, so I offered to put the duplicate drives in my nearby safe deposit box the next day.
By that time it was past one in the morning East Coast time and Kim looked like she was beginning to fade. But she wasn’t ready to go to bed.
“My mind is rolling like a speeding train,” she said. “I really need to come down several notches before I can fall asleep. Would it be safe to take a walk along the canals? Maybe some fresh air and tranquility will help clear my mind.”
I scooped up our plates and coffee mugs and put them in the kitchen sink. The temperature had dropped like it often does at night in LA. In fact it was chilly enough to wear sweaters. I always keep a few sweaters and light jackets in my guest closet, so I grabbed three and we ventured out into the night.
The beautiful cobalt sky had darkened to black highlighting the full moon. The glow of city lights often obscured what could be a starry sky, but this evening some had managed to shine through. As we set out along the canal a light breeze caressed our faces. You could not have ordered a better evening.
We moved along the path at a slow pace and kept our voices low because of the hour. Anyone who might look out their window and see us would never suspect how horrible our day had been.
Kim said, “Geez, Cami, we’ve been so focused on everything that happened today, I never had a chance to ask you how things were going with Cunningham. I guess you’re really cutting into their clients and income. Good for you. What’s the latest?”
I thought about that. What was the latest? In some ways it had gone from bad to worse. It was my bad luck that when Reid dumped the glass of Coke all over me, someone with a cell phone had videoed the entire incident, including my shouting at him, “The best place for you and your sleazy partner is DEAD.”
After my confrontation with Angela Thurston, the video turned up on the online edition of the LA Times in her What’s Happening in Hollywood column, with an accompanying article. True, we weren’t in “the business,” but both firms did have some celebrity clients. I wondered how much she paid that enterprising person for the video that made me look like a defenseless drowned rat—that is, until I fought back. The headline, Top Century City advertising execs in brawl in local eatery. Cameron Harson issues threat. The accompanying article was filled with fabricated quotes and speculation on her part.
I’d tried to rationalize that any news is good news, but really had my doubts about this one. If only I hadn’t used the word DEAD.
“Yeah, it’s true that I’ve made lots of headway in taking them down since I opened my agency. I guess you saw the video and article online—or did you?”
Both of my friends admitted they had watched the video in awe.
“Not my finest moment, I guess, but that damn Jonathan Reid really pissed me off. The nerve of him humiliating me like that. As for wishing both of them dead, that just slipped out in my moment of fury. I wish I could take it back. Didn’t make me look all that great or professional.”
Kate imparted her usual wisdom. “Do you think you’ve done enough damage to them? Maybe it’s time to try to bury the hatchet a little bit. It would make you look like the better person. After all, you’ve built a great reputation for the agency. New accounts seek you out because they see how successful your senior products campaigns are. Why don’t you consider making Forever Young the last account you poach from them. Then if others move to your agency voluntarily without any prompting, well, that’s life.”
What she said made sense. I needed to get back to concentrating on building my agency without revenge attached to every move I made. “I’ll consider it,” I said. “Maybe I’ll even invite those two bozos to have a drink or lunch with me to discuss a peace treaty. Let me sleep on it.”
We continued walking along Grand Canal until we reached North Venice and turned back toward my house.
The pressures of the day had taken their toll. All three of us were fading rapidly. Walking along the canal at this hour was very peaceful. With no one else on the walk, a little whoosh from the water occasionally moved by a light breeze, a bird call now and then, and a full moon were the only sounds to break the tranquility. Under the right circumstances and with a guy, not two girlfriends, it would have been the perfect setting for romance. Instead, all we wanted was to make it back to the house and fall into bed.
That night I had very weird dreams. Not unusual after what we had been through, but still unsettling. Images of a body flying through the air, and some goofy policemen dressed like the Keystone Kops. The ambulance arrived, and a bunch of clowns dressed like doctors poured out like that old Volkswagen commercial. They rushed around without accomplishing anything.
I popped up in bed sometime around three or three-thirty with an uneasy feeling it wasn’t over yet. Maybe I was worried that Kim could have some problems trying to find out who was leaking information from the wiretaps. Whatever it was, I tossed and turned until the first beams of light signaled a new day. Instead of feeling rested, I felt like I could sleep another few hours, but that wasn’t in the cards.