“I tried that. When I called the cell number I had sneaked, I got a recording in Haskell’s voice saying, ‘Hi, this is Domino’s. Leave your order and then fuck off.’ His office says he’s on assignment and could be for several days. They asked us to please stop calling, that he’ll contact us at his earliest opportunity.”
“Bullshit.”
“That’s what I said.”
Tom mouthed a stream of obscenities. “Frank, nothing you’ve told me is good.”
“I saved the best for last. I followed Bowie’s kid to school.”
Tom’s heart cartwheeled. “Tell me.”
“His ex got the house in the divorce. I arrived there in time to see her boyfriend leaving. About an hour later, she drove the girl to school.”
“What’s the girl like?”
“Lots of dark, curly hair. Tall. Too skinny for my taste. I’m parked down the street but have a clear view of where her mother dropped her. Awaiting your instructions, boss. Feel better?”
Not all that much. His nose was still swollen, discolored, and sore as hell. This morning his wife had had the gall to ask if it was ever going to look normal again and suggested that another visit to the plastic surgeon might be in order.
“You still there?” Frank asked.
“I’m thinking.”
“Well,” the ogre said, smacking his chewing gum, “while you’re at it, give this some thought. If you so much as touch that kid of his, Bowie will kill you.”
“She’s been a pain in his ass for years. He’s had to use vacation days to search for her when she’s run off. She’s given him nothing but grief.”
“She may not be the apple of his eye, but he would come after you with one of his namesake knifes and gut you on principle. You’d be better off at the mercy of Rambo.”
Even knowing that scenario wasn’t too far-fetched, Tom resented it. “Thank you for that warning, Frank,” he said dryly. “I’ll keep it in mind as I deliberate. Stay where you are. If and when the girl leaves the school, follow.”
“Then what?”
“TBD. I’ll get back to you with a plan.”
“Did you emphasize how urgent it is that I speak with him?” Beth was pacing at the foot of the iron bed, trying to stem her agitation and not sound crazed. Executive producer Winston Brady’s assistant was unmoveable.
“I conveyed that, Ms. Collins, but Mr. Brady is also dealing with urgent matters today. I’m sure that as soon as his schedule permits, he’ll get in touch with you. Have a nice day.” She hung up.
She hung up! If ever Beth had speculated on what her status at Crisis Point would be if Max were no longer there, she had her answer.
“Pompous jackass,” she muttered in regard to Brady. She called the direct line to what was still officially her office, even if not for long. Richard answered, “Ms. Collins’s office.”
“This is Ms. Collins.”
“Beth! Oh my God! You were so overwrought when I told you about Mr. Longren, I worried about you for the rest of the night. How are you? You were taking it so hard.”
“I still am. However, right now, I’m livid. Brady refused to take my call.”
“When?”
“Just now. Even though I told his assistant how urgent it was that I speak with him, she didn’t budge from ‘He’s unavailable.’”
“Honestly, Beth, I am not surprised that he had no time for you. The man is positively frenzied. As long as Mr. Longren was alive, he was still the figurehead producer of the network’s most highly rated show. Now everyone is anxious and paranoid over how his sudden absence will affect their positions here, and that includes Brady.”
“He should be anxious. Up till now, anything that went wrong, he could blame on that doddering old tyrant, Max Longren,” she said bitterly. “His safety net is no longer there.”
“Too true. I swear, his lips must be chapped from kissing so many behinds. The network execs, as well as the show’s sponsors, are pressing him for a guarantee that losing Longren won’t negatively impact the quality of Crisis Point.”
“That’s exactly why I’m desperate to talk to him,” Beth exclaimed. “He must, must cancel the broadcast of that Mellin episode.”
Richard sputtered. “That’s what you wanted to tell him? Then God bless his harpy of an assistant for not connecting you.”
“Explain, please.”
“Brady is maniacally pushing everyone to finish a video obituary for Mr. Longren, which will be tacked onto the end of that episode. Two sponsors have devoted their commercial time to it. As we speak, his long and illustrious career is being edited down to one hundred twenty seconds.”
Beth stopped pacing and dropped down onto the bed. “You cannot be serious.”
“Would I make that up?”
“Max would be horrified. He didn’t even want a funeral. Why is Brady doing this?”
“I suppose he wants to make himself look good.”
“Well, if that’s his goal, he’s going to fail miserably. Airing that episode will ruin him. The network execs and sponsors will hang him in effigy in Times Square.”