City Of Mirrors: A Diana Poole Thriller Part 19

I heard a shuffling sound and glanced over Pearl's shoulder. Leaning on Ryan for support, Binder stood in his office doorway, stooped, holding the b.l.o.o.d.y jacket against his shoulder.

"You won't tell Daddy, will you?" she continued, unaware of his presence. "I don't want to lose him." She dropped her head and began to cry.

He had said the same thing about her. Staring back at Binder, I thought about the h.e.l.l Pearl had unintentionally created by going back to her old life and selling a key. And the pain I had just caused Binder because he had heard most of our conversation. The hurt that showed on his blanched face wasn't just physical.

"You two better go before the cops arrive," Binder ordered.

At the sound of his voice, Pearl froze.

"There's no reason for you to be involved," Binder continued. "Or for Pearl. We know nothing about a key. We know nothing about the Bel Air house, you both understand me?"

"Yes." Holding the Glock, I got to my feet.

"I'll tell 'em it was an attempted burglary. Get up, Mommy. Daddy's going to take care of you."

Pearl climbed unsteadily to her feet. Holding out her arms, she went to him.

The rescue sirens grew louder as Ryan and I ran for the Jag.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

Returning to Malibu, we stopped at our local bar, Kiki's, on Pacific Coast Highway. It was within walking distance to our homes. As I slowed to find a place to park, Ryan leaped out of the Jag, slamming the door behind him, and loped into the lounge.

I found a spot but stayed in the car resting my head against the seat, mulling over what I had I learned. Pearl had sold the key to Zackary Logan who was pimping. She met the clients at Bella Casa, which she had told Logan about. But she wasn't sure if he was videoing her. Pearl also said he'd talked to a woman on the phone, a woman he seemed to fear. Jenny Parson? Then Zackary had let Pearl go, told her he was "changing his business plan." Was Jenny the one who had changed it into a game of blackmail?

I gave up trying to figure it out and checked the messages on my cell. My agent's hyper-energetic voice told me he had set up a reading with Pedro Romero, the director I'd met at Ben's birthday party, for his new movie. Hope shot through my veins. I may have lost my part in Zaitlin's film, almost gotten a nice man killed, found two corpses, but miraculously I was an actress again. And all because of a chance. A possibility to try. I got out of the car and went into the bar.

Removing my sungla.s.ses, I let my eyes adjust to the tranquil darkness. Kiki was a collector of antique surfboards and old hot-air balloons, which he rented out to the movies. It was a small lounge with his boards and fertility-G.o.d masks covering the walls. He also was the proud owner of the first bungee jump rope ever used. How he knew its pedigree I could never figure out. It was framed in teak wood behind gla.s.s and hung on the wall over the center booth. It looked like a cross between a noose and a decaying cobra. Kiki's was the kind of place where stars, working actors, the locals, and surfers could mingle without getting in each other's way. Tourists were frowned upon. And Kiki could spot one a mile away. But since Kiki's purposely looked like a filthy dive bar, they rarely found their way in.

Ryan was hunched in the black fake-leather center booth. The coiled noose/cobra hung above him like an albatross. An empty Martini gla.s.s stood elegantly on a c.o.c.ktail napkin as he nursed a second. I slid in next to him. A martini with three olives waited for me.

"Thanks." I took a sip. "And thanks for the three olives."

Kiki was sitting at the end of the bar. He raised his ubiquitous cup of coffee to me. I waved back. In his late fifties, he was a small wiry man with skin so tan and shriveled it looked like beef jerky. Tattoos covered most of his body. His ink art consisted of quotes and writings such as: "One day at a time." "Don't tread on me." "G.o.d is good, so is Heavy Metal." He called his tattoos notes to myself.

"My agent left a message that Pedro Romero wants me to read for him."

Ryan raised his gla.s.s. "That's fantastic. His new movie is about death. You'll be perfect."

I laughed, then we clinked and I drank again.

"If you think about it, Binder saved our a.s.ses. We'd have the police and the media all over us right now," Ryan said.

"He did it for Pearl."

"He did, didn't he? Why can't we make movies about love anymore?"

"Have you ever been in love?" The minute the words came out of my mouth I regretted them.

"Yes." He avoided my gaze. I didn't ask him who the woman was, I already knew. Then he said in a forced light heartiness, "Let's run away together, Diana. I have a ton of money. We could hide out where Parson could never... ."

"If you have a ton of money, why do you still owe Parson?"

"A debt like the one I have never ends. There's no PAID IN FULL stamp for it."

I changed the subject. "Pearl said she sold the key to Zackary Logan and gave him the idea for using the Bel Air house."

"Do you think Binder knew that?"

"I don't know."

"At least there's no way anybody can connect us to the pool-supply store. Binder will make sure of that."

"There's a man, Leo Heath, he owns a security firm."

"I've heard of him. He helps people out."

"You mean he's a fixer."

"You can look at it that way"

"He's searching for Jenny's killer for Zaitlin. And sharing information with Parson."

"What?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

"No. You mean Heath is looking into this besides the police?" He downed his drink, then raised the empty gla.s.s so the bartender could see he needed another refill.

I caught the bartender glance over at Kiki, who gave him a nod, and only then did he begin to fix Ryan another. So Kiki was keeping count on Ryan's number of drinks.

"Did you tell him about me?" he asked.

"No. But Heath isn't stupid, nor is Detective Spangler. Someone will eventually put the so-called robbery at Binder's store and his cleaning the pool at Bella Casa together."

"The Valley's not Spangler's bailiwick, is it?"

"West L.A."

"Then she may never see the report on the shooting. And Parson isn't going to make trouble over losing one of his men. Not with the police anyway. What do we have to worry about?"

"It's not the dead man I'm worried about. It's the one we left in the alley. He knows where we live. And so does Parson. Maybe we should go to the police," I said in a low voice.

Ryan looked stricken. "We've discussed this. You promised not to tell them."

"We almost got Binder killed and Parson's thug doesn't strike me as the kind guy who likes a woman getting the better of him."

"He was hurt. Probably a broken leg. How much damage can he do?"

"He can talk to Parson. I got us in over our heads, Ryan. This isn't what I had in mind when I said we should take control of our lives. The police could protect us."

"Protect us? By arresting me? And you have a reading with Pedro Romero. Going to the police could destroy your chances for a part in his movie. Think of what you've just been through with Jake Jackson."

"There's also Leo Heath. He doesn't have a bailiwick. He can roam anywhere. And he has contacts inside the force. What if he discovers we were the reason for the shooting at Binder's?"

"I heard he never goes public with any information he has. That's why people trust him. We may still be safe."

I chewed an olive, then said, "He may not go public, but he can tell Parson. I don't know if I can go on living like this."

"You have to. For G.o.d's sake, Diana, you have an incredible opportunity with a famous director. Go for it. Colin would have wanted you to."

"Christ, your sense of reality is so screwed. I don't think Colin would want me to 'go for it' if it was going to get me killed." Studying Ryan's tense profile, I took a long sip. I put my gla.s.s down. "Tell me what Parson had on him."

"Get off this, Diana. I told you, he has nothing."

"Then tell me why you still have to pay Parson off. I have ghosts."

"You told me to leave the dead alone."

"I told you not to compete with them. Actually, Heath told me to leave them alone."

"Take his advice. You're being self-destructive."

The bartender arrived at the table and set down the martini and took away Ryan's two empties. I watched Ryan shake his olives dry over his drink, then toss them on the table. And I knew if I was ever going to get the truth from him, it was now.

"How is my wanting to know what Parson had on my husband self-destructive?" I decided to force the issue even further. Reaching into my purse, I pulled my cell out and set it on the table. "Ryan, tell me the truth or I'm calling Spangler."

"My owing Parson money doesn't matter in any of this." He downed half his martini.

"Getting drunk isn't going to save you." I picked up the phone.

"Wait." He grabbed my arm and shook his head accusingly at me. "Women. You're all the same. You never keep your word."

The candle in the hurricane lamp flickered.

He let go of me and rubbed his face, then he leaned close and whispered, "Remember, you asked for this, Diana. Parson has pictures of Colin."

I could feel my gut turning hollow. "With another woman?"

He nodded.

"Who?"

He blinked his reddish-golden lashes, waiting for me to understand.

"Do I know her?"

He continued to wait for me to get it, to see the obvious.

"Jesus. My mother." I felt limp.

"He met her on Parson's boat. It was just a one-night kind of thing. You were off on location. But Parson's guy, Luis, was secretly taking pictures."

"She won," I said. "All the Berts and the Barts I went to bed with and she won."

"You made me tell you."

I clutched the stem of my gla.s.s until it broke in half. The martini spilled.

"Are you all right?" Ryan took my hand and checked it as Kiki hurried over with a bar towel.

"Cheap gla.s.ses. I'll bring you a fresh drink, Diana."

"I don't want any more."

Kiki scooped up the bowl and stem of the gla.s.s and dabbed at the spill, then hurried away "No blood, you didn't cut yourself." Ryan let go of my hand. "Diana, Colin and your mother were drunk. It just happened, that's all." He gulped down the rest of his martini. "Parson showed him the pictures and Colin began to pay. He didn't want you to know. He understood that was the one thing you would never forgive him for."

"But it didn't stop him, did it? Did my mother help him pay?"

"According to Colin she wouldn't, in fact she told him not to."

I studied his rebellious red hair, his Hawaiian shirt with the hula dancers printed on it, beckoning me to paradise. "And you helped Colin with the money. And when he died you took over his debt."

"He loved you, Diana."

I gripped his hand. "Oh, Ryan."

I leaned back in the booth and wondered if there was anything in my life that didn't somehow in one way or another belong to my mother. I thought of Colin's memorial service at the Writers Guild. Mother had handled that. I was too distraught. Or had I just let her? "Not because somebody has to care, but because," she'd said, "the man deserves it for trying to be true to himself in a town where n.o.body knows who the f.u.c.k they are. We're all walking into mirrors."

"Do you think Colin was a man who was true to himself?"

"More than most of us."

"My mother thought he was."

"He loved you, Diana, not her. You know that."

"Why didn't he just tell me?"

"Why do you think? Because he knew he'd been in the wrong and he also knew you couldn't handle it. 'The awful emptiness of the truth' is what I think he said. You would've left him. And that would've killed him."