Look, there are days I don’t even like me, much less what I do. But, even the dirty jobs need doing, so they might as well be done by someone who is good at it.
Name’s Jack Lumley. I’m a private eye by trade, but I’d found a niche as a fixer for Hollywood types trying to avoid this scandal or that. Lots of stars with extracurricular activities the studio heads didn’t want to see in the headlines. You can guess the usual fare here. Something about being a star makes them not able to keep it in their pants when they should. Which is most of the time.
So, when I got a call that night from a VP at one of the studios, I didn’t think much of it. I suspected it was one of their A-listers who got caught on camera - again - with a boy young enough to be his nephew let’s say to be charitable.
The VP didn’t want to give me details over the phone, so I drove over through the heavy rain that was falling that night, and was on the lot in under a half hour.
The guy had one of those bungalow offices, set out in a row with a yard and flower bed, and all that good stuff. Seemed like an unnecessary extravagance, but what do I know about making pictures?
I walked up and knocked on the door, and the guy inside asked me who I was. Since I had nothing to hide - or at least didn’t know yet what I was supposed to be hiding, I identified myself.
I heard the bolt of the lock, and the door opened. The VP, a short heavyset man hustled me in. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a jacket or tie, and his rumpled white shirt was soaked through with sweat. Of course, the blood on his right sleeve and the front of the shirt stood out even more.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Howling Monkey to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.