CHAPTER 41
SCOTTY WAS THE last one out the back door. He saw a basketball hoop high on a wall forming an angle with another building. The asphalt court still had lines on it showing where to park.
A basketball sailed across Scotty’s sight line and went into the basket. Someone yelled, “Yeah!”
It was a guy about five-ten, short brown hair, shirtless, barbed-wire tattoo around his right biceps. He was grinning, triumphant, and he looked about twenty-two.
Schuster said that the guy, now dribbling the ball, was Rory Kovaks, Danny’s school pal from Nebraska. They’d grown up together, Rory coming out to LA to keep Danny company.
Schuster pointed out Alan Barstow, Danny’s agent at CTM, a big talent agency with top, top clients. Barstow was in his thirties, medium height and thin.
Last, Schuster pointed out Randy Boone, assistant to Danny, and Kevin Rose, Danny’s fight coach, all members of the Whitman entourage.
Schuster called out, “Time out, people. We have guests.”
The ball swished into the net and bounced off the asphalt onto the grass, where the various players gathered around. Schuster told the four guys that Justine and Scotty were from Private and that they had been hired to do damage control.
Some stood, some sat on the ground as Schuster gave Justine the floor. Scotty hung around at the sidelines, just watching.
Justine said hello to everyone and introduced herself as a senior investigator at Private. “The tabloids are watching for anything that they can exploit,” she told them. “Katie Blackwell, the girl in question—well, her parents have probably also hired private investigators. They could be following Danny, and any of you who are associated with him, just to find a questionable moment they can blow up, leak to the tabs, and use to tar Danny’s character.
“It’s critical to Danny’s case that he, and really all of you, keep the party down until after his trial. That means no drugs, no drinking, and especially no girls.”
“Sure, and no eating with your mouth open, no bare feet when entering this establishment,” Kovaks said.
Rose, the fight coach, said, “Dr. Smith, no offense, but we don’t need a PI dogging us. Come on,” he said to Larry Schuster. “You can’t be serious.”
Scotty watched Justine, fingers interlaced in front of her, smiling. She said, “Mr. Rose, it’s all of you or none of you. If you can’t go along with us on the terms, we’ll leave in peace. No problem.”
Scotty saw the job going south. Not what he wanted at all.
He said to the whiners gathered around the ball court, “What’s going on here? Danny Whitman needs our help. He’s being tried for the rape of a fourteen-year-old girl, isn’t that right? You want to help him with that? Or are you goons just out to suck his blood?”