Hollywood Sinners

PART FOUR



Summer





85



Lester Fallon jerked the car back in the lane, narrowly missing an oncoming truck. He gave the bird to the vehicle behind him. F*cking moron.

With the engine purring beneath him and Vegas only an hour away, Lester was feeling good. Every mile he clocked brought him closer to the scene of his revenge. Imagining the look on their faces when he finally revealed himself was almost too much to bear. He’d had to pull over in a lay by twice already to relieve himself. Fear switched him on like nothing else.

He flicked on the radio, hoping to catch a tune.

‘Las Vegas, Nevada, is getting ready to roll out the red carpet for the premiere of Sam Lucas’s new movie, Eastern Sky. Tomorrow night the Orient Hotel will open its doors for an evening of Hollywood glamour as a host of stars arrive in the city this afternoon for the big occasion. Robert St Louis, owner of the Orient and co-hosting the evening’s event with Frank Bernstein of Parthenon Enterprises, said the city’s bid had been met with enthusiasm from the outset. “Not only can we stage the biggest and best premiere here in Vegas, but our guests will enjoy a truly unforgettable experience in a hotel inspired by China’s colourful history. The Orient was born for Eastern Sky.” The premiere takes place tomorrow night from eight until ten. Tune in then for our exclusive red-carpet report.’

At the mention of Robert St Louis’s name Lester nearly crashed the car. He swerved on to the side amid a cacophony of screaming horns and came to a halt in a cloud of dust. He realised he was shaking.

He loathed that sonofabitch. He loathed them both. They had it coming. First her, then him.

He grappled under the seat for the brown envelope. It was still there. As he fingered the cool, reassuring lines of the gun, he felt his heart slow. This time he was the one with all the power. He’d take them down, take everything they had, just as they’d done to him. No mercy.

For his slut sister and her murdering boyfriend, there would be no opportunity to run.





86

Los Angeles



Nate Reid woke on Friday morning from a dream that he was at sea. There had been a shipwreck, the old-fashioned kind, and the mast was bearing down upon him, the vessel’s white sails torn like shirts. His body was afloat and he was flat on his back, a bright sun scorching overhead.

As he surfaced, he realised he was moving on water. A water bed, to be precise. Squinting against the sunshine, he rolled over to view his sleeping companion, her arm thrown over his chest, heavy as wood. She was a pop sweetheart in her teens. He couldn’t think of her name but, then, it was early.

His phone beeped. It was a message:



Where are you?



Shit! It wasn’t early at all. He had to get moving.

Nate tugged on his jeans, which were hard to the touch, crusted with some sort of spillage. His T-shirt smelled of smoke.

The girl moaned, pulling up the sheet so two small pink feet popped out the bottom. He moved quietly, grabbing his wallet and keys and heading for the door. Nate was well practised in the art of leaving girls’ beds before they woke up.

On the street he caught sight of a Hides billboard. It was huge, like the size of the biggest posters they pasted on the Tube back home. The four guys were brooding in leather, Nate second left with a guitar in his hand, even though technically he didn’t play. It was done in sepia, which gave them an old-school, dirty kind of look.

It was fitting, really, to stride past the band like that, leave them languishing in his wake. In a few months he planned to pursue solo projects, had already been in talks with Felix about it. Nate was receiving the bulk of the press attention and it wasn’t just down to the music: he was renowned for taking to bed a host of beauties, most of them with a good-Christian-girl image that was ripe for corruption. Nate Reid had found a groove and filled it: he was America’s most love-to-hate rock star. He was the guy that parents had to keep their daughters from. Management wanted to strike while the property was hot.

Nate hailed a cab to his apartment. He’d shower first, collect the stuff he needed then swing by her apartment. He was running late, but so what. He owed her nothing.

In the car he keyed a quick response.

He had known she would call him, because he knew Chloe.

He knew what she was like, the things she worried about, the fears and regrets that kept her up at night.

His ex-girlfriend had rung the previous week, asking to see him. She had sounded jumpy, on edge; more like her old self, the sweet Chloe she’d been last year, the one he much preferred. Wasting no time, she’d asked him to go over, said she needed to talk to him and it was important. Naturally he’d protested for a bit, it was part of the fun, before resolving to take a car over there.

Chloe had answered the door looking pretty in a metallic mini-skirt, black vest and electric-blue pumps, her hair hanging loose.

‘Come in,’ she’d said, not altogether friendly. She’d looked nervously past his shoulder.

‘Hey, babe.’ He had pushed past without invitation. Things were back on his terms now.

While she had fetched him a drink, he’d inspected the living room. It was shambolic, with tiny bottles of nail varnish everywhere, sticks of mascara and lipstick, and a hairdryer coiled up on the floor.

‘What’s going on?’ he’d called, wanting to cut to the chase. ‘I haven’t got all day.’

She came back in and opened his beer can with a schlook.

‘Come to Vegas,’ she said.

He baulked. ‘What, now?’

‘Don’t be a dick. For the premiere.’

‘Are you kidding?’

‘No.’

‘Why would I want to do that?’

‘It’s an opportunity. The press will go crazy when they see us back together.’

This was better than he’d imagined. ‘Is that what you want?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘No, Nate, hard as it may be for you to believe, that is not what I want.’

‘Then what is?’ he’d spluttered, annoyed.

‘This could be a huge deal for both of us, the hugest we might ever have.’ She gave a cynical laugh. ‘It doesn’t matter if we’re in a relationship or not, it doesn’t even matter if we like each other, it’s beside the point. Don’t you see? As long as we turn up together and play the part, that’s job done. We’ll be front-page news.’

Nate frowned. He’d not been expecting this. Where were the tears, the desperation, the begging?

He narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s the big secret?’

She resisted the bait. ‘There isn’t one. I’m trying to do you a favour.’

That was too much. ‘Ha!’ he hooted. ‘Hardly.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Nothing.’

‘Do you want in or not?’

‘Sorry, babe, I’m confused. Last time we were out in public you shat all over me from a great height. Why would I want anything to do with you?’

‘Like you didn’t shit on me.’

‘Whatever.’ He swigged his beer.

‘Come on, Nate, exercise some maturity. People split up all the time.’

‘Yeah, but they don’t shout about it like some f*cking banshee then come running back six months later asking for a last date.’

Chloe closed her eyes. ‘That’s not what this is.’

‘What is it, then?’ He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

There was a brief silence. ‘Forget it,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘I don’t need you anyway.’

Nate thought quickly. He needed to backtrack before he blew it altogether.

‘Hang on a minute,’ he’d said, as if she’d totally misread his intentions. ‘I haven’t said no, have I?’

She opened the door. ‘Well?’

He toyed with the beer can. ‘At least be honest, babe.’

‘I am being honest.’

He could see she was lying. Briefly he experienced a pang. She’d become a good liar.

‘It’s a pity about you, Chloe,’ he said. ‘You’ve changed.’

She sighed loudly. ‘Get on with it. Yes or no.’

A beat. ‘I think you’re afraid to go on your own.’

There it was. A flicker of fear, gone as soon as it had appeared.

‘Think what you like.’

It was as much as he’d get. He took a moment of mock-contemplation. ‘Fine, I’ll come.’

She tried to disguise her relief. ‘Good,’ she said. He could see the hand on the door was trembling slightly as she closed it. ‘You won’t regret it.’

Nate had crunched up the can. ‘No, I know I won’t.’

Now, as Nate recalled the conversation, he once again felt a rush of satisfaction at how neatly things had worked out. He’d have liked a bit more pleading, but you couldn’t have everything.

The cab pulled up outside his apartment and he jumped out, tipping generously.

When his phone rang, he snatched it up. Of course it was Chloe.

‘Hurry up,’ she said, clearly wigging out. ‘The car’s due in half an hour.’

‘I’m on my way.’

Their first night out as a couple since the break-up and they already hated each other’s guts. It was inspired.

Inside his apartment he showered and threw on some clothes. He hoovered up three pieces of toast then packed a small bag, not worrying too much about what he tossed in–these Vegas hotels had everything you wanted and then some.

Checking his pockets a final time, Nate left the apartment with a smile on his face. Fate had intervened and he wasn’t about to mess things up. A little taste of retribution was about to come Chloe’s way and, when it did, he’d have the best seat in the house.