Chapter 8

I couldn’t call Dean, he would drop whatever he was doing and come back but end up in trouble with the marshals. I could call Dave, but I hesitated. He had recommended the company who sent this asshole and he would be pissed. Calling Jake would be the same as calling Dave, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with that just yet. The same went for Deb. She couldn’t do anything and was sure to tell Liz who would tell Jake and that was the same thing as calling Dave.

Mike! I was a part of the studio now, right? And Lisa was here. Mike Sutter was a fixer for the studio...

Digging out my phone, I pulled up his contact info and hit dial, praying he wasn’t too busy or just not by his phone.

“Jack? What’s up, man? I thought you were up in Seattle or Portland or something. A boat launch, wasn’t it?”

“Mike, I need a lawyer and fast. No joke, I just killed a guy.” The conversation went downhill from there. It was all I could do to give him my hotel and room number before there was a cop at the door, his gun drawn, demanding I put down the telephone.

It was a whirlwind of confusion, macho bullshit and stupidity for more than an hour before someone with some rank, and some common sense, arrived to take charge of the scene. Not that even his rank helped all that much for a while. Some events seem to take on a life of their own!

For example, the hotel, concerned about the damage, called the person who booked and paid for the room, Martin Schipe. He arrived, with Phillipe in tow, of course, but with Lionel van der Waal and his partner, Hansel Christensen in tow as well! Lionel van der Waal brought along his chief of security, a retired cop with twenty-five years on the force, because he wanted to make sure a valuable business partner was safe if mad men were breaking into hotel rooms.

Martin was white-faced and sputtering, demanding answers while Phillipe was having an absolute ball, crying on this person, almost fainting into the arms of another. Lionel and Hans were VIPs in Vancouver, WA, and immediately called on their friend the deputy mayor, who knew what side of his bread was buttered when it came time for campaign contributions. The chief of security pulled the detective lieutenant aside for a ‘chat’

While all of this was happening, I was sitting on the couch, hands cuffed behind my back, and bleeding onto the carpet. Oh, and getting pissed. It was almost Dallas all over again and there was no god-damned way I was going to get fucked over again if I could help it.

“WILL SOMEONE PLEASE CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE BEFORE I BLEED TO DEATH?”

Whoa ... okay, so I was a little loud there, but every head in the room, probably in the building, turned to look at me in shock. Most seemed confused by the question though two people, Phillipe and the patrolman who had arrived first, reacted differently.

Phillipe pushed by a patrolman and got close enough to see the blood. And promptly fainted. Lucky for him the patrolman was a big, muscular fellow or Phillipe might have ended up laying there bleeding as well! Lucky, lucky.

The original patrolman must have thought I was verbally assaulting him because he had his PR-24, those funny clubs with the side handle, in his hand and ready to beat some quiet in to me.

The detective pushed through the crowd and looked down at the khaki trousers I was wearing. Well, they were sort of crimson and purplish now, and shook his head.

“Keerist, what a fuckin’ mess. Hold on, kid, the EMTs are on their way. I think you’ll be okay for a minute or two more.” His expression was concerned though. He turned to the noise-sensitive patrolman with a scowl.

“Put that club away and take the cuffs off, fer Christ’s sake, he sure as fuck ain’t runnin’ nowhere.”

The ambulance did arrive shortly and had me stripped down to my boxers in a trice, spread out on the couch while they removed piece after piece of glass from my legs and slapped bandages on. The one that had bled the most, and made things look worse, was a three-inch piece that had sliced into my left thigh. Thankfully, the angle it took meant that it had hardly damaged the muscle at all, getting some fatty tissue on the inside of my thigh. I would have to wear loose-fitting pants for a week or two, but that was it.

They did wrap my right ankle though. It was throbbing and swelling a bit, though they said it was most likely a sprain. It seems the bullet fired missed everything except the heel of the shoe on my right foot. It ripped the heel right off, twisting my foot violently in the process. After expending most of its energy on my poor shoe, the round embedded itself in the door frame of the kicked-in front door and was easy for police to retrieve.

When things quieted down a bit, with the looky-loos sent packing and only the detective, a patrolman and a newly arrived patrol captain here to represent the department; the EMT pair who were waiting for the coroner to pronounce the dead body and, or, the cops to release Lisa and me for transport; what I will call the ‘boat contingent’ of Martin, Phillipe, Hans and Lionel (their security man was outside) and last, but certainly not least, the deputy mayor who had just arrived ... well, then things got serious finally.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?” the deputy mayor pleaded, rubbing his forehead like he had a headache.

When everyone wanted to speak at once, he raised a hand and sighed. Then, when all were silent again, he turned in a slow circle and chose the police patrol captain.

“Captain, you seem to be the senior official here. You begin.”

“Well, sir, see, I just arrived and was just beginning to...” he trailed off when he saw the deputy mayor with his hand up again.

“Fine.” The deputy mayor said with a little heat. The captain paled a bit and I think he was pretty sure it wasn’t fine at all!

He turned in to the lieutenant with a raised eyebrow. Hey! He was pretty good at that. Maybe he could give me some tips to up my eyebrow game.

And before you get all suspicious, I was not making light of the situation because I was cocky, I was fucking terrified. I was trying to handle this without Jake and Dave, without Dean here at my back, and this was serious shit. I beat that man to death with a piece of scrap metal. The joking was just, I don’t know, a way to keep from gibbering.

“This is what we have been able to determine so far, sir. The occupants of this suite, Daniel Jackson McCoy and Lisa Marie Farris, were expecting a security professional from Globe Security out of Seattle. The bodyguard was late, several hours late and, when he arrived at the door, he was drunk and belligerent so Mister McCoy tried to turn him away.

According to both Mister McCoy and Miss Farris, when Mister McCoy closed the door on the guard and locked it, the man kicked the door with sufficient force to tear it free from the frame and hinges.”

The lieutenant pointed to the door lying flat on the floor about six feet from where it was once installed.

“The door struck Mister McCoy in the back, knocking him into the glass coffee table and he ended up by that overturned chair where the body is laying.”

The body had been covered with a sheet by the EMTs at this point.

“The bodyguard grabbed Miss Farris by the throat at which time they both tell me she fainted. She has no further knowledge of the altercation until the EMTs revived her with smelling salts. Mister McCoy said he grabbed a table leg from the wreckage of the table and ordered the bodyguard to put Miss Farris down. The man threw Miss Farris in the direction of the couch and attacked Mister McCoy.”

“How did he end up over there, and where does the gun come in?”

The detective went as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“Mister McCoy dodged the first attack, hitting the man on the knee and the man fell to the floor approximately where the body lies now. A handgun that Mister McCoy had in the small of his back had been dislodged and lay on the floor where the man landed. When the bodyguard picked up the gun, he attempted to shoot Mister McCoy. Mister McCoy says he lunged at the bodyguard and struck him in the temple with the table leg.”

There was quiet in the room and I watched as several heads moved back and forth, trying to picture the action as it had been explained. One by one, they all seemed to nod or otherwise indicate that it just might be possible things had gone down that way.

“Mister McCoy, I was told you were twenty. Why did you have a handgun? What is it that you do that you needed a bodyguard?” the deputy mayor asked curiously.

I glanced over at the lieutenant, he seemed to be the smartest one of the bunch. He nodded at me, so I answered.

“Do? I guess I am a student. I don’t have a job, unless you count this movie project as a job. The bodyguard was to appease my mentor and chief of security, though I was sure I didn’t actually need one. The gun belongs to him, Dean Miller. He is a United States Deputy Marshall and, though he is in the reserve, he was called to active duty for some big mess in Seattle, judges being targeted or something. He called and arranged for a security company and made me promise to stay here until the bodyguard arrived.”

“So, this Dean fellow is a marshal, but he left his pistol here with you?” the man asked sarcastically, looking at me like an idiot.

“He left his spare pistol with me so I could defend myself if needed until security arrived.” I was already not liking this guy.

“With a twenty-year-old kid?”

Something just went... ‘sproing!’ in my head ... I could hear it, I could feel it, and I wanted nothing more than to wipe the smarmy grin of that asshole’s face at that moment.

“Christ, no wonder you are only deputy mayor, you aren’t smart enough to actually win an office on your own. I am probably the youngest billionaire in the world. I have been involved in battling a Ukrainian crime lord, kidnapping, piracy and sex slavery rings both here and abroad, and international assassins too, let’s not forget those! So, pardon me if I am not all that enthused about explaining myself to some pumped up asshole of a small-town mayor who can’t see past my age!

“You can either believe me or you can validate my statement, what you cannot do is stand there and belittle me with impunity. I want a lawyer, right fucking now.” I was still sitting there in my damned underwear and this condescending prick was giving me shit? Fuck him, I’d ask Neville to recommend a good lawyer and, when I got out of this mess, I would buy the next election just to put this prick on the street again!

“You little...”

“CAL!” Lionel stepped forward and interposed himself between the pissed-off deputy mayor and me. “Shut up, Cal, and listen to me. The kid is right. You are being an ass here and I don’t know why. You are a smart guy, you are an ex-cop, why are you flying off the handle and insulting the guy?”

The conversation dropped to low tones that I couldn’t hear, but the deputy mayor looked defiant at first, then his shoulders dropped and he spun around, marching over the top of the downed door and out of the room.

Lionel turned to me and shook his head.

“He’s not really an asshole, well, most of the time. He’s got some personal issues that this pulled him away from. If you could see it clear not to crush him?” Lionel joked. I guess he had seen it in my eyes!

“Sorry, I was just mad and my freakin’ legs hurt and, frankly, the last thing I wanted to do was end some man’s life because he was drunk and belligerent.”

“Excuse me? Who is in charge here?” Standing that the door, looking around with fascination at the tableau, was a man in a nice suit. He was tall, well over six feet, but very thin. Not skeletal, as he looked healthy, but the bones of his face were prominently displayed and his Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down like he had swallowed a plum whole and couldn’t quite swallow it. He had a bemused expression on his face and his eyes were bright with interest. I had a feeling that this might be someone you didn’t want to underestimate.

I watched as the tall man spent just a moment with the lieutenant before coming over and offering me his hand.

“Lane Chandler, Mister McCoy. Mike Sutter asked me to check on Lisa Farris while I was here?” We shook and I pointed to Lisa. She was curled up in a little ball over on the loveseat. Her eyes were open but I wasn’t all that sure how much she was aware of what was going on around her.

We spent ten minutes in whispered conversation before he nodded and let me know that things were serious, but not actually grim yet. I would be taken to the hospital to have my cuts cleaned and stitched and my ankle X-Rayed and, hopefully, by that time he would have enough to keep me out of actually going to jail. He warned me that he might not be able to keep me from being booked, but I wouldn’t spend the night at their jail, he would be sure I got released right away.

He turned back to the waiting police. “My client, clients, need to be transported to the hospital for evaluation and treatment. If you wish to question them further, you can do so there. If you intend to arrest my client, then you can do so now, but make no mistake, he needs to go to the hospital.”

The lieutenant just nodded and waved at the EMTs.

The VPD declined to arrest me though they did tell me the case would be reviewed by the district attorney. It seems that Washington law states it is legal for persons over the age of eighteen, but under twenty-one, to possess a handgun in the person’s ‘place of abode’ or on real property under his or her control.

Since the courts had already ruled a hotel or motel room was, de facto, the place of abode for the duration of the occupants stay, and since the state supreme court had also ruled that there was no legal duty to retreat, the ‘home’ invader could be resisted with appropriate force.

I didn’t end up spending any time in jail and never actually got arrested, simply detained for questioning. I was allowed to leave the state with the understanding that I might have to return if the DA pushed the case to a grand jury and I wasn’t no-billed.

Dean was going to be pissed when he got back though, he would have to return to Vancouver to pick up the G30 that was fired, plus the G21, the Kriss and all the associated gear, from the Vancouver Police Department. Their policy was to release a firearm into the hands of the owner with no exceptions.

I, and by ‘I’, of course, I mean Dean, had more weapons on the E², but I wasn’t about to tell the VPD that.

Lane Chandler, the lawyer that Mike had hired for me up there, got an off-duty VPD officer to hang around until we were released and then accompany us to the airport. It was to make sure we were safe, he told the VPD.

Yeah, and monkeys flew regular commuter flights out of my butt! He just wanted to make sure we left, probably at Mike’s order.

When we landed at LAX, Mike and Annie were there. Annie gave me a hug and told me to be more careful, but Mike was in high dudgeon, ranting about irresponsibility and foolishness and whatever. There was no way I was going to put up with being lectured to though.

“Mike, I appreciate that you helped and, of course, I will pay any bills required, I think you know I am good for it, but please bear in mind I am twenty. I am an adult. If you want to lecture someone, find someone over whose life you have some control because I assure you, you have none over me. I would like to be your friend, but I won’t be your underling.”

“You listen to me...” he started again, his face red, but I just ignored him and walked away. He trailed after me, still ranting, but I was busy dialing my phone and, when it was answered, handed it to Mike.

“What? No, Mort, listen, the kid ... no, but ... damn it, Mort, I had to ... yes, well, that’s true, I guess, but still ... fine. FINE. I said it was fine. Bye.”

He handed the phone back, and just stared at me. “You are an asshole, you know that right?”

I just nodded. I had known that for a long time.

“Okay, well, sorry for ranting and raving. It is what I do when I get worried. You don’t work for the studio. Mort reminded me that, if anything, you are partnering with us on a movie production and that I shouldn’t be treating you like a wayward child star with a drug problem. So ... Jack. I’m sorry.” He stuck out his hand and he seemed sincere. I liked Mike and wanted this to work, so I ignored his hand and gave him a manly hug. You know, one shoulder, one pat on the back.

“Okay, Mike, no blood, no foul, right? Annie, thanks for coming to meet me, but I am going home and change these bandages, then get some sleep.”

“Do you need us to send a nurse out there to take care of that?” Annie asked, concerned.

I shook my head and gave her a kiss on the cheek, I just needed some peace and quiet!

Lisa had recovered at the hospital in Vancouver. She had just needed a few minutes of quiet to get her thoughts in order and she was almost back to her old self by the time we boarded the plane for Los Angeles. On the flight, we actually managed to get back into my life story a little, though we didn’t cover any new ground. She spent the time clearing up questions she had come up with when going over her notes.

Now that we were in LA and safe again, and Mike and Annie were heading home, Lisa told me she wanted to go home for a couple of days, if it was okay with me.

“Why do you need my approval? You are a big girl, just give me a call when you feel better.”

“I am contractually obligated to work with you until this is written or I feel I have gotten all I can get from you.” She told me with a blush, shrugging her shoulders.

“Well, suddenly I feel traumatized and I want peace and quiet, no visitors, no inquisition.” I said in by best ‘southern belle’ imitation, placing the back of my wrist against my forehead as though I was about to swoon. “I do declare I am simply unable to have any visitors for two...” I paused and looked at her inquiringly. She was grinning at me and nodded, “two days at least. Leave me, dear Lisa, and I will see you again in three days.”

Lisa giggled and applauded. I took a bow, even if the other people in the private aviation terminal were looking at us like we were loons.

“Go, see your fellow, see your family, get drunk ... call if you want more time.” I told her and got a quick hug. I grabbed a taxi, handed him a fifty and told him to take her where she wanted to go. A second taxi and I was on my way to my boat. I really did want some sleep and time alone before I had to face the music.

Once safe on the boat, I locked everything up tight, made myself a stiff drink and went to sleep.

My first call the next morning was to Terry.

“Hey Jack! How goes it in Hollywood?”

“Hollywood is fine, it’s Vancouver that was a pain. Listen, Terry, need you to do some detective work on a company called Global Security Concerns Incorporated. I want everything. Financials, any pending or, hell any historic legal actions. I want the names of the corporate officers and their financials too. I want the whole nine yards. I am either going to buy them or sue them, and what you find out will help me decide.”

“What’s going on, Jack, this sounds ... I don’t know, it sounds punitive, like they did you wrong.”

“They did, in a way. Dean had a marshal gig to do, he contacted them to provide me with security. The guy shows up on a bender, reeking of booze, still drunk and probably high. I wouldn’t let him in and he kicks the door down. Not open, Terry, down, and flattens me in the bargain. I got thirty-two stitches from glass fragments. Terry, I ended up killing this guy because he got my gun and tried to shoot me.”

Terry gasped but was otherwise silent. Wisecracking Terry going quiet is a big deal.

“I want to know if that is how they do business and, if so, I am going to sue them out of existence. If it is just some bad apples, well, I realized I might actually need more security so I will see if they are vulnerable to a takeover and a house cleaning. One way or another, that is not going to happen to another client if I can help it.”

“Okay, Jack. I will have the basics in a couple of hours and will put a whole team on this. I should have what you need in a day, two at the most. And Jack, for god’s sake, man, stay safe out there. I don’t even want to think about how my mom would react if I had to tell her you got seriously hurt. If you get killed, I am faking my death and moving to Belize. Someone else can tell her!”

I had no more than hung up with Terry than my phone rang. Oh shit.

“Hi Jake, how goes it in Dallas?”

“Don’t give me, ‘How goes it’ when you know perfectly well how it goes. What the hell happened in Washington, Jack?”

“Whoa, easy, Jake. Look, it was a mess, okay? But I dealt with it. Am dealing with it. I am already going to get a ration of shit from Dean about this, I don’t need you chewing me out too, okay?” I was trying not to be too defensive, but I couldn’t tell Jake to butt out.

Let’s be honest, I didn’t want him to butt out, I just wanted him to be supportive without being all grand-fatherly and, let’s face it, he could be pretty pushy. I think it is a skill you pick up when you get old. Dave has it and Dean is getting it...

Jake was silent for a several interminable seconds, then just grunted. “Okay, you are right, Jack, you are an adult now, but damn it, boy, we worry about you.”

“Jake, blood or not, you, Dave, Liz, Dean, you guys are my family, so I get it. Look, let me tell you about it and if you have any advice on how to deal with Dean, well, I will be happy to listen.” I heard a muffled bark of laughter but I ignored it and laid it all out for him.

“So, I have Terry digging up all the dirt on this company. I want to know if they are that loose or if this was a one-off.”

“Let me get Dave in on this if he was the one who recommended them. He had probably worked with them before.”

Dave joined the call and I went over the details with him as well. I could tell by his icy tone that he was pissed. I just hoped it was at them and not me. He can be pretty dangerous to have mad at you. You know, for an old guy.

That done with, I called Neville and asked for a recommendation from him. I wanted a real security firm, not some meat-head gym rat strutting around as a deterrence. He gave me a name, explaining that this company specialized in discreet protection and he had used them many times in the past.

“Rook Services, how may I direct your call?”

“My name is Jack McCoy and I need security services for my person and my yacht. Short term for personal security, longer term for my boat.”

“Would you like to set up an appointment, Mr. McCoy? Our office hours are from nine to five, Monday through Friday and we are open by appointment only from ten until four on Saturday.”

“No, I need you to come to me. I am not free to move about the city just now.”

“I see ... let me connect you with Martha Cohen, she is a security coordinator and I am sure she can help.”

After a quick phone call, she agreed to come out to the boat to meet with me. She arrived at the E² with two men, both dressed in dark suits and acting like bookends; muscle, dressed to impress.

Martha turned out to be fifty and portly with steel gray hair and eyes that said she had seen it all. She was no-nonsense about the job but had a warm smile when it was warranted. I wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but she had this aura around her that said, ‘Try me at your considerable peril!’. I figured I would be better off tangling with a barracuda than to mess with this lady!

“Jack, Martha, nice to meet you in person. Wonderful boat you have here, very elegant. So, tell me, Jack, why do you need security?”

I was torn. I didn’t want to give them the whole story but had to give them something. The billionaire bit was probably the best start, but rather than get into my past, I gave them the GSC snafu instead.

“Okay, well, that certainly seems like a good reason to have personal security! The money alone would make you a target. You are dealing with the Global Security Concerns issue through economic means, I take it? And you said you only need personal security short term, why is that, may I ask?”

“I have my people working on GSC. While I don’t’ expect any kickback on that, you never know. As for the personal security, my head of security, mentor and friend is also a federal marshal. He sometimes gets called away, though it is usually voluntary, and this time he had to leave with short notice. What I would like to do is have your firm provide him with a backstop, support should he have to leave again and filling in when required. In addition, I plan on buying a place in the city since I will be here a while, and I will need the boat secured when we are not on it, the property secured when we are on the boat, alarm systems and so on.”

“Ah, I see. You could put us on retainer then and have guaranteed on-call service. Otherwise, we will work with you but would require more notice and couldn’t guarantee coverage. We are serious about our chosen profession and to be effective, we require preparation and intelligence. We normally require forty-eight hours’ notice but, for our clients who have us on retainer, we maintain a ready force to assist them with only an hours’ notice.”

Slick ... free money for them, but a security blanket for those who can afford it. I guess it wasn’t much different from a law firm retainer or car insurance for that matter. You pay in hoping you don’t ever need it paid back out. The big difference was that vehicle insurance, which included my boats, was only about five grand a month. These guys wanted four times that for a tactical standby, twice that number for a team standby. For just guaranteeing a single security consultant on a four-hour leash, it would run about the same as insurance on my yacht, plus the actual charges for when the consultant deployed.

I don’t know why I was such an oddball with money. Dean was forever laughing at me because he thought I could be ridiculous. I wouldn’t spend five bucks for a coffee out when I had coffee at home but bought Terry a 200K car because he had been such a good worker. I had given Dean and Dave a million in gold bullion, or the cash equivalent, but got pissed when the gas prices went up. I took a twenty-four-thousand-dollar charter flight so I wouldn’t have to wait in line for the TSA, but I bought my jeans online at Amazon.

I guess, in my head, deep down where it counted, I was still that kid that saved all summer to buy a new $59.99 video game.

I put the firm on retainer for a security team, paying them for six months to get the fifteen percent discount, saving me nine grand. They guaranteed a two-hour deployment window in the greater Los Angeles area, and that same two-hour window plus travel time if I left the area. So, if, for instance, I went to Thailand, well, it would be two-hours plus twenty-hours travel time. I better not get in real trouble in Thailand then! I could, however, for an additional charge, of course, have security travel with me if I notified them ahead of time. One man was immediate, a team would take a couple of days’ notice.

For now, I had twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, a two-man team. Two-person. Two-agent? Whatever. Two gun-toting bad-asses to watch over me and drive me around until Dean got back from his gig with the marshals in Seattle.

In the meantime, Cade and I were learning more and more about each other and I was trying desperately not to get my hopes up. Erin had called and set up some time to look at couple of places she found. Both were further from the studios than I liked, but this was Los Angeles and that was going to be a fact of life.

The first was a penthouse with helicopter access, something I really liked. The building was not for sale, not for anything I would consider reasonable. It was at the beach, sitting almost on the sand, and had that typical, Southern California, ‘must be solid gold’ price tag.

The second though ... oh yeah. Sure, the streets getting in and out were a bit of a boondoggle, and it was twice as far to the studio as the marina where I was keeping my baby, but it was in a pretty exclusive boat community and had enough water front and dock space that I could dock my baby and another, more reasonably sized, boat!

It was on a man-made island. Well, an island off an island off an island. Yeah, confusing, right? Let me try again.

Just south of Long Beach, where the San Gabriel River flowed to the sea, was artificially created Alamitos Bay. Smack dab in the middle of the bay is a man-made island named Naples Island. It originally had a nice, crescent-shaped harbor, but they closed in the sides and built another island in the middle of that crescent and connected it by a few bridges.

So now we have an island off of an island, with me so far?

Then, when they packed as many sardines ... excuse me, houses on the island as they could, they built another man-made, triangular island sticking out to the side and it connected to the smaller island by a single bridge. Well, this made the new island even more exclusive. So, we have an island off a bigger island that is off another, even larger island.