Bel-Air Dead (23 page)

“It wouldn’t matter,” Carolyn replied. “Jim’s attorney would just object to your voting his shares at the meeting, and you’d be back to square one.”

Stone knew that was true. He handed her the stock certificate and wondered if now would be a good time to tell “Carolyn Blaine” that he knew she was Dolly Parks—a large-scale thief and embezzler and possible murderer. He decided not, that a better time might come, though he couldn’t imagine when that would be, unless it was as the cuffs were being clapped on her beautiful wrists. “Good night,” he said, then turned and went back to the dinner table.

“I hope you found some flaw in the note Jim signed,” Rick said.

“I’m afraid not,” Stone replied. “I couldn’t have written it better myself.”

As the dinner dishes were being taken away Stone’s phone buzzed. “Hello?”

“Stone, it’s Ed Eagle; would you like to come over to the Bel-Air and have a drink with me?”

Stone looked at his watch; only a little past nine. “Sure, Ed, be there in five minutes.” He hung up. “Arrington, Rick, will you excuse me? A friend has asked me to come over to the Bel-Air for a drink, and I’d like to talk to him.”

“Of course,” Arrington said.

“I’ve got to be getting home anyway,” Rick replied. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Dino, you want to join us for a drink?”

“Sure, why not.”

Stone and Dino walked out to the car, accompanied by Rick. Stone opened the car door for him, relieved that a driver waited. “Good night, Rick.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at two, stage four,” Rick said, then was driven away.

Stone and Dino drove the mile to the Bel-Air, abandoned the car to the valet, and walked up to the bar. Ed Eagle sat at a table with Mike Freeman.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Stone said. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

“We met only once, a while back, on business,” Ed replied, “but I found him at the bar tonight, so we had dinner together.”

Stone and Dino ordered brandy. “Well, Ed, it seems certain now that your ex-wife has inserted herself into the Centurion deal.” He explained what had happened with the Jennifer Harris and Jim Long shares.

“How the hell did that happen?” Ed asked.

“I can only guess: you told me that she and the woman who now calls herself Carolyn Blaine had known each other in Santa Fe. I think Carolyn must have introduced her to Terry Prince. Maybe his Latin friends are getting cold feet, and he needed a new source of money.”

“I guess that makes a kind of weird sense,” Ed replied.

“Tell me,” Stone said, “in Barbara’s tangled felonious history, is there something she could still be nailed for?”

“Well, let’s see,” Ed said. “She got off for trying to kill me; she got pardoned in Mexico; and she didn’t get charged with trying to kill me the second time, because somebody got to the hit man before the cops could. Besides his murder, there are two others that I’m sure she arranged, but again, nobody is alive to testify against her, so she is, for all practical purposes, beyond the reach of the law. I wish my clients were as lucky.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless,” Stone said. “I had it all together, and now it’s gone. Centurion is going to become a shell of a studio and will probably get snapped up by some conglomerate that knows nothing about making movies.”

“At least Arrington will come out unscathed in the deal,” Ed said.

“Yes, but the studio that produced all the films that made Vance Calder rich, then Arrington, will be gone.”

“Companies come and go,” Mike said. “It’s the American way. Used to be a successful business could endure for a century or more; now they last about as long as restaurants.”

“I’m glad Vance Calder isn’t alive to see this,” Stone said. “He did as much as anyone alive to ensure the success of Centurion. Did you know that he made more than seventy films there, not one of them for another studio?”

“I didn’t know that,” Ed said. “It’s a remarkable record.”

“He also made nearly every one of them for a minimal fee and a percentage of the gross. Every time one of his movies is shown anywhere, Vance—or rather, Arrington—gets a nice check.”

“I guess that in a few years, young Peter will be a very rich fellow,” Mike said.

“Yes, and I’m now his trustee, so it will be up to me to help him hold it together—what’s left of it.”

“Good luck dealing with all that,” Ed said. “It’s more than enough to destroy any young man with too much, too soon.”

“I’m going to try to write the trust documents—with Woodman & Weld’s help—in such a way that he’ll be eased into it gradually.”

“I hope, for your sake, Stone,” Ed said, “that nothing happens to Arrington for a long time. You could end up running what’s left of Centurion for Peter.”

“Perish the thought,” Stone said.

“I wish I had something to offer that would help you tomorrow,” Ed said.

“So do I,” Mike echoed.

“At this point,” Stone said, “Nobody can do anything. We’ll just have to let avarice take its course.”

Driving back to the Calder house, Dino said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so sad.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so sad,” Stone said.

50

Stone slept fitfully, when he slept at all. He had a recurring dream of Terry Prince on a bulldozer, razing the soundstages at Centurion. He finally got out of bed, shaved, showered, dressed, and walked out to the patio.

It was too early for Manolo to be about, but Dino had made a pot of coffee in the guesthouse kitchenette, and he held up a cup for Stone. “Feeling any better?” he asked as Stone took a seat.

“No,” Stone said, “not at all.”

“I wish there were something I could do to help,” Dino said, then he brightened. “Actually, there is something I can do.”

“What?”

“You’ve got Arrington’s signature on the agreement to sell this property to Prince, haven’t you? And his check for twenty-five million dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s my advice: cash the check, get it cleared as quickly as possible, and give Prince the agreement as soon as you see him.”

“Why are you giving me that advice?” Stone asked.

Dino shrugged. “Suffice it to say that it’s my best advice, and I don’t think you would regret taking it.” Stone started to respond, but Dino held up a hand. “That’s all I have to say on the subject.”

“All right, I won’t press you. I’ll call Eggers when New York opens for business and get it done.”

Dino smiled happily. “This is going to be a good day,” he said. “I can feel it coming.”

“I wish I could share your optimism,” Stone said.

“What’s the song say? ‘Don’t worry, be happy!’ ”

“That’s mindless optimism,” Stone said.

“No, it’s not. I told you, I have a feeling.”

“You get these feelings all the time, do you?”

“No, just once in a while, but they’re always right.”

“How about the Centurion business? You have a feeling about that?”

“Nope, just about the day in general. I think we should have a celebratory dinner.”

“Even if you don’t know what we’ll be celebrating?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t know
anything
,” Dino said. “I just don’t know how the Centurion thing is going to play out.”

“You’re making me crazy,” Stone said. “I’ve never seen you like this. Did you take some weird kind of sleeping pill that hasn’t worn off yet?”

“Nope, I never need sleeping pills. I sleep like a Labrador retriever.”

“Why do you say that? You don’t have a Labrador retriever.”

“No, but I met one, once, and I was impressed with the way he slept.”

Stone’s cell buzzed, and he picked it up. “Hello?”

“Good morning, it’s Eggers. This is your big day, isn’t it?”

“That’s what Dino says, but I’m not too sure. Things haven’t gone well here the past couple of days.”

“So why is Dino so up?”

“Who knows? He says he has a feeling.”

“He’s Italian; I wouldn’t discount it.”

“Why did you call, Bill?”

“Just to wish you luck at your stockholders’ meeting today.”

“Well, I was going to call you at nine, New York time, so I’m glad you called.”

“What can I do for you, Stone?”

“I have a check from Terry Prince made out to Arrington in the amount of twenty-five million dollars. How can I cash it before he changes his mind?”

“Jesus, what’s it for?”

“It’s a non-refundable deposit on the sale of her Bel-Air property to him.”

“What bank is it drawn on?”

Stone got out the check and looked at it. “Wells Fargo,” he said.

“What branch?”

“It’s on Wilshire, near Prince’s offices.”

“Here’s what you do: you be at the branch when it opens and ask for the manager. You show him the sales contract—has Prince signed it?”

“Yes, it came already signed.”

“Has Arrington signed it?”

“Yes.”

“Get her to endorse the check, too. Then you tell the manager you want the funds wired to our trust account immediately. Got a pen?”

Stone got out his pen and jotter pad. “Ready.”

Eggers dictated the account number. “He’ll feel better about wiring it to our account, instead of a private account. Tell him to make the wire to my attention.”

“What, so you won’t get it mixed up with all the other wires for twenty-five million dollars?”

“Yeah. I’ll have somebody call you when the funds are in our account, and we’ll transfer the money to Arrington’s account at Chase this morning.”

“Okay, I’ll follow your instructions.”

“Good. By the way, I sent you a little gift package; you’ll get it by FedEx, early delivery.”

“Is it a fruit basket, Bill?”

“Not exactly, but you could look at it that way.”

“Chocolates ?”

“Again, not exactly.”

“Well, I just can’t wait! I’m on pins and needles!”

“Oh, shut up. I have to go to work, now; they get up early at Boeing.” He hung up.

Stone turned to Dino. “I have to be at Prince’s bank, on Wilshire, when it opens.”

“You do that,” Dino said.

Arrington came out to the patio in pajamas and a dressing gown, glowing, in spite of no makeup. “Good morning, all,” she said. “I think this is going to be a wonderful day!”

“Talk to Dino,” Stone said, handing her Prince’s check. “In the meantime I need you to endorse this check.”

“Of course,” she said, signing it with a flourish.

Manolo appeared to take their breakfast order, and he was holding a FedEx box. “This just came for you, Mr. Stone,” he said, handing it to him.

Stone looked at the waybill. “It’s a gift from Bill Eggers,” he said. He ripped open the box and shook another, more elegant box from it. He opened the box and removed some tissue paper. Underneath was a stack of Woodman & Weld stationery and envelopes and a smaller box. Stone shook that open, and it was filled with cards. He held one up and read it: it proclaimed him a partner of Woodman & Weld. He handed one each to Arrington and Dino. “My card,” he said, then he looked at the letterhead and found his name among those of the partners listed there.

“Congratulations!” Arrington and Dino said simultaneously. Stone glowed.

51

Stone left the house at eight-thirty and drove down to Wilshire. He was right, the Wells Fargo branch was near Prince’s building: it was
in
his building. He parked in the underground garage and took the escalator to the ground floor. He was ten minutes early, so he strolled over to the building’s directory and looked at the list of occupants. There were two: Wells Fargo Bank and Prince Properties. Management occupied the two top floors, and all the others seemed to be Prince subsidiaries, since they all had his name in their titles.

A man came to the bank door from the inside and unlocked two deadbolts in the glass doors. Open for business. Stone walked inside and approached the first desk, where a middle-aged woman in a business suit sat. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, how may I help you?”

Stone handed her one of his new cards. “I’d like to speak to the manager, please. It’s a matter of some urgency.”

“One moment, Mr. Barrington,” she said, reading his name from the card. She got up, walked a few yards to a mahogany door, rapped on it, and then went inside.

Stone looked around. Seemed to be a normal banking day. People made deposits; people cashed checks; people filled out loan applications.

The woman returned. “Mr. Woolich will see you,” she said. “Right through that door.” She pointed.

Stone followed her finger to the mahogany door, knocked twice, and entered. A plump, balding man in his fifties sat behind a mahogany desk. He rose and offered his hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Barrington. Please be seated.”

Stone sat himself in a leather armchair.

“How may I be of service?” Woolich asked.

“I’d like to cash a check,” Stone replied. He handed it to Woolich.

Woolich took a look at it, apparently thought he’d read it incorrectly, then took another look at it. He gulped. “You wish to
cash
this check?”

Stone handed him a copy of the sales agreement. “Pursuant to this agreement with Mr. Prince.”

Woolich read the document carefully. “Well, this certainly seems to be in order, Mr. Barrington, but we don’t have that much cash in the branch’s vault, and I’m not sure we have that much in the city of Los Angeles.”

“Forgive me,” Stone said. “I didn’t make myself clear. I wish to wire the funds to the trust account of the law firm of Woodman & Weld, in New York.” He handed Woolich another of his cards upon which he had written the account number.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Woolich said. “I had visions of having to hire an armored car.”

Stone chuckled appreciatively.

“Would you excuse me for a moment,” Woolich said.

“Of course; as long as you leave the check with me. I wouldn’t want it out of my sight.”

“Of course,” Woolich said, handing back the check. “I just want to be sure that the account holder has sufficient funds to pay the check.” He chuckled at his own joke, then left the room.