Sex and Violence in Hollywood (42 page)

Adam frowned. “No, I said he seemed like a good guy, I didn’t say we were pen pals.”

“Glad to hear it. He is the one the police should be looking for. In fact, they are.”

“Diz wasn’t arrested with his parents?”

“The FBI learned of the Cunninghams’ desert operation from a tipster who wished to remain anonymous. They now suspect that tipster was Diz. It seems Diz had planted explosives all over his house. They were set to go off when a specific series of touch-tones sounded over the phone line. Diz apparently wanted to be able to set off the explosives from a healthy distance. The last time his parents saw him was the day after you met him. The day after that, all the phone numbers at Diz’s house were changed, something Mr. Cunningham does every month for security purposes. Diz forgot about that, or he miscalculated. Either way, he did not have the new numbers. Instead of blowing up his parents, he turned them in. Perhaps he thought there would be gunfire during the raid and the explosives would be set off after all, killing federal agents along with his parents. That particular theory is quite popular with the FBI right now and they are terribly upset with Diz. They are eager to locate him and explain to him the error of his ways. They believe he is accompanied by Billy Rivers, who has disappeared as well.”

Adam took a moment to absorb it all. “You mean Diz was...you mean...” You mean, while I was hiring Diz to kill my dad, Adam thought, he was planning to kill his own parents? He asked, “How does that add up to me hiring Diz to blow up the yacht?”

“It does not. Not for me.” Horowitz closed the folder and set it aside. Slid the salad in front of her again and took another bite. “For some reason, Diz told that story to his father. That you had hired him to blow up your father’s yacht. Perhaps Diz was somehow covering his own posterior.”

Adam thought, Or maybe Billy pulled his head out of his ass just long enough to stick both feet in his mouth.

“Maybe Diz didn’t tell him anything,” he said, “and he’s full of shit.”

“That is a healthy and vibrant possibility. Do you keep a journal, Adam?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything written in it that I should know about? Do you have any skeletons in your closet that will be dragged out into the light during the course of the investigation and trial?”

“What do you mean?”

“The District Attorney’s people and the feds will be going over all your belongings with microscopes. That includes any written material. Journals, address books, computer files. They will probably memorize your garbage.”

“Why the feds?”

“Because your visit to Diz’s house has connected you to the criminal activity that took place there. They will be looking for drugs, guns, child pornography. Will they find any?”

He made a bitter snorting sound and rolled his eyes. He suddenly felt uncommonly loose, relaxed and at ease. Probably because of the injection he had been given that afternoon. Had there been more than one? Or perhaps it was because he felt so confident about what the feds would find in their search. He had emptied his room of anything illegal or incriminating. He had burned a lot of it, and put the rest—some pot, a little cocaine he had tucked into the back of a desk drawer a few years ago, and some drug paraphernalia—in Rain’s room, where it would be presumed hers if found.

“You are not answering my question, Adam,” Horowitz said. “Is there anything about you I need to know? Anything at all, good, bad, or neutral. Do not feel shy or embarrassed. I am not here to judge you, I am here to protect you. But I am unable to do that unless I can anticipate anything that might come up.”

“I...I’m not sure what you’re looking for.”

“Are you addicted to any drugs? Are you an alcoholic? Were you molested as a child? Are you gay? Have you starred in any porn films? Do you drug your dates and have sex with them while they are unconscious? Are you an habitual shoplifter? We will cover everything eventually, but right now, I am interested in anything about you that might show up on the news in the next twenty-four hours.” She poked at the salad with the plastic fork.

Adam thought about her questions and chuckled. “Considering I grew up in Beverly Hills around people in the movie business,” he said, “the weirdest thing about me is that the answer to all those questions is no.”

“If you have something to hide, it will be the first thing reported about you tomorrow morning, I promise. Tell me about it now, and there is a good chance I can prevent that. If you cannot be absolutely open with me, Adam, we are wasting our time.”

“I told you,” he said. “There’s nothing. I’m a boring person. I smoke a little pot now and then. My darkest secrets are that I like Disney cartoons and as I was entering adolescence, I had a brief crush on Madonna. My biggest crime, I guess, is that I’m a smartass.”

Horowitz nodded, breathed smoke. “It may not be a crime, but it is certainly no secret. We will need to work on that. You cannot go around mouthing off to people when you are under suspicion of murder, Adam.” She killed her cigarette in the ashtray and stood. “The most important thing you can do right now is get some sleep. You will need it. Is there someone you can stay with tonight?”

“I’ll just go home,” Adam said, standing.

Horowitz picked up the folder and went to her desk. “No, I prefer you stay with friends tonight.”

“Well, I guess I could go to my girlfriend’s house. I’m pretty sure her parents wouldn’t mind if I—”

“Who is your girlfriend?”

Adam crossed the office, stood before her desk as she took her seat. He did not like the tone of her question. “Her name is Alyssa. What difference does—”

“Is she famous? A celebrity?”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You need to stop questioning everything I say, Adam. We have no time for that. I have explained my methods in a nutshell, the rest is on-the-job training. From now on, your job is to be my client. That means doing as I say. If you are not happy with that, complain about it tomorrow after you have had a little time to think about what a godsend I am in your life. Now. Do you have any celebrity friends?”

He shook his head, confused. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Wherever you sleep tonight will be news tomorrow. We might as well make the best of it by having you taken in by a concerned friend who does not want you to be alone. Preferably a celebrity with a very positive public image. Perhaps even wholesome. Do you have any friends like that?”

It infuriated him. He wanted to break something. “You want me to call my friend Dick Van Patten? Maybe my pal Doris fucking Day has a spare room up in Carmel.”

“Do you actually know the Van Pattens?”

“Hell no, I don’t know the fucking Van Pattens!”

“You really are a smartass, Adam. You strike me as a very witty young man, as well. But you will pardon me if I do not laugh at your jokes—“ She bounded to her feet and seemed about to come across the desk and assault him. “—because I do not have the fucking time and neither do you!”

Adam flinched when she shouted.

Horowitz pulled back, stood straight. “Now, please give me the names of some people you actually know.”

“I know a lot of celebrities, but not well enough to ask if I can stay the night.”

“Surely among all the industry people your father knew—”

“—there’s not a single person I’d spend the night with! And there are no wholesome people in Los Angeles. I don’t know where you call home, but in Los Angeles, there’s nobody who fits that description.” A name came to mind unexpectedly. “Oh, wait. Maybe there’s somebody I could call. At the funeral, he said I could come over anytime. Jack Nicholson. He’s not exactly wholesome, but he’s—”

“You are joking,” she said.

“No, this is for real. He said I could—”

“All right,” she said, sitting. “I will put you in a hotel.”

“What? I’m serious. He came to all my dad’s parties. He used to come upstairs and play video games with Carter and me.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that it would be good for people to get up in the morning and turn on their televisions and radios and log onto the Internet and open their newspapers to find that accused murderer Adam Julian was taken under the compassionate wing of his dear friend, the man who took an ax to his family in The Shining?”

“Jesus Christ, you don’t think he really goes around with an ax and—”

“Images create perceptions, Adam, and perceptions create opinions. People might enjoy watching Jack Nicholson’s movies and following his bad-boy exploits in the gossip columns. But I guarantee you they would not leave their teenage sons in his care.”

Adam chuckled. “Then you’re not as in touch as you think you are.”

“Jack Nicholson is out of the question. End of discussion. I know nothing about your girlfriend or her family, so you cannot very well stay with them.”

“What the hell is that supposed to—”

“I will put you in a room at the Peninsula Beverly Hills Hotel. You will stay there for a while. It would look bad if you stayed in your own house. That should be too painful for you. One of my drivers will be assigned to you immediately. You have finished driving for a while. I will have people in the suite next to yours. I or someone on my staff will be within slapping distance of your mouth at all times, so do not give us a reason. Under no circumstances will you leave the hotel without me.” She cocked her head, almost playfully, and there was a twinkle in her eye. Quietly, she said, “And when you return to this office tomorrow morning at eight o’clock sharp, Adam, you will speak to me and the people on my staff with respect. You will lose the attitude and the swearing, and you will do it in your sleep tonight. That kind of thing has a way of slipping out in interviews, even in the courtroom, and it is deadly. If I think for one second that you are not going to cooperate, or that you are somehow endangering the success of this case, I will drop you like an overpriced long distance plan. I will be honest, Adam, this is a gem of a case. But I do not need it if it means putting up with a rich whiny smartass Hollywood brat who probably thinks discipline is nothing more than a category of dirty pictures on a pornographic website.”

Adam’s cheeks and neck burned. She had not raised her voice, and yet he felt he had been shouted down. He cleared his throat and asked, “What do you want me to say?”

She smiled, and it transformed her face for a moment. Made it younger, pretty. “Absolutely nothing unless I say otherwise.”

THIRTY-NINE

Adam’s suite in the luxury hotel
was cavernous, and it made him uncomfortable. Too much space and color. He considered sleeping in the closet. As it turned out, he did not sleep much at all. Closing his eyes continued to be a mistake. He spent most of the night watching softcore porn movies he found difficult to follow.

His telephone rang early the next morning, and a woman told him a car would be coming for him soon. He showered and dressed. His clothes felt almost billowy on his body. Rog was right—he had lost weight.

Adam was driven through a rear entrance to the underground garage beneath Horowitz’s building by an amiable middle-aged black man named Leo in a chauffeur’s uniform. Lamont awaited him there, and took him upstairs in a service elevator.

“How’s it going, Lamont?” Adam asked, thinking, I bet school was one long beating for him. He was tall and scrawny, hatchet-faced. And, of course, his parents had given him the gift of that name.

“Very busy,” Lamont said. “The phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Reporters are everywhere. Practically crawling up out of the sink drains, like the spiders in that movie.”

Adam smiled. “Arachnaphobia. Cool movie. First time I saw it, I itched for two weeks.”

“I watched it with my mother. She had a stroke and died.”

Adam laughed.

“No, I mean she actually had a stroke and died while we were watching the movie.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, I thought you were joking. I wasn’t laughing at—”

“I know. I should be more clear about that in the future. A lot of people react that way.”

“Do you think the movie actually caused the—”

“Oh, no, of course not. We just happened to be watching it when it happened. Mom hadn’t been well in years. She had me late in life and the birth nearly killed her. She always said she hadn’t been the same since. Arachnaphobia just happened to be on HBO that evening, and she had the big one in front of the television set. Of course, had I been working for Rona at the time, I’m sure we would have come to an undisclosed, out-of-court settlement with Mr. Spielberg.”

“You were close to your mother?”

“Well, yes. Most of the time. She was crazier than a bedbug. And vindictive? But, what are you gonna do, huh? She was the only mom I had, and I loved her.”

“What about your dad?”

“Haven’t seen him in ten years and I hope the son of a bitch is dead and rotting.”

* * *

When Adam walked into Horowitz’s office, she looked him over with concern. Studied the eXistenZ T-shirt and blue jeans he had worn the night before. “Do you always dress that way, Adam?”