Linc had a stack of manila files sitting before him. “We’ve picked up several new clients, thanks to Charlie, and since all of my well-behaved guys are busy doing their jobs, I’m left with you assholes.” He shot a file across the table to Webster. “Devon Shaw, a five-year-old piano prodigy. You’ll be touring with the kid. His uncle is concerned about some creepy messages the boy’s been getting online.”
Webster grimaced. “Linc, Ihate kids. They’re always so… sticky.”
“Pack some wet wipes and get over it,” Linc muttered, already handing a file to Connolly. “Jet Merrick, lead singer ofFall Down Sevenneeds a new guard for their fall concert series.”
Connolly snorted. “That kid’s a flaming douchebag. He wrote a song about a llama.”
“It was an emu, actually,” Webster said. “I thought it was pretty good.”
“Fine then you take the douchey kid and I’ll take baby Einstein.”
“Not happening,” Linc barked. “Quit whining and do your jobs.”
The two men chuckled at Linc’s sour tone, but the man ignored it, shoving a file towards Calder. “Hanson Russell, an eighty-year-old movie director who’s convinced there’s somebody out to kill him. The cops aren’t taking him seriously,because of his declining mental status. He’s hired us to investigate.”
Webster snickered. “Think you can keep your dick outta this one, Calder?”
Calder gave Webster the finger before flipping open the file. “Is this my penance for banging Alicia Hawkins?”
Linc blew air out of his nose like an angry bull. “You’re the only one of my guys with an active PI license. I need an actual investigator.”
“You just said the guys a few French fries short of a happy meal. He’s chasing butterflies, man.”
“Grab a net and join him,” Linc growled. Calder grumbled under his breath but then fell silent.
Shep absorbed it all, the casual camaraderie, the witty banter. They were a tight-knit team. Shep was the outlier. He needed to do his best to assimilate quickly. It was important. Luckily, he’d spent over twenty-years living with guys just like this, first in the Marines and then in the private sector. He could fake it.
“Shepherd, your piss test and background check came back yesterday, so I hope you showed up ready to work.” He slid a file down the table.
Shep caught it and flipped it open. There was an eight by ten headshot of a boy in his early twenties. “Who is he?”
“Elijah Dunne, grandson of Elijah Walker.”
Shep knew that name. “No shit.TheElijah Walker? The guy from all the old Westerns? My dad loved his movies.”
“That’s the one.”
Elijah Walker had been a swarthy man with a steely-eyed stare and a cowboy swagger. He starred in movies with gritty titles likeDead by SunriseandRoad to Nowherewhere the hero could only solve the problem with gratuitous violence and a healthy dose of casual racism.
His grandson couldn’t have been more different. He had chin-length black hair and glacier blue eyes. His face was all planes and angles with a full generous mouth that currently angled down in a pout, his expression pensive. Shep couldn’t imagine the two Elijah’s sharing a gene pool.
“I’m guessing this kid’s not doing Westerns.”
“Hardly. His team is currently in the middle of a PR nightmare. He recently starred in a biopic about a famous closeted football player and the man he loved. He went all in. Full-frontal nudity. Steamy, over-the-top indie sex scenes. Nobody thought the film would make it past Sundance, but now the kid’s won an Oscar and he’s been green lit to play a superhero in that comic book franchise. He’s getting death threats.”
“Because he played a gay character?” Shep asked.
“Because heisa gay character,” Webster said. “TMZ outed him at the movie’s Sundance premiere by releasing a pic of him in a rather compromising position with another man. Somebody attacked him on the red carpet at that same premiere. Threw a drink in his face, that had rocks in it. Scratched his cornea and delayed filming on his next movie. The more fame he gets, the bolder the threats become.”
Shep looked back down at the frowning boy with his sad eyes. “People still care about actors being gay? I thought LA was supposed to be progressive.”
“Gay characters make them money. Gay actors cost them money. They think people won’t pay to watch movies of people they can’t fantasize about fucking. Like any of those mouth-breathers had a shot, either way,” Calder snarked.
“How real is the threat?” Shep asked, his fingers tracing over the kid's photo.
“Real enough that the studio has hired round-the-clock security and restricted his social media. He’s currently renting a house in the Hollywood Hills but he starts filming on another project in a few weeks. You go where he goes.” Linc’s clipped tone gave no indication anything was wrong, but the looks he received from the others had weight.
“What am I missing here?”
