Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,46

do have one more question. How often do you have to…shave?”

“It’s kind of when I feel like it.” She scowled, looking down at her crotch. “This is always the tough part.”

“You should borrow some Aqua Velva from Freda,” I said.

“Who’s Freda?”

I left then, Shannon reaching for the joint, me gasping for fresh air.

Twenty-seven

Molly instantly appeared and produced four backstage passes as if she’d been present during my conversation with Shannon. Maybe she had.

“She seems very normal and down-to-earth,” I said. I thought I saw a little smile creep onto Molly’s face. New in the self-help section of your local bookstore: “Building Better Relationships Through Sarcasm” by John Rockne.

She had walked me all the way to the front door without saying a word. Now, just as she was about to show me out, her pager went off.

“Hold on,” she said to me. She flipped open a cell phone and listened for a moment, then snapped it back closed.

“Teddy wants to see you,” she said.

“Who…” I started to ask, but she’d already turned on her heel and was headed back into the house. Thanks for asking, I thought. Why yes, I do have time to chat with someone else.

I caught up to her just as we entered what would normally be considered a library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, made of some dark wood like cherry or mahogany, surrounded the place and matched the dark wood trim throughout the room.

But under these circumstances, it wasn’t a study. It looked like some kind of slinky private room at a nightclub.

Chairs and sofas were scattered around, filled with what I assumed could euphemistically be described as “Shannon’s people.” There were probably about twenty of them all together. They were sort of an odd mixture. A few looked like New York runway models, some refugees from the 1970s, others prim and proper Wall Street types.

Now I knew where the term hangers-on came from. Maybe it should be changed to hang arounders. Because if there were ever a group of people who looked like they had no place to go, no job to do, not a care in the world, it was this group. Most of them were drinking. Beer, wine, cocktails. You name it. Same with the smoking. Cigarettes, cigars, joints, maybe even a crack pipe somewhere.

I wondered if they had business cards that simply said ‘Professional Leech.’

Music blared from some kind of sound system whose camouflage rendered it completely invisible. Not that it mattered, because guitars were being strummed, clashing with the music as well as with each other.

Of course, I shouldn’t have rushed to judgment. Maybe it was a high-powered business meeting. In fact, that thought led me to the man who appeared to be in charge.

He was seated in front of, rather than behind, a massive desk. He had a shaved head, a nice tan, and blue eyes. He reminded me of a college football coach. This, I assumed, was Teddy. And, listening to my private investigator’s hunch, I had a pretty good idea he would turn out to be Shannon’s agent or manager. P.I. talks to big star, manager wants to know why.

The suit he had on looked expensive. Fifteen percent of whatever Shannon Sparrow grossed was probably a pretty respectable annual take. Maybe, five or ten million?

He held a black cane over his knee. He smiled at me. His teeth were straight and a brilliant white. Behold the power of bleach.

I turned, expecting Molly to do the instructions, but she’d already gone. I admired her footwork. Doug Henning couldn’t have made her disappear any faster.

“The P.I.” he said. His voice was as smooth as his bald dome. If anyone noticed my arrival, they all hid it carefully. It seemed a safe bet that the stuff they were drinking and smoking held a lot more interest than I did.

“The manager,” I said.

He smiled. “Molly told you.”

“No.”

“Then…”

“Who else would you be? A roadie?”

Again, a lightly self-mocking laugh. He held out his hands and gave a little clap. Like I was a seal who’d just jumped through a hoop at Sea World. “Good point. I’m Teddy Armbruster.”

“John Rockne,” I said.

He folded his arms and watched me for a moment. I sensed it was going to be one of those little power struggle games. Make the uninitiated feel uncomfortable.

“Well, if that’s all you wanted,” I said and turned back toward the door.

“John,” he said.

I turned back. “Look, Teddy, I’ve really got to get going. Can you cut the dramatic power bullshit and tell me what you want?”

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