Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,63

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After being shown in, I was whisked to the rear of the house by a courteous manservant where I found Shannon and her entourage. Even among the group, she stood out. Whether it was her beauty, or the unconscious positioning of the other people around the person of power, I didn’t know. But she was clearly the epicenter of the crowd, even if everyone went out of their way to act as if she wasn’t.

I looked at Shannon. She seemed more pale than the last time I’d seen her. Her wineglass was huge. A fucking fish bowl set on top of a tiny pencil of glass. It was a dark red, heavy with sediment.

Before I could even get a hello in, Molly arrived with a gray-haired gentlemen in a tasteful charcoal Armani suit.

“Ah, Mr. Rockne,” the man said, extending a tanned hand. I shook it.

“Paul Kerner,” he said. “Ms. Sparrow’s attorney.”

“One of many, I assume,” I said.

He laughed. What a polite man. “I’m afraid Ms. Sparrow has nothing to say today.”

“Under your orders?”

“The decision was mutual,” he said.

Over his shoulder, I saw Shannon catch my eye and then look away. She took a sip of wine. Or was it more of a gulp?

I turned to Mr. Kerner. I have a confession to make. I never really had a problem with attorneys. In fact, I got a lot of clients from their referrals. Sometimes, though, you can spot a pinhead a mile away.

“Don’t you think it would be in your client’s best interest to shed some light on what’s happened?” I said. “It will only help her both in the short and long-term.”

Mr. Kerner pretended to debate the idea.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

I sensed the twin hulking shadows of the East German weightlifters. I turned and looked into the ham-like countenances of Erma and Freda.

“Mr. Rockne, I believe our business is concluded,” Mr. Kerner said.

The entourage was watching. Shannon wasn’t. She was now looking into the empty cavern of her wineglass.

“I’ve got some information about her ex-husband she might be interested in,” I said.

This brought Shannon’s head up and an audible gasp from the hangers-on.

The shadows moved in closer.

“Business is concluded,” Mr. Kerner said.

“It is time for you to go,” said Erma or Freda. I turned to them, surprised that they actually spoke.

“Piss off,” I said, sounding like a little kid on the playground who was about to get his ass kicked.

Both bodyguards stepped back from me, always a bad sign. I can’t resist putting on a little show for a crowd, but I didn’t want to get bitch slapped in front of this many people. There’s something to be said for private beatings. They’re usually more painful, but much less humiliating. I especially didn’t want to take a public thrashing administered by two women, if that was actually their gender.

Erma, or was it Freda, lolled her head to the side and I heard a bone crunch. I had a feeling the next ones to go would be mine.

“Hold it, hold it,” a voice said from the back.

I looked over and Shannon was pouring wine into a glass next to hers.

“Come over here and sit down,” she said to me. “You guys leave him alone.

Kerner had already left. I smiled at Erma and Freda. They were clearly not happy.

“We’ll hook up later,” I said, figuring it just might happen.

• • •

It was my first pop star party and to be honest, I was enjoying it. Before long, the place was crowded with people, music played from invisible speakers and my wine glass was empty, then full, then empty, then full. You get the idea.

And through it all, I talked with Shannon Sparrow.

“Thanks for saving me back there,” I said.

“You seem like an honest guy,” she said. “Besides, Erma and Freda…” she just shook her head.

“How come you stepped in as soon as I mentioned your ex-husband?” The words came out of my mouth a little clumsily. Not only was the wine thick with sediment, it was strong.

“When I think of…him…,” she said, meaning Grasso. “I want to fucking puke. And I don’t mean a gentle upchuck. I mean I want to hurl from the depths of my bowels, I want to just gag and gag and gag…”

“I get the idea, Shannon,” I said.

“He was scum. Pure scum. I was just too young to know it.”

“We all make mistakes,” I said.

“That was a doozy.”

“Most mistakes are,” I said. “When did you hear that he’d been killed?”

She just kind of shrugged her