why he was so lucky with the ladies.”
“I wasn’t talking about looks,” Mitchell said. He gestured Mary to the visitor chair that wasn’t holding the blue sportcoat.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, moving to the little bar off to the side. “It’s almost five, isn’t it?”
“Three-thirty,” Mary said.
“Close enough.”
He poured himself a scotch.
“Club soda,” Mary said.
“Boo,” Mitchell said.
Mitchell fixed the drinks and brought Mary’s to her. He then sat behind the desk and sipped.
“So how’s business?” Mary said.
“Good, good,” Mitchell said. “Ratings as good as ever. I’ve got three development deals on the table. This is the big time,” he said.
“I’m happy for you. So tell me how you found out about my uncle.”
“The news. Just like everyone else.”
Mitchell rocked in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He leaned forward, took a drink, then rocked back and again examined the ceiling.
“ So tell me about you and the gang,” Mary said. “Brent’s old gang. Way back when,” Mary said.
Mitchell’s head dropped down and he looked her in the eye. “We had fun,” he said. “I’ll tell you that.”
“So much fun that someone would want to murder Brent?” Mary said.
“I don’t know anything about that. Brent fucked, and fucked over, a lot of women. That didn’t go over well with the women, naturally, or some of the men, frankly. Old boyfriends, new boyfriends, brothers, fathers, uncles, sons, you name it. Brent pissed them all off.”
Mary pretended to take a drink as Mitchell looked at her, clearly trying to gauge her reaction.
“I’m a big believer in instinct, Mr. Mitchell,” Mary said. “And something’s telling me that this isn’t about a lover scorned. Somebody is killing off people from the ‘old gang’ as it were. Brent. Barry Lund. Noah Baxter. Dicky Kay.”
“Dicky’s dead?” Mitchell asked, his voice incredulous.
“Mm hmm. A glorious death on his ship of wonders the Diver Down.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mitchell said. His face had gone pale. Mary didn’t think he was acting. He was scared. But of what she wasn’t sure.
“I heard about Noah Baxter. Somebody shot him,” Mitchell said.
“Yeah,” Mary said. “Me.”
“You?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“He tried to kill me first. And he was a bad dresser.”
“Jesus! What the fuck is going on?”
“I have no idea. So who do you think it is?”
“Who?”
“Whoever’s killing off you old unfunny fucks.”
Mitchell raised an eyebrow.
“Just kidding,” Mary said. “But what do you think? Anyone from the old gang come to mind? Anyone who hated all of you and wouldn’t mind knocking you off one by one?”
“Everybody fucking hated us,” he said. “A lot of us weren’t stars. But we were writers, actors, producers, behind-the-scenes guys who made it happen. We ended up being quite a power to reckon with. Not bad for a bunch of guys who just started partying together and success just kind of showed up. Not to mention the fact that between Brent, Braggs and myself, half the hot ladies in Hollywood were getting laid on a regular basis.”
Mary rolled her eyes.
“I’m just stating the facts, ma’am,” he said.
“Fine,” Mary said. “Let’s get down to specifics.”
“Oh, looks like I got down to the bottom of my glass,” he said and went and refilled his scotch receptacle.
Mary waited until he had returned to his chair. “David Kenum,” she said.
Before he could answer, Claudia “The Claw” Ridner poked her head in. “Mr. Mitchell? You’ve got a pre-pro meeting in fifteen minutes.”
Mitchell nodded and waved her away.
“Let’s make this quick.”
“David Kenum,” Mary repeated.
“Oh God. Psycho. Utterly nuts. Mean, vicious, violent. He killed a girl. Probably more than one. He’s in prison.”
“Actually, he got out last week.”
“Oh Lord have mercy on us all,” Mitchell said.
“Know where he might be?”
“Fuck no!”
“Think he might be behind all of this?”
“Hell yes! The guy’s a basket case. He’s probably killed a dozen people we don’t know about!”
“Has he ever contacted you?”
“No. Never. I would remember because I would have fucking shit my pants.”
“All right. Marie Stevens.”
He turned slightly in his chair. The first time he’d shifted since she started asking questions. Mary noted the move.
“Nice girl,” Mitchell said. “A little weird. But nice.”
“Know where she is?”
“God, I haven’t heard from her in twenty years. She just sort of disappeared.”
Mary made a note to check a third database that sometimes revealed information her primary sources didn’t.
“That fucking Kenum,” Mitchell said. “One time I was banging this girl in the bathroom,” Mitchell stopped and looked at Mary. “Sorry, but…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve heard plenty of stories regarding sex in bathrooms. I was thinking of making a coffee table book about