Dark Handsome - Conclusion

It was a bonus when the handler came to us, complaining. "All the dog does when you're not around is whine. I've had to turn down work for him because he won't respond."

"I can solve your problem; sell him to us. We'll give you a good price and you can buy a replacement." We knew he had gotten Happy at the pound and had little invested in him. He still gouged us for two grand, which Sharon agreed to immediately. The smile on her face when he delivered Happy was worth every dime.

Happy became the face of Emerald Dog Products, his picture on the cans, bags, and assorted products the company offered over the years. It showed his life right up to his death, going from puppy food to adult food and finally to a formula for mature dogs. Eleven years later, when Happy passed, Bob compiled a retrospective, from the time he came home from the pound with us to a scene of Sharon and I in front of his tombstone at the pet cemetery, hugged together as Sharon openly wept and slow tears seeped out of my eyes. The tears were genuine. The last scene was a close-up of Happy, his front paws wrapped around her neck in his famous 'hug' pose, his muzzle against her cheek. The two minute segment was sponsored by Emerald. There was no pitch for their products, but there was a PSA at the end, saying they were donating a hundred thousand dollars' worth of their product to various shelters in his honor. Their sales shot up twenty percent.

The commercials made us wealthy.

*****

Six months after we filmed the first commercial, Tom fired me.

He was grinning while he did it, though. Seems my success with the commercials made it impossible to work as a P.I. because I was too recognizable. I'd be right in the middle of trying to catch a cheater when some little old lady would come up, asking me if I was the nice young man from the commercial, and was Sharon really my wife and Happy our dog.

We'd found a house we liked with a lease to own option that had a big fenced in backyard. I thought she liked the fence for Happy, but she just smiled and said it would be a good place for our babies to play.

We were moving out of the apartment when I found them: the flash drives I'd picked up while we were in Joe Morgan's office. I thought about tossing them because of the bad memories associated with them, but curiosity got the best of me, and I gave them to Gerry to go through, to see what she could find.

Alice called me three days later, almost in hysterics. "Dirk, you need to come to the office. Right now. We've had to call the ambulance for Gerry because she went into shock. You need to get here now!"

It was a very somber group that met us. I'd never seen Tom looking so grim, or so angry. They told me Gerry was in a room at the local hospital, lightly sedated. We walked into the office and we sat until Alice spoke. "It's bad, Dirk, really bad. We have to decide what to do with what we found. I want you to watch it, but keep Sharon away from it. No one who doesn't have to needs to see this."

She handed me a laptop and they left the office. Forty minutes later I came out. My expression made Jasmine, Sharon, and Alice step back. The cold fury in my eyes frightening them.

"What are you going to do?"

"Find a way to get it to the cops. This need to be exposed, and those bastards need to pay."

"I agree. But you have to realize, this is going to be like dropping a nuclear bomb on Hollywood. The fallout will be enormous for years to come. Things will never be the same."

"Good."

"Dirk, two of those people are my clients."

"Do you expect that to matter to me? You don't think that girl deserves justice? You willing to sell out so murderers can go free?"

"I think she does. I think all of them do. We just have to be really, really careful. We all have families we need to protect. How do you want to handle it?"

I had to think on that. Finally, I drove two states over and sent the flash drives to the cops via UPS, using a fake ID. Then I waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Two months later I called my buddy Benson.

We got together for drinks, he and his boyfriend and me and Sharon. We caught up on each other's lives. He'd made the next rank, and would be going into an office job soon. On top of that, he was being recruited by the state police, an offer he was seriously considering. They complimented us on our commercials, including two new ones I'd made for different companies, and one Sharon had made. They asked if we liked it as opposed to television and movies.

"Yeah, a lot. Most shoots take two days to a week tops, and then we're home, and not sitting on some set halfway across the world away from each other. Plus, the money is a lot better than one would expect."

Sharon got up to go to the restroom and looked pointedly at his lover. He'd decided to go full transsexual, and looked damn good in his/her dress. He grinned and got up. As soon as they were gone I opened up to Benson, told him about what was on the flash drives and the fact that I'd sent it to his department two months ago.

He eyes went wide. "This is some serious, serious shit. You know if it comes out you sent them you're dead, right? You need to go to somebody who isn't local. I have a contact with the State Police, in fact the guy trying to recruit me. I'll set up a meet."

"No. Set up a phone call. I need to stay out of the limelight. Give me his number and a heads up that it will be a serious conversation."

The next afternoon I was sitting in a public park with a burner phone Gerry had rigged to run through a laptop. It had a voice scrambler that made my voice deep one minute, a high pitched girl's the next, all computer generated to make it impossible to remove the layers to my real voice. I told him what I had, that I'd sent it to the local cops almost three months ago, and that he'd be getting a copy in two days. His voice was shaking with excitement and fear. I also told him that if he hadn't done something about it in a week's time I was releasing it on the internet. Then I hung up.

The story made international headlines. The scandal rags went crazy. Fourteen people were arrested, three prominent Hollywood producers, two film executives from different studios, one software tycoon, three directors, two agents including, my old one and the rest were people with various connections to the film and television industry, including one owner of a private detective agency: my old boss. No wonder he was so keen to kill the investigation. The State, and soon the Feds, were announcing there would be further arrests. The whole film community was holding its' breath.

There were press conferences; the foremost question was who had given them the information. The State Investigator I had given the evidence to looked dead into the cameras. "The evidence arrived at our headquarters with no name or return address. The trace of the package led to a UPS store three states away, paid for in cash using a fake ID. Surveillance cameras give no clear picture, but we think it was a woman. At this time we have no clue who sent it, and I doubt we ever will. The thing to focus on now is what was on the DVDs we got. People are being pulled in for questioning and more arrests are imminent. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, that is all we have at this time."

As the charges mounted, it didn't take long for some of the players to strike deals with the investigators. Charges ranged from murder, to kidnapping, aggravated sexual assault, rape, crimes against nature, assault, fraud, money laundering (that led to several prominent politicians being charged), the list kept getting longer. Shows got cancelled, movies halted production. Many would never be finished. It took the industry a long time to recover.

What was on the flashdrive? A murder. Not just a murder, a gruesome, painful, slow death while people stood around and watched.

It was underground porn, with a strong influence of BDSM. It showed a woman bound, gagged, and strapped to a table while a machine was wheeled in. The announcer raised his voice, so the three dozen or so spectators could hear. It was being streamed live, by subscription only, on the Dark Web.

"Behold, ladies and gentlemen, our next contestant. Our last took fifteen inches for four minutes, can she break the record? Are you ready my dear?" The camera zoomed in on the woman, her eyes wide and trying to shake her head no.

They poured a whole bottle of lube on her and rubbed it in, then lined up the machine. It was a Sybian type of machine, the fake phallus five inches around and thirty-six inches long. The Fuckerator 3000, the master of ceremonies proudly announced. They started out slowly, six inches at a moderate pace. The woman seemed into it, and climaxed twice. Then they dialed it up to ten, then twelve, increasing the speed as they did. The woman was looking frantic and tears were falling, but the crowd cheered and they kept on. One man walked out of the shadows and picked up a flogger. "Something to take her mind off the pain," he smirked to the camera. He started beating the woman, bright red stripes rising all over her body. She was at fifteen inches now, her eyes wide and muscles straining, trying to get away.

"Sixteen, sixteen!" the crowd was chanting.

"Turn her up, operator."

It was never clear what he did wrong, but he touched the dial and the whole length went into her. Thirty-six inches. You could hear her screaming through the gag, her eyes bulging. They left her like that for two minutes before they realized what was happening. Immediately they pulled it out, followed by a rush of blood. Realizing what had happened, the crowd ran from the room. The woman died from loss of blood and ruptured internal organs. It took her six minutes; they were able to time it because the camera never turned off. The operators of the show were panicking, calling each other by their real names and pulling their masks off, not realizing the video was still taping.

The cops assumed that Joe realized it and pulled the tape. They destroyed it, but not before Joe transferred it, and the previous four, to flash drives. An insurance policy, I'm guessing. When his business started failing, the police speculate he may have asked his friends for a 'loan', hinting he hadn't destroyed anything. He may as well have put a gun to his head. Then I blundered along and got the laptop and the flash drives.

Rumors flew about even more evidence, and my name came up from the old files. I was interviewed by the police and my acting skills kicked in. The state police asked if I wanted protection since my name had come up, and I laughed. "Why don't I just take out an ad saying 'Snitch Lives Here!' and give them my address? No thanks."

I was being stalked again. Sharon didn't like it a bit, but we were moving back into the apartment for a while, until I felt it was safe. We had picked up a tail, knew it, and kept watch. On our very last trip to the house, they made their move. I made a mistake, watching the tail, and missed it. A huge Jeep with monster tires ran up beside us, trying to push us off the road. Sharon screamed as he slammed into the side of the Bronco, trying to spin me. Tom had made me take defensive driving lessons in case we ever encountered this while protecting a client.

The Jeep had miscalculated, hitting me in the middle of the vehicle instead of the back quarter-panel, so I didn't spin out. Knowing I couldn't out-power him, I ran with him until an opportunity came along. I whipped into a park entrance, cutting across the grass. The Jeep and another SUV were in hot pursuit. "Sharon, call 911. Tell them where we are and what's going on."

She did, nearly screaming in terror. They told us to try to stay in the park and head west; there was a patrol car approaching from that direction. I downshifted suddenly, and grabbed the hand break, spinning around like I had been taught, and then floored it. It took them a few seconds to turn around, and I put some trees between us. I stopped and engaged the four-wheel drive, turning left and going through the trees. The Jeep could follow us, but the SUV couldn't.

The Jeep roared by, saw the dust and backed up. I slipped through a few narrow spots, the doors scraping against the trees. The bigger Jeep had to go around and we gained. I thought we were going to make it until we suddenly ran out of ground, stopping at the edge of a fifteen feet ravine. It was go up and try to find a way down, or follow the ravine down and hope it petered out. I decided to go down, and we almost made it. The Jeep caught up while we hesitated, and slammed into me, sending us down the side of the ravine. It was a bumpy ride and a painful stop. Sharon had a gash on her head and seemed dazed, but I managed to get her out and we ran. The Jeep was having a hard time getting down the hill, so we ran for the park, hoping for safety among people. We almost made it before a sedan slid in front of us.

"Police," they yelled, raising their weapons. I raised my hands.

"We're the ones who called you! We've been chased by two vehicles, a Green Jeep with monster tires and a black Suburban. The Jeep's coming down the hill now!"

They still hadn't moved, and still had their guns on us. It hit me who they were. McMurray and Johns, the lead investigators on the Joe Morgan case. "Shit!"

Johns grinned. "I think he recognizes us, partner. You just couldn't let it alone, could you? It won't matter much because everybody's been caught, but you hurt a lot of feelings and some, well, some want you to pay."

"You're gonna shoot us here?"

Johns grinned. "Do we look that stupid? Don't answer that, moron. No. We're going for a nice little ride, maybe see some pretty country. Part of us won't get to see it on the way back."

"That's incentive for us to get in the car?"

"If you don't asshole, we'll shoot you and take the girl. They need a star for their new films. If you go quietly, I'll make sure it's clean and quick."

I sighed and held my hands out. "Watch him while I cuff him, Joe. I hear he knows shit."

McMurray had his pistol out unwavering. He looked at Sharon. "Why you only got one arm up?"

"The other's broken. I couldn't lift it if I wanted to."

I hadn't noticed, but she had a big red stain on the sleeve of her hoodie, her right hand tucked in the pouch. Johns had one cuff on when she shot McMurray, the little Air-weight .38 putting two holes in her hoodie. She hit him in the stomach. I turned instantly, catching Johns in the nuts with as much power as I could generate. He rose up about six inches with the force. I crushed one testicle and it had to be removed later. He went down, and I managed to break every rib on one side and give him a concussion with a boot to the head.

Johns was out cold and McMurray was holding his stomach and moaning. I rushed up and grabbed his weapon, giving it to Sharon. I grabbed John's nine-millimeter, raising it up as the Jeep slid to a stop. I put two holes through the radiator and one through the windshield, while Sharon managed to blow out a tire and shatter a rearview mirror.

The three guys inside were caught totally by surprise, and I was at the door quickly, yanking it open. "Everybody out! Try anything, twitch a muscle wrong, and I'll kill you!"

They got out, hands in the air. Sharon took the handcuffs off the detectives and chained them together, the guy in the middle hooked to each one. The SUV finally showed up, saw what was happening, made a big turn and hauled ass. I called Benson, told him what had happened and that I needed real cops and an ambulance. Eight minutes later, it looked like a cop convention, and most of them were state cars.

Johns and McMurray recovered, and told the state boys they were in the neighborhood and had responded to the call, and we must have thought they were with the bad guys because they didn't have on uniforms. Both their dash-cams and the video Sharon and I had blew that story out of the water.

Thinking ahead, I'd gotten two pair of sunglasses from Bob that were also tiny cameras, transmitting to a receiver we had placed in the back of the Bronco. If I went down, I wanted them caught. The chase, the confrontation, the capture of the guys in the Jeep was all recorded in high definition. The charges against them were long, topped by attempted murder. Johns rolled, but they had so much on him they refused to cut a deal until he added a few players.

I bought Tom and Bob both a bottle of hundred year old Scotch, spending a small fortune, as a thank you. Bob for the cameras, Tom for getting Sharon the little .38 and making her learn how to use it. I'd had the S&W .40 in a holster in the small of my back the whole time, but never got a chance to pull it. I never told anybody, but I heeded Tom's advice about shooting to kill if I had to. I missed the driver, putting a bullet through the middle of the windshield instead. Took the fight out of them, though.

We were in the headlines for about a week before we became old news. The kingpin, the organizer of these videos, was Mr. Hollywood himself. He lawyered up, but the best in the world couldn't save him, and he got eighty years, meaning he would have to serve at least twenty-five before he breathed free air again. He was 59 when he got sentenced.

Jack got fifteen years. I doubted whether he'd ever get out; it didn't matter to him, though. His wife, his reason for living, saw some of the videos of him involved in gangbangs and solo acts of cruelty. The divorce was wending through the system before the trial got underway.

Johns had confessed, among other things, to him and McMurray stealing the hundred grand out of the safe. Johns was single, but McMurray was married and had two children under the age of six. His divorce was in the works before his trial got started.

Most of the movers and shakers who got caught did at least three years and never worked in the entertainment industry again, at least in mainstream projects. It created a vacuum in Hollywood, and everyone who could tried to grab the brass ring. Some rose, some fell, and in the end, it was just business as usual but with different faces.

It took Sharon a long time to come to grips with the fact that she had shot someone and was almost killed herself. For months afterwards, she would wake up screaming in the night. We got her a counselor, someone who had done extensive work with returning vets and law enforcement, and it was helping.

The law of unintended consequences kicked in. Suddenly we were courted together and individually to appear in films and television. We turned them all down. It seems that two of the men in the Jeep had substantial rewards on them and we qualified by holding them until the police could take over. It was a total of $110,000, money we used for the house, reducing our debt and cutting our mortgage down to eight years.

I asked Bob if our career in commercials was over. When he finally stopped laughing he told us we were more in demand now than ever. "You already project a wholesome family image that people can tell isn't faked. Now you're the heroes who took down a bunch of bad guys and perverts. In the public eye, you're Mr. and Mrs. America, personified."

I had my Bronco restored to its former pristine condition, and Sharon surprised me by buying a three year old Ford Sport Trac Explorer. She grinned when I asked her why she chose that particular model. It was four wheel drive, with a big V8. "It's a girl truck," she said grinning. "The little bed will be perfect for hauling anything we need, say for yard improvement, it's got four doors and a big back seat. It'll be a perfect mommiemobile." Mr. Happy seemed to love it, staking out the back seat, pouting if we didn't take him with us everywhere we went.

Our new agent fielded all the offers we were getting and called us in to a meeting. "We have to be really careful here. Be in too many and you'll be victims of saturation. People will get tired of looking at you. Still, you're hot right now, so let's pick a couple besides the dog food series. You can pick and choose, so if one appeals to you, tell me. That being said, if you show up in an odd movie or television show every once in a while, it'll help your career. Think about it."