Five Stories

"Why Baker? He's not a producer. He's not a director. He's not part of that world. How does he help her career?" I ask.

"The most powerful man in any country isn't the President; It's the person who controls access to the President. Baker provided security for everyone. Directors. Producers. Financers. Award shows. Galas. Name it, and Iron Sentinel was their security. Baker gave her access to those people."

"And Baker is married," I say, and Kenneth nods, like he knows I finally figured it out.

"Baker didn't put down the money to start Iron Sentinel; his wife's family did. She's the majority shareholder, not him. Baker wanted to end the affair, and we all know what Meg does when someone stops being useful to her."

Meghan Fontaine routinely used her body as a bargaining chip to get what she wanted. If you stopped being useful, or rebuffed her outright, she'd destroy you purely out of spite. Good men like Michael Tillman had their entire lives ruined. All the while she was taking cutesy selfies with slimeball producers and directors who did bend her over. The more married they were, the better.

"Here's something that is boggling my mind," I say, and he looks ready to hear it. "Who the hell sent her the voicemail? If this was planned to look like an accident, why would anyone leave a sliver of evidence to suggest foul play?"

"I might be able to answer that," Jenn says from the corkboard, having migrated over to help Jo while I was talking. Jenn unpins a document from the board. It's from the original investigation that Holly had conducted. It shows the phone wasn't traceable, and the number was likely from a burner phone. There are no GPS coordinates, but it does provide the cell site. Jenn directs me to the map she had pinned, and points to a cell site in North Hollywood.

"From her interview notes with Julia Hou. Her old PA," Jenn says, and extends that to me next. "She said Meg always had two phones on her. Julia would answer her normal phone, but Meg kept control of the other. She swapped them out every week or so."

The two different charging cords on her bedside table makes sense now.

"It's probably how she maintained the affair with Baker. How does that explain who sent the voicemail?" I ask.

"Meg's normal phone and the voicemail phone, pinged on the same cell site minutes of each other," Jo says, and I look up at her. I feel my own expression of confusion right before the answer slaps me in the face. Someone with access to the footage sent the voicemail. Knowing exactly what lines of dialogue they needed.

"Are you shitting me?" I ask, and they both nod. "She sent the voicemail to herself?"

"My guess is, she was about to destroy Baker. She was going to say Baker was threatening her if she revealed the affair. A scary voicemail helps her story get headlines. Suddenly she's front-page news again. She just didn't know how right she was," Jo neatly summarizes.

"That actually explains why Meg braked so hard during the stunt," Kenneth says, and I understand what he means. Meg wanted it to look like someone sent her a voicemail alluding to her falling five stories and tried to milk her rope getting snagged. Then she'd reveal the affair and say Alister Baker was trying to kill her to hide it. She was just one step behind him.

"What's the plan boss?" Jo asks.

I honestly don't know. We have a private army gunning for us. Baker is too well protected to go after directly. Holly needs evidence to arrest him, which we don't have beyond circumstantial. Kenneth's testimony might not be enough, assuming we can keep him alive long enough to talk. We need someone else. One last person to press for everything.

"We need Cohen to spill," I say, and the room exhales all at once.

"He's not going to talk," Rush says from the hallway opening. "He won't piss on his meal ticket, and he's a SEAL. You guys aren't the torturing type, and even if you were, he's trained to resist it. He could probably beat a poly too."

"We don't need him to talk," Jenn says, and the room looks at her. "We just need Baker to think he has."

--

Friday - September 25, 2020

-Jennifer Kramner-

This is a bad week to be named Alister Baker. What a headline.

'Meghan Fontaine, Iron Affair!

Meg Fontaine was allegedly having an affair with Iron Sentinel CEO at the time of her death.'

One paragraph in we got this zinger.

'According to an unnamed employee of IS, who worked closely with Meg Fontaine, the two maintained a months long affair.'

That sounds an awful lot like Gabriel Cohen. What a blabbermouth.

Of course, he never spoke to anyone. He knows better. So where did this rumor start?

A few days ago, an influencer exposed all the spicy details. While casually doing her nails of course. A stunningly gorgeous Asian-Latina, a deadly combination of beauty might I add, went live to her three-million followers and laid it all out.

"So, get this," Emmie Ito began to her followers while painting her nails. She blew on her cuticles to make them dry faster. "Meg Fontaine was having an affair. Not shocking, she was known to do that, but who with this time is the whopper. Alister Baker. Don't know who that is? Don't worry, I didn't know either until I Googled him. Last night, I might have hooked up with an ex-Navy guy. I got a thing for sailors, daddy issues, long story, but hear me out, it's going somewhere, I promise you guys.

"This guy apparently worked security at the set for Meg's new show. You know, the spy one. He was there when Meg, you know," she says, and shows her hand move from the top of the screen to the bottom. "After we do the deed, he's telling me Meg was sleeping with his boss, Alister Baker. He's some big-time security guy or something, runs the company all these security guys work for. Meg wanted to end the affair, she felt bad for his wife or something, but Alister..." she pauses at the name "...seriously, who names their kid Alister? That's some next level rich white people stuff," she says and transitions into a posh British accent. "I'm Alister, I went to Oxford. God save the Queen. Bangers and Mash. Tea and crumpet, I'm Alister." She transitions back. "Sorry, tangent, but Alister, seriously?

"So, Alister, the entitled sounding prick he is, doesn't want it to end, so Meg was going to tell his wife. Tell her everything. Next day...oops," she says, gesturing with an exaggerated shrug with her fingers extended over her mouth, showing off those great nails. "Come on guys. It's Meg. We've all seen the video of her Keanu Reeveing her way on a range. She skydived for fun. You telling me the princess of stunts falls on accident? I'm just saying. Allegedly of course. Key word, make the lawyers happy, allegedly."

That stream went on for another twenty minutes. An hour later it was picked up by several other influencers. And it spread like wildfire. Suddenly Alister Baker is the most hated man in California. Today he's the most hated man in the country. We got to him the exact same way Meghan Fontaine would have.

Alister Baker, connected with Fontaine Fall?

Articles like that are on every news site. Mainstream or otherwise.

Of course, my niece never slept with Gabriel Cohen. A little white lie for views. Influencers tend to embellish a little. Some of it fits a different story, making Meg to be the victim she truthfully never was, but it works. I'll be blunt, Meg was a manipulative cum-dumpster. That doesn't mean she deserved to die.

We get word from Detective Holly Roland that Gabriel Cohen was just arrested for a different crime this morning. Drake Rose's body was found in his garage. Apparent suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning. Gabriel was identified by his neighbors and brought in for questioning. When that story broke, someone may have tipped off the media that Drake Rose was investigating Meg's accident.

Gabriel Cohen then did something inexplicable; He said he had information about Meg Fontaine's death. He confirmed some suspicions and offered proof of the affair in return for a lighter sentence. Almost like he knew Alister Baker wasn't pleased, and he'd be the next to suffer spontaneous suicide. Alister Baker was brought in for questioning next. He came with two lawyers of course.

Then another witness came forward. Kenneth Taslim. His story adds layers to the conspiracy. It certainly explained a shootout outside of his home, where one Iron Sentinel employee was found shot, but alive, and another run over in self-defense. He admitted to being the one who ran someone over, but the second shooter is still at large. The bullet holes in his car are sufficient to clear him of wrong doing, so his actions are considered self-defense. He received a plea deal with the only condition being he's deported.

Alister Baker was officially charged with murder. To add insult to injury, he's slapped with divorce papers, and his wife sells all her shares, sending Iron Sentinel stock price into a tailspin. Early this week it was worth nearly forty dollars a share. After everything, its now worth twelve dollars, and falling. Kind of hard to send an army of mercenaries at us when you can't pay them.

Justin Fontaine got to see the man who killed his daughter arrested. Not everyone involved got what was coming to them, but it was enough. What becomes of the trial is yet to be seen. Considering Alister Baker's wealth evaporated, and he will be fighting a divorce at the same time, it doesn't bode well for his butt hole in prison.

I finally let Chase talk me into leaving Emmie's apartment for our last night in LA. Justin Fontaine made sure we were taken care of, even after we said we'd just take a basic room. He still got us the three-bedroom suite at Level Los Angeles. Full kitchen, three king sized beds, a dining room, and a full view of the LA skyline. We should have taken this from the start. I can never let him know he was right about that.

Jo and Emmie tell us they want to take the kids to the pool, which I appreciate. The moment the door closes, we found the bed we wanted. It's finally time to fuck like the troops just came home. I almost forgot that sex is a requirement when staying at a hotel. After these last few days, it's incredibly cathartic.

We shower together, taking turns lathering each other, then dress in our complimentary robes to stand on the balcony. I'm leaned over the railing, and he's wrapping his arms around me. The city is something else at night, I will give it that.

"Ready to go home?" he asks, and I nod. I miss the view of my dirt road. I miss Chase getting frustrated over trying to grow crops and fix the car. I miss home.

"Yup," I say, leaning over my shoulder to kiss him. "Fuck LA."

--

Saturday - September 26, 2020

-Chase Kramner-

All our bags are packed and in the lobby as we're waiting for the valet to get our rental. Emmie is teaching Nathan the ninja hand slap game. Where two people place their hands, palms facing each other, and the person on the bottom has to quickly slap the top of the other person's hands. If they miss, they switch. She's a mean cousin, not even letting him come close to winning, and I can tell he's getting frustrated. She wiggles her fingers, making him flinch back, and upon returning his hands is immediately slapped again.

"Come on little guy, you got more Asian than me, this should be your game," she says, and intentionally goes slow, finally allowing him to dodge. He celebrates by jumping several times in place and yells his victory to me across the lobby.

"Good job bud," I reply.

"I did it! I did it!" I wish I was still half as excited about stuff like that.

"They're great at that age," I hear a voice say, and see Detective Roland walking toward me. "My grandson's a little younger than him." She's making the room tense, stopping ten feet away without coming a step closer. "Got a minute before you go?"

"Sure."

Holly leads me away and toward a more isolated part of the lobby. She waits until a few people pass before speaking.

"I fucked up," she says, and I nod.

"Yeah, you did," I say, and she scrunches her face while she contemplates. She starts spinning the ring on her finger. "But I get why."

"Doesn't excuse it," she says. "What's killing me now, is that the Meg Fontaine story is that she tried to end the affair and the man said no. What a fucking joke."

"I know. Sometimes we're too kind to the dead. You know the truth. She died because all that shit caught up with her. Sleep on that. She killed herself as much as Baker did."

"She's a feminist martyr now," Holly exclaims, holding up her hands while saying she's trying to stay calm.

"Is your marriage irreparable?" I ask, and she nods.

"Mike can't even look at me. I see you and Jenn, and you can't keep your eyes off each other. Don't lose that. Ever. Hold onto that until it hurts," she says, and I see her eyes glisten from restrained tears.

"Then make him look at you," I say, and she sniffs mucus back into her nose. "Some mistakes are worse than others, some take more time to forgive. Maybe some are unforgivable. If you wake up every day saying he'll never forgive you, he won't. Because the first person who needs to forgive you, is yourself."

"You read that off a fortune cookie?" she asks.

"No. That's just something I learned the hard way."

Holly offers me a last hand shake and says, "Take care of each other," and leaves out the revolving doors. I turn back toward my family and join them.

Our car arrives, and Emmie gives us a tear-filled hug, almost refusing to let Jenn go before she finally releases my wife. The kids are strapped in, and we do that awkward are we going to shake hands or hug dance.

"You've seen me naked, stop being weird," Emmie says. I peer over and Jenn who thankfully didn't appear to have heard that. We hug, and she whispers into my ear. "Make her cry and you die."

I laugh a little, her having no idea why I'm laughing, but she lets me go. I get into the car and make sure everyone is ready to go before I pull into traffic, and we are finally going home.

--

-Holly Roland-

Prudence lets me into her father's house as she's getting ready to go to my house for my weekend with her. Pru has never been shy in making me know she really doesn't want to go to my house. She blames me entirely for the divorce, and she's not wrong. Her ultimate act of rebellion is under her shirt right now. I offer to help as she leans over to pick up her bag, but she tell me to leave her alone. She has to go to a full squat just so her pregnant belly has the room between her knees.

"Is your dad here?" I ask, and she grunts as she returns to a standing position, using the back of the couch to push herself back up.

"He's always in his office when you come to pick me up," Pru says and puts the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "I'll be in the car."

Mike's office is on the first floor. Not like he's doing much in it anymore. Thankfully our nest egg was more than we'd ever figure out how to spend. I always figured it would be traveling in retirement and spoiling the grandkids. I never thought we'd be where we are now. Broken.

The door is left open, and I gently knock on it to get his attention. He looks over his shoulder, and back at the computer screen. There is a movie script on it which he is reviewing. No one wants to be involved with him by name anymore, but they still send him scripts because many people still trust his instincts when it comes to what's producible.

"Mike," I say, and he ignores me. "Mike."

"Enjoy your weekend," he says and scrolls the mouse down.

I miss my husband so much. Every part of him. The infectious energy of that young production assistant when we still lived in a one room apartment. A brand-new father who played rocket ship with his little girl. The guy who got his first executive producer credit, and rather than spend that celebration with a bunch of industry people, he came home and scooped up his girls, one in each arm, and spun them around the living room. The guy who took a year off to raise his girls so his wife could keep advancing her career. I miss how much laughter used to be in this house.

I miss how sexy he made me feel. I was the brand new police academy graduate who handcuffed him to the bed. I got promoted to Sergeant and we accidently made our first baby that night. When I got my detective's shield, he made sure it was all about me, so he ate my pussy for an hour straight, and I was deliriously orgasm drunk.

It wasn't all perfect, all the time. We fought. We were married so of course we did. I remember when I miscarried at three months. We lost our third baby. We got through that together too. The girls never even knew I was pregnant. That was one of the few times I saw him cry. I cried so hard, and he tried his hardest to be strong so I didn't have to be, but I saw the streaks on his cheeks.

I'd give anything to have one of our fights back.

"Will you look at me?" I ask, and he keeps his eyes on the screen. "Please."

"You took your maiden name," he says, and I nod, even though he's not looking at me.

"It was easier," I say. "It was easier to not hear your name every time I introduced myself to someone new."

"You found her killer," he says, and I sigh.

"Yeah," I say, and wait for him to continue.

"When I heard she died, it made me feel better. Does it make me a monster that I was a little happy?" he asks, and I shake my head.

"No. Does it make me a monster that I almost let them get away with it?" I ask. Mike spins chair around and looks at his feet. "Mike, please look at me," I say, now in uncontrollable tears. "Am I a monster?" Mike raises his eyes, and my husband looks at me for the first time is two years. I involuntarily gasp and tuck my chin into my chest. "I'm a fucking monster."

"We're both monsters then," he says, and I laugh a little, and tilt my drowned face to his.

"I'm so sorry. For everything. Please, Mike, I can't live like this. I don't know how to do this without you. Please, just give me a chance..." I beg, and he jumps from the chair and hugs me. My husband just touched me for the first time in two years. My body forgets how to work, and I collapse into his arms.

--

Wednesday - October 7, 2020

-Jo Zielinski-

Chase gave me the week off after we all returned from LA. I spent it the way any divorced and disgraced detective would; getting drunk alone in my apartment, or getting drunk at a bar and bringing a guy back to my apartment. I rolled off each dick after they came and told them to get out of my house. They all listened, and I woke up alone the next morning.

The other part of my week was cyber-stalking my ex-husband Aaron. His daughter is turning three next week, and she looks just like her mother. I want to call him so badly, but I manage to resist the urge to embarrass myself. Instead, I find a guy and have him ram me doggy style so I can't see his face and I can pretend it's Aaron. I think I confused the guy when I even shouted out his name.

At the end of the week, I get back to work.

I'm driving up the dirt road to the Kramner's when I see him on his riding mower. Nathan is on his lap and they're chopping down the forest that grew while we were gone. Jenn is sitting on their porch with Krista in her arms, watching her boys work. Chase kills the mower and meets me at my car as I exit.

"Your grass grows fast," I say, looking at the field they still need to attend to.

"Only thing I can grow," he says, gesturing toward the garden that unfortunately died. "Got a few new cases to go over. Local cases."

"Good. No field trips for a while," I say and shut my car door. That last case will be paying my rent for a few years, but I'd prefer helping the local sheriff find bench warrants. Chase and Jenn gave half of their paycheck from Justin Fontaine to set up a trust for Drake Rose's daughter who lives in Arizona. Anonymously of course.