Hollywood After Dark Ch. 08

"That must be exciting. I always wanted to be a writer,"

"It has its ups and downs. What do you do?"

Again I hesitated. "Well, right now I'm between jobs. I've been having some...problems...with my former employers,"

He nodded, sipping his beer. "Yeah, that's what I love about being freelance. No boss to answer to. But hey, you seem like a good bloke. I'm sure you'll land on your feet,"

I ran my hands along the sweating glass of beer in front of me, lifting it and taking a much smaller sip this time.

"I hope so. Truthfully, I'm walking into a major hornet's nest when I get back to the States. And even though I know I could avoid it, something feels like it is compelling me to do it, to face the music,"

"I've been there. You can't run from your problems forever. They just become worse and the more you drag them out, the greater chance they will become someone ELSE'S problems too. My advice is to just go in, be strong and do what you have to do," Rich said, swallowing the last gulp of his beer.

"But what if your problems are already someone else's problems,"

He looked at me over the edge of his glass, a knowing look in his eye. "There's a girl involved I take it,"

"Yeah, a few actually," I replied.

He sighed at me as the bartender took his glass, filling it up halfway.

"Well then mate, I would say that you just have to do what is best for you and them. I don't want to pry into your business too much, so forgive me, but in the few months that I've been married and the countless birds before her, I've learned that if you don't think of the lady in your life when you act, that creates a whole new set of problems. The key is to balance it out, handle things as best you can and hopefully get through it. When you do, and you have her smiling face waiting to greet you and take the load off your back, it will make it all worth it,"

"Thanks, that's pretty good advice,"

He smirked at me. "Yeah, I guess so. But then again, I've been drinking a bit and you know how writers get...we tend to be a bit long winded and real vague when it comes to dialog,"

I laughed, a laugh that felt surprisingly good given all the stress. "Well then maybe I am a writer after all. My whole life feels vague right now,"

"I'm sure you will pull through Alex," he said, downing the rest of his drink as he rose from the seat. "I've got a flight to catch. Nice meeting you mate, and good luck with your problems, however vague they may be,"

I nodded and watched him go, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he was consumed by the busy foot traffic outside the pub. Finishing my drink a few minutes later, I glanced at my watch and noticed that about two hours had now passed, which meant that with any luck, my flight would be leaving soon.

I was right. I boarded the plane and settled in, much more relaxed now that I had some beer in me to calm my nerves and thankfully the flight went smoothly and comfortably. Upon arriving back in the good old US of A, I grabbed my one piece of luggage and stepped outside of Miami's airport.

Miami hit me like a crashing ocean wave. Temperature wise, it was just as hot as Los Angeles in the summer, but the city still had a very real and strong ocean breeze to it, one that caressed your body for a moment before sending your hair fluttering in a million different directions. I had heard that the humidity could kill you in Florida, and Miami was no exception.

Unlike my arrival in Japan, this time there was noone waiting for me to take me to my destination. All around me, people milled back and forth, many of them speaking in fluent Spanish, though a different dialect even than the Hispanics in Los Angeles. I hailed a cab - a pink, rusted looking thing with dirty windows and a magnetic sign on the door and gave the driver my directions. It was clear that he didn't speak much English, but as we set out I felt confident that he at least knew the general area where I was going.

Leaning back against the hot, sticky leather seat of the cab, I thought to myself about how many different places I had seen while travelling in the back of a cab. Los Angeles was hell in a cab, the drivers often trying to make the freeway and its non-existant scenery blur by as fast as possible, as if they were racing in some type of video game scenario. Tokyo on the other hand, was much more smooth and quiet, even though I think more people thronged the streets than anywhere else I had seen. The drivers were friendly and spoke better English sometimes than people I had known who knew it their whole life.

And what of Miami? Well, the city was certainly a spectacle to behold. There were two forces at work, architecture wise, in the layout of the city. There was the cold, modern design of high rise office buildings juxtaposed against the lingering, aging art deco feel of buildings bathed in pinks and blues and yellows. Palm trees swayed in the gulf breeze, their fronds often growing taller and larger than the street lights they neighbored next to.

The beach weather also brought an unusual mix of people. From elderly couples dressed in their tackiest tourist clothes to absolutely gorgeous golden brown tanned senoritas walking by in the skimpiest of bathing suits, Miami was a city in flux. Just as I was beginning to enjoy the scenery though, I was startled to find that not only had the driver located the general area, but he had pulled to the curb right outside the condo I was looking for. Getting out and paying him generously for such a prompt arrival, he lazily pulled back into traffic before suddenly shooting off down the main drag, looking for his next fare.

I had arrived outside one of the more art deco of buildings, a huge 20 story condo with a massive palm tree painted onto the outside of its face. A girl on rollerblades skated by me, the scent of her suntan lotion and sweat making my nostrils tingle as I stepped inside of the lobby.

The floor beneath me felt gritty from sand and the lobby was hot - very hot. I suddenly felt very over dressed in my slacks and long sleeve shirt, and now noticed that a sizable sweat stain had formed on my back. There was a group of teenage girls who couldn't be more than 14 (but looked 20) sitting on a dark green leather couch in the middle of the room, chatting away on cell phones. As I passed them, it seemed as if they were actually talking to each other, preferring to run up their minutes rather than look at each other directly.

Standing in front of the directory, its old black backing and graying plastic letters listing out the tenants of the building, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the name that Kyokota had carefully written on the piece of paper, the sight of his penmanship bringing back the long, long days previous to the front of my thoughts. I read the paper: LIPSKY.

Glancing up at the directory, I found the name. He was on the 8th floor, condo A7. Putting the paper back in my pocket, I pushed the elevator button and waited for a couple of minutes as the old, creaky contraption finally came back to ground level. The doors opened and out stepped a wrinkled, very tan old woman, a purple plastic visor pushing her obviously-dyed blonde hair back. She gave me a quick glance and then stepped out of the elevator as I walked in around her.

As the doors closed, I could smell the overpowering scent of coconut sun tan lotion filling the air all around me. The elevator was stuffy and hot, though thankfully not as bad as the lobby. Making its ascent, I waited patiently for it to take me up.

Alone with my thoughts for the first time in a few hours, I wondered how I would broach the subject. Did Kyokota already call and tell this Lipsky guy that I was coming? If not, showing up at his door might not be the best idea in the world, especially given what I was planning on asking him. I trusted Kyokota, but I knew that my idea of trust as well as his, could vary significantly.

Stepping off the elevator, I walked down the hallway towards condo A7. I paused for a moment, collecting myself as I pulled my sticky shirt from off of my back, my heart racing and my mind doing laps around it as I tried to think of something to say that would get me in the door, should he not be expecting me.

Clearing my throat, I raised my hand to knock when suddenly the door opened.

"Albert, I'll be back in 10 minutes. Don't try to get up to go to the bathroom, just use the bedpan," the woman who had now appeared in front of me yelled into the room. She wore a baggy turquoise shirt and pant suit that did nothing for her figure, but which I soon realized was some sort of nurses uniform. I had just a moment to notice her boyish blonde hair cut before she bumped directly into me.

"What the fuck?" she said, startled as she looked up at me, puzzlement on her face. I stuttered a bit, trying to apologize and explain myself.

"Sssorry, I was looking for Mmmmmmr. Lipskkkyy?" I said. She caught her footing and continued to stare at me, her face becoming hard.

"And who are you?"

"My name is Alex Hilt. I was sent here by a...business acquaintance of his. Is this his apartment?"

I must have seemed threatening to her in some way, because now her feet became firmly planted in the door way, her arms against the frame.

"Yes, this is his condo but I'm sorry, he isn't taking visitors right now,"

A voice came from deep within the condo. "GRACE! WHO IS AT THE DOOR?"

She ignored him and looked at me again. This woman, Grace, probably was quite a catch 10 years ago. But age had night been kind to her and she looked every bit the mid 30s that she seemed to be.

"You'll have to come back some other time, I'm afraid that -"

"GRACE! WHO IS AT THE GOD DAMNED DOOR?" the voice screamed.

"CALM DOWN AL, IT'S JUST SOME SALESMAN OR SOMETHING!" she yelled back. "I'M GETTING RID OF HIM RIGHT NOW!"

I leaned in close to her, my much larger frame knocking her back on her feet and for a moment, sending fear through her eyes. I didn't want trouble, but I had to see him and if taking matters into my own hands was the only way to do it, then so be it.

"MR. LIPSKY, I'M A FRIEND OF MR. KYOKOTA," I yelled into the condo, my deep voice making the walls shake a bit.

Grace eyed me cautiously, like a rat trapped in a corner. "Please Mr. Hilt, if you will just leave now I'm sure that Mr. Lipsky will see you when he is -"

"LET HIM IN GRACE, IT'S ALRIGHT," the voice yelled in response. I noticed that he seemed to be gasping for air a bit, his voice craggly and worn.

Grace sighed, defeated. Her gaze never left me though, and her eyes still burned with anger at being shown up. She lowered her arms from the door frame.

"Alright, look, you can see him but ONLY because he said it is ok. Make it quick though, he doesn't have the strength for an all day chit chat,"

I smiled politely at her. "Thank you,"

She didn't acknowledge me but instead, turned on her heel and walked into the condo. Waiting for a moment, I followed her as she disappeared down a hallway, my intuition telling me to keep a few feet distance from her. I saw her stop outside of a bedroom, her eyes telling me to stop right where I was, as she peeked her head in.

She said something to him for a moment before finally turning back to look at me.

"Make it quick. And don't think I'm leaving you alone with him. I'll respect his privacy but I'll be right in the kitchen, so don't try any funny stuff,"

Grace walked briskly past me as she went through the spacious living room, its furniture made up of white wicker chairs and a high ceiling fan that whirred and spun the humid heat of the room around and around.

I approached the bedroom, not sure exactly what I would find. The room was very dark, only a bit of sunlight peeking through the drawn venetian blinds against the far wall. The yellowish tint made the room seem murky and small, though as my eyes adjusted I could tell that it was much larger than it appeared.

As my pupils adjusted to the light, I saw that the room was very sparsely furnished. Against the wall, on a high dresser, was an old television, the bunny ears on it sticking off at weird angles. Near the blind drawn windows was a modern looking wheel chair, and directly in the center of the room was a bed with some medical equipment next to it, including what looked like an EKG monitor, its quiet hum filling the stillness of the room. Though hard to make out, lying on the center of the bed was a frail looking man, his long, pajama clad legs resting atop the sheets as he propped his head against the pillow.

"Come in," he croaked at me. I couldn't see the man's face but his voice was surprisingly loud for such a frail looking invalid.

I stepped into the room but paused just a few feet from the door, not sure exactly what to do or where to position myself. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, making the specs of dust dance as they fell to the ground, like ballerinas in some cosmicly condemned play.

I cleared my throat. "Mr. Lipsky, my name is Alex Hilt and I am an - "

"I heard your name when you were fighting with that devil woman in the door. Now what do you want?" he snapped.

"Well sir, I uh, was told to visit you by Mr. Kyokota. The business man in Tokyo?"

"That's horse shit. Kyokota died a few months ago in a plane crash. I read it in the paper," he barked. For a crippled man (whose handicap I couldn't quite determine), he had a lot of spunk in him.

"No sir, this was his son. Yasuo Kyokota. He took over the corporation after his father died," I replied, not sure if correcting him would be a wise idea.

"Ah yes, I forgot about young Yasou. He was just a boy when I last saw him," Lipsky said, his tone softening.

"Er, well yes I suppose so sir. Any ways, he said that you might be able to help me. I'm looking for something that you have that might help me in bringing down Wilton Willis,"

The room grew silent for a moment, as Lipsky didn't even breathe. After a long pause, he finally spoke again, his voice softer and more breathy this time.

"How did you get mixed up with Willis?"

"It's a long story sir, but right now I am on his bad side. But I know from Mr. Kyokota and Charlie -"

"You know Charlie?" he said, his voice now completely a whisper. "I'll be damned,"

"That's the thing Mr. Lipsky. I knew Charlie. I have not been to Los Angeles yet but I'm afraid that he may be dead,"

Another long pause, followed by a heavy sigh that sounded painful just to listen to.

"So if Charlie is gone, and Kyokota is gone, that just leaves me. Sonofabitch," he said. I noticed now that his words were a bit labored and that he was trying to lift himself up off the bed. I moved to help him but he stopped me.

"No Mr. Hilt, its alright. I've still got a bit of piss in me left,"

I took his word on it and watched as he slowly and methodically turned himself towards the edge of the bed, letting out a great sigh of relief as he lowered his legs over the edge. With great effort, he placed his feet on the ground and, on very very shaky legs, managed to shuffle over to the wheel chair by the window, collapsing into it with exhaustion. He panted loudly, a sickening noise coming from his nostrils that whistled and filled the room, but after a minute or two, he slowly began to turn the creaky wheels of the wheelchair and roll a few inches.

"Let me tell you something Mr. Hilt. I've wanted to take that sonofabitch Willis down for almost 5 years now. He used to be a real people person, always coming up to employees and asking how they were, how their bosses were treating them. Working for him was a dream and even though I started out at the bottom, with his help I soon became his head accountant," he said, wheeling himself ever so slowly to the dresser that held the television. I stayed where I was, not really sure if I should help him or keep my distance.

"Why, that bastard even bought me and Caroline a house about 10 years back," he said, his voice filled with bitter resentment. "And we took it from him too, even raising the boys for a few years there. How were we to suspect that he got it on the cheap? He was doing it for all the other employees, so it MUST have been fine right?"

I didn't say anything, just let him speak. As he reached the dresser, he reached his long, frail arms up and began working a combination lock that held the two cabinets closed.

"Things were fine until Carol started her coughing fits. First it was just a cold, then what we thought was the flu. Then, when it turned into blood, I knew something was not right," he said, pausing for a moment as he stared at the lock through squinted eyes. I could make out his face more clearly now. He must have been in his 60s, but like his nurse, age had not been too kind on him.

"Asbestosis. The worst kind, already in the most advanced stage. Can you believe that? Within three months, Carol was gone. She suffered too, just like I'm suffering now. As soon as I went to Willis, begging on my hands and knees for help with the fucking hospital bills, he just walked out of the office. Walked out! On me! The man who handled his finances perfectly and got him tax break after tax break. The old shit couldn't even do it himself. He had that weasel Gordon Hapsboro fire me,"

Things started to fall into place now, and as if to echo this, the lock on the dresser opened as he pulled it off of the doors.

"Well, with Carol gone and huge medical bills from all the therapy she went through, I just sold that god forsaken house and left in the middle of the night, moved down here. But things got bad pretty quick too. See what they don't tell ya is that when the vent leaking that stuff is over your bed every night of your life, you get problems from it real quick. Sure enough, when I got down here, the doctors said it had got to me too. Sometimes I wish I had had it as bad as Carol did, just so I could go quickly,"

"I..I'm so sorry," I said, my own voice now a whisper.

He waved a hand at me. "No need to be sorry, I knew I'd pay for my sins, for all those time I looked the other way when he gave 'auditions' to all those pretty young girls. No, God is making me pay and apparently he has a sense of humor, because he's doing it really slowly,"

Lipsky stopped talking for a moment as he reached up and pulled out a metal box, about the size of a shoe box. This too was locked and as he went to work on this new lock.

"But don't worry, I have a sense of humor too. I used one of those new copy machines before I left there and copied each and everything that the bastard had me do to cheat Uncle Sam. I wanted to have these opened and turned over to the government when I finally went to my eternity, but now that I know he's still hurting others, I might as well give them to you,"

This lock took him a bit longer, and watching him do it was a very wince inducing process, but after a minute or two more, the old lock finally sprung and he opened the creaky, rusted lid of the box. With a shaky, wrinkled hand, he shuffled through the papers inside for a moment before pulling out a group that had been rubber banded together.

Closing the box back, he set the tube of paper on his lap and put the box back in its dusty place on the shelf, repeating the process of locking it up all over again. With another tired sigh, he rolled his chair towards me.

"Mr. Hilt, these documents are exactly what you need to prove your point to the world. This is five years worth of transactions, both on the book and off. It's all there...extortion money, hush money, drug money...money money money! Ha, and they say that us Jews are real good with the stuff. Well, let me tell you something. I may be good at handling it, but I'm even better at making it look like it vanished,"

I took the documents from him and held them in my hand. There must have been at least 50 of them, all appearing to come from the same sort of payroll book. This could be pay dirt, but only if I got it in the right hands.