Deader Than Disco by David Hiltbrand

Author:David Hiltbrand
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

CHAPTER

21

Stan had a pretty laid-back demeanor. But he was practically pogoing in place as I walked toward him at the LAX security gate.

“I have to get you out to Angel’s house right away,” he said, grabbing my carry-on and trotting for the luggage carousel.

“Why? What’s happened?” I asked when I caught up to him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Lani just said to get you out there pronto. All I know is that there’s police all over the place.”

That turned out to be an understatement, as I discovered after a high-speed trip to Brentwood that had me clenching the hand strap in the back seat. The sun was barely up, but martial law was in full effect.

Angel’s security team had been told to stand down. LAPD was manning the gate at Angel’s place and they weren’t letting us in.

The driveway was filled with black and white units and unmarked blue Chevy sedans. Too early for the pedestrian mob, but the media was out in droves. And the police contingent had the press foaming at the mouth. Lenses poked through the fence, pointing at the house, filming everything that moved. A pack of rabid reporters surrounded every vehicle that rolled up to the gate. Through the sedan’s moon-roof, I counted four helicopters hovering above the property.

“What now?” We were parked about twenty yards away from the gate. The tinted windows had gradually discouraged even the most determined media leech. I had asked the question of myself, but Stan had the answer.

“Call Lani on her cell. Here,” he said, passing me back his sleek, impossibly tiny phone, which was already connecting. He had Lani on speed dial. What a surprise.

“Hello?” said a hectored voice. You could hear a brittle edge of hope in the tone, the thin possibility that this call might finally offer help in the middle of her ordeal. Sorry. It ain’t me, babe.

“Lani? It’s Jim McNamara.”

“Where are you?” she asked. “Why don’t you get a cell phone like everyone else on the planet?”

“I’m outside the gates. The cops won’t let me in.”

“I’ll send Wendell out to vouch for you. Wait by the pedestrian entrance.”

I passed the phone back to Stan, thanked him and slipped out the driver’s side of the car. As I sidled through the crowd, I pasted a depraved look on my face to blend in with the reporters. A uniformed officer stood behind the side gate, staring out impassively. I lingered a few feet away, trying to be unobtrusive.

Over the policeman’s shoulder, I saw Wendell Crane, Bruce Katz’s associate, trundle over. He peered out at the sidewalk. I gave him a little wave on the downlow and he nodded. He spoke a few words to the cop and gestured for me to approach.

The cop pushed the gate open as I neared and I walked inside without anyone noticing. Sanctuary. It was creepy on the sidewalk. The press were prowling around so ravenously it felt like Dawn of the Dead outside there.

The mood wasn’t a whole lot better inside.

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