Destroyer 119: Fade to Black by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

"How long do we have to keep circling?" Hank Bindle asked, peeved.

The Taurus cochair frowned as he looked out the car window. They were driving down the same strip of Santa Monica Boulevard for what seemed like the millionth time.

Bruce Marmelstein was sitting in the back of the limousine with his partner. He had been staring at the face of his Cartier off and on for the past half hour.

"Don't worry. Any minute now."

Bindle closed his eyes. He took a sip from the martini in his hand. They'd packed extra liquor for this hour of waiting. But it hadn't sat well. Bindle swished the liquid around his mouth before swallowing it with a loud gulp.

"This is ridiculous. We were titans in this town once."

Marmelstein didn't disagree. The fact that he was using the same watch after nearly a full year was proof enough for him that they had fallen on hard times. There was a time he wouldn't have used a simple gold Cartier to bang in a nail.

"It isn't our fault," Marmelstein pointed out somberly. "Circumstances have conspired against us."

"Whatever. At least you have a career to fall back on," Bindle lamented.

"Hairdressing isn't much of a career, Hank." Bindle nodded.

"Yes, but you were Barbra's hairdresser. That's something. You know how I broke into the industry? I cleaned leaves out of Liberace's pool. I was a pool boy, Bruce. The things I did for that man just to get my first lousy job as a script reader...." Hank Bindle shuddered. He downed the last of his martini in one gulp. As soon as it was gone, he returned to the stainless-steel decanter in the limo's tiny fridge.

Bruce Marmelstein furrowed his brow.

There was a time when Hank Bindle wouldn't have mentioned the Liberace story. In fact, once he'd become a player in the industry, Bindle had fired anyone who mentioned the word pool within a two-block radius of him. But that was then. Now Hank Bindle was sinking into a quagmire of self-pity.

"Liberace is dead. I can't go back there. I can't start at the beginning. Not at my age. If this plan goes south, I'll be an unemployed fifty-year-old with a hundred-million-dollar golden parachute." He moaned loudly. "What will I do with the rest of my life?"

Bindle swigged his glass dry.

"Get us back to the studio," Marmelstein suddenly announced to the driver over the intercom. Bindle sniffled. "Is that it? Is it time?"

"It'll be gone by the time we get back," Marmelstein assured him.

"Wait. I think I felt a tremor." Bindle held on to the seat, bracing himself against the imaginary quake.

"It hasn't happened yet," Marmelstein stressed.

"Hmm." Bindle didn't sound convinced. He reached for the fridge once more. "Well, it better work. We paid good money for this."

"Don't worry. Soon, Hank. Soon."

When Bindle offered him a martini, Bruce Marmelstein didn't refuse.

BUILDINGS FLEW BY at breakneck speed.

Even as he ran, Remo was mapping a strategy. The Soundstage 9 truck was first. It was farther away than the other, but he had plans for the last vehicle.

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