{ASS} New: "Double Cross" by DG [5/9] (MF,FF,detective)

[diony...@hotmail.com]

"Double Cross"

A Frank Stern Mystery

© 1999 by DG (diony...@hotmail.com)

Chapter Five
------------

I went into my office to collect the camera with the pictures of
Claire, and then I headed straight home. There was a note from Larry
on the back door, telling me that he had installed a new lock and left
the keys in my mailbox. I opened the door and examined the lock. It
looked strong enough to stop a charging rhino.
I went into the darkroom straight away and started working on the
negatives. After all that had happened, I was worried that they might
not come out, like maybe I had misloaded the film while hastily
loading it on the beach. But they were fine. Out of ten shots, six
were decent. I made three sets of 4 by 6 prints: one for me, one for
Tina Callahan, and one for Claire, since she would be assuming that I
had developed the film already.
I spent some time making enlargements of the best shots, but my
heart wasn't in it. I was thinking about all that had happened today,
and worrying about my two grand. It occurred to me that I might be
putting myself in danger tonight. I could easily imagine Enrico
showing up instead of Claire and beating me senseless. I decided to
bring along my gun.
By the time I showered and ate dinner it was after nine, and I
decided to leave. I had dressed up a little more than usual, in tan
slacks, loafers, and a open-necked linen shirt. I told myself that I
needed to wear the loose slacks to make sure I could quickly get the
small automatic out of the ankle holster. But when I found myself
slapping on Drakkar Noir, I had to admit it was bothering me that
Claire Ingleford thought I was a complete loser. Not that dressing
nicely or smelling good was likely to change that.
Claire lived up in the rocky hills overlooking the Valley, and I
almost got lost more than once on the narrow, winding roads that
connect the homes of people rich enough to escape the humdrum smog-
ridden existence below. Her address was a small house set well back
from the road that couldn't have been worth more than two or three
million.
I backed into the driveway and then got out and spent a few
minutes watching the house. The place was lit up by outside
floodlights, but there was no activity that I could see. I finally
walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Claire answered the
door herself. She was dressed casually in stylishly torn jeans and a
halter top, and was barefoot. Her thick hair was piled on top of her
head and held in place with clips.
Not wasting any time, she said "Do you have the pictures?"
I held up a manila envelope.
"OK, come on in." She closed the door behind me and led me into
the living room. It was of modest proportions but was elaborately
furnished and decorated. I didn't much care for her taste. What made
the room special was the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a pool
and beyond that the skyline of LA shimmering in the humid night air.
"I was just having a snack. Help yourself." She gestured toward
a plate of crackers covered with some kind of pink spread.
"Thanks." I took one and popped it in my mouth. It was awful.
"Can I see the pictures?"
I handed her the envelope. She opened it and took out the stack
of prints, and thumbed through them carefully. Then she held the
negatives up to a floor lamp and spent a few minutes studying those.
"Naturally you made some extra prints for yourself," she said
finally. "You don't have to admit it. All I ask is that you keep
them to yourself."
"Noted and logged."
"Wait here and I'll get your money." She went out of the room
and came back moments later with a white envelope. She also had my
Nikon and binoculars. I pretended to be happy to see them, although I
had actually been hoping for the extra five hundred.
"I got these back for you," she said. "Enrico says to tell you
he's sorry." I thought I saw a little twinkle in her eye at that.
I opened the envelope and riffled through the stack of hundreds
with my thumb. Then I casually put the envelope in the breast pocket
of my jacket.
I said "By the way, my condolences on the death of your ex-
husband."
She looked up sharply. "How did you hear about that?"
"I hear things," I said vaguely. I had no intention of
mentioning my unscheduled visit to the police station.
"It's just sort of funny that you would mention it. Actually,
one of the reasons I need the pictures is that..." She looked
flustered.
"Yes?"
"The police seem to think I might be involved. As it happened,
George was killed at about the time I was on the beach yesterday. The
pictures you took can confirm that."
"So I'm providing your alibi." I chuckled at the irony of it
all.
She walked over to the big picture window and stared out moodily
at the City of Angels. I used the opportunity to stare moodily at her
body. Her ass looked good enough to eat, and she wasn't wearing
anything under the halter top. Finally she said "Are you a good
detective, Mr. Stern?"
"The best."
"Really?"
"Well, no. But I'm quite competent. Why, did your cat run
away?"
She turned her head and looked at me through narrowed eyes, then
returned her gaze to the window. "That was a mean-spirited comment,
and I apologize. I haven't been myself."
"Understandable. For what it's worth, I apologize for taking
those pictures."
"Oh hell, I was flattered. Mr. Stern, would you describe
yourself as completely law-abiding? By the book, and all that?"
"No," I said carefully. "I've never thought of myself that way."
"I've never hired a detective before."
My heart jumped. "Most people haven't had the pleasure."
She turned around and said "I have a problem, and I need some
help from someone who can be discreet. Are you interested?
I was interested. I declined her offer of another cracker, and
accepted her offer of something to drink. She got a couple of bottles
of Coors Light out of the fridge and brought them over. I sat down in
a yellow leather armchair, and she curled up across from me on the
matching couch, tucking her legs underneath her in a position I
couldn't get into without yoga lessons.
"Let me give you some background first," she said. "I came to
Hollywood when I was seventeen. That was...jeez, twelve years ago. I
ran away from home. Ever since I was a little girl all I wanted to do
was be an actress. Of course things didn't work out right away. I
had to do some unpleasant things to survive, and one of those things
was porn movies."
"I've heard rumors about that."
"Well, they're true. I made about a dozen of them between 1986
and 1987, mostly small parts. Toward the end I did a few where I was
one of the stars, and if George Cahn hadn't come along I might have
made that my career. In those days George specialized in low-budget
R-rated features with a lot of nudity, what they used to call B-
movies. We met when I was just nineteen, and he started giving me
parts in his movies. I'm sure he did it just so he could sleep with
me, but I turned out to be a pretty decent actress, so it worked out
well for both of us. We got married, and George took over my career.
One of the things he did that I'll always be grateful for – maybe the
only thing - is buy the rights to the last two porn movies I starred
in before they were released."
"So they were never released?"
"Right. He destroyed all the existing copies. Or at least he
said he did." She leaned down to pick up her beer, giving me a long,
delicious look at her breasts. She took a dainty swig and then gave
me another thrill as she set the bottle back down.
"But you think he kept copies?" I prompted. I was starting to
see where this was headed.
"I know he did. George and I divorced five years ago, just about
the time my TV career was starting to take off. He was very resentful
of my success, especially since his own career as a director and
producer was on the skids. He went into making adult movies, which
was a humiliating career move for him, even though it turned out to be
a great decision from a financial point of view."
"I'm familiar with his name in that regard."
She looked faintly amused. "Are you an adult movie buff, then?"
"I suppose you could say that."
"Yeah, well, who isn't. At least you're not ashamed to admit it.
Anyway, stories have gotten back to me for the past few years about
wild parties at George Cahn's house where he would show those movies
with me in them. The ones that were supposedly destroyed. I can't
say it surprised me that he kept copies."
"And now that he's dead, you're worried about those tapes falling
into the wrong hands?"
"Exactly. I know it must seem selfish and cold-hearted. Believe
me, I hope the police find out who killed him. But I need to think
about my career. I need someone to find those tapes and return them
to me, and do it quietly. I'll pay you your going rate for your time
and expenses, and I'll give you a fifty thousand dollar bonus if
you're successful."
I tried to force the image of a briefcase full of bills out of my
head. "I have a few questions."
"Go ahead."
"Would these tapes really be so damaging? They can't be released
without your permission, since Cahn bought the rights. And they were
made, what, ten years ago? The public is pretty forgiving about that
sort of thing. Your an actress, not a politician."
She looked uncomfortable. "These tapes are a lot more explicit
than my earlier films. Or at least my own activities in them are.
Specifically, there's one that features a lot of lesbian sex. I'm
sure you know how it goes. Video clips show up on the internet, and
everyone in the country gets to take a peek. And maybe copies of the
tape get passed around, like with Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee. I
guess it wouldn't hurt my TV career. The assholes who write "LA West"
would probably work it into the show. But it would kill my movie
career before it even starts. Not to mention the humiliation."
I could only imagine how pictures of Claire Ingleford eating
pussy would capture the imagination of America. I said "OK, second
question: do you think it's possible that George Cahn's murder is
related to these tapes?"
She looked surprised. "God, I hope not. That never occurred to
me. I guess it's possible, in which case I'm really fucked." She
worried at a fingernail as she thought about it. Finally she shook
her head. "I don't see that being likely. But I don't know much
about what George was up to lately. Basically, I was hoping that he
kept the tapes in a safe place somewhere in his house. I was thinking
you could get in somehow and find them. That's why I asked you if you
might do something sort of illegal."
I chewed that over. George Cahn's house was a crime scene, of
course - the location of an unsolved murder, unless the San Diego
police had made an arrest. It would be off limits to anyone but the
police. But it wouldn't be impossible to get in and search it. It
would be risky, but for a chance at fifty big ones it might be worth
it.
"It's possible that the police have already collected the tapes
as evidence," I said, thinking out loud.
"He's probably got a million porno tapes in his house. And these
tapes wouldn't have my name on them. I hope not, anyway. Also, my
suspicion is that he had them hidden somewhere. George was always big
on hiding things."
"If the police searched Cahn's place carefully and found them
hidden away somewhere, I imagine they would have impounded them on the
theory that they must be important if Cahn hid them."
"Shit."
"Yeah, that wouldn't be good."
"Would the police be discreet about something like that?"
I thought about the Polaroids of me tacked up over Barry Rank's
desk. "Hard to say. They wouldn't post pictures on the internet.
But it would be hard to get the tapes back from them."
I finished my beer, and set the empty bottle on a coaster. It
sounded like there was a good chance the tapes were in Cahn's house.
The possibility of making fifty grand was making my hands sweat, but I
didn't want to appear too eager.
I said "If the tapes were well-hidden, maybe the police didn't
find them. So let's assume they're there. If they aren't, things get
more complicated, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Agreed."
We discussed specifics for a few minutes. There would be no
paperwork connecting us, and if I was caught in Cahn's house Claire
would deny any involvement. Claire gave me another three thousand
dollars in cash as a retainer. Apparently she didn't believe in
keeping her money in the bank.
As she opened the front door to let me out, she said "I hope I
don't regret this."
I gave her a reassuring smile. "I can't guarantee I'll recover
the tapes. But you can trust me to keep to our agreement if I do."
She moistened her lips and put her hand on my upper arm. Then
she moved against me so that her right breast was pressed gently
against my forearm, just below the elbow. Looking up into my eyes,
she said "Stern, if you bring me those tapes, I'll give you an extra
reward above and beyond the fifty thousand. Something a lot more
personal."
Time seemed to stand still. I was completely aware of the
pressure of each one of her fingers, and of the faint mixture of
smells of her, and above all of the warm, loose weight of her breast
separated from my skin by a thin layer of fabric. I'm quite sure she
knew the effect she was having on me, and that she was enjoying my
reaction.
Finally I cleared my throat and said "You're quite a motivator,
Ms. Ingleford."
"Claire."
"All right, Claire. Like I said, I'll do my best."
She gave me a knowing smile and shut the door behind me.

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Comments are welcome.

DG
diony...@hotmail.com
DG's Story Page: http://baird.pair.com/dg.htm

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