Hollywood Tough (2002) by Stephen - Scully 03 Cannell
Authors: Stephen - Scully 03 Cannell
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house. Shane already knew what he wanted to steal, but he was going to have to distract Nora. She was dogging him, chattering excitedly about her wedding. "Farrell wanted to do the ceremony in Monaco, can you believ e t hat? What a romantic that man is. He wanted to fly all of our friends there on the BBJ."
"The what?"
"It's a huge Warner Brothers plane he gets to use. It's called a Boeing Business Jet--a BBJ. He was going to put everybody up at the Hotel de Paris, do the reception at Jimmy's. But in the end, I just wanted it to be more normal, y' know? More spiritual."
"Absolutely," Shane said. "A Monaco wedding does seem to lack a certain sense of spirituality."
"So as you know, we decided to use that wonderful chapel up in the hills above Pepperdine University. You know . . . the one with the glass atrium. I've always loved that setting. You can see all the flowers and the trees outside, the spectacular views of the Pacific. . . ."
They were in the main room of the pool house now, and Shane was down on his knees, reaching around under the sofa cushions, looking for his "lost" wallet, which was, of course, safely tucked in his back pocket.
"Nope, not here," he said after retrieving a few quarters. Then he spotted what he'd been looking for: the large gold lighter that Farrell had used to light everyone's Cuban cigars. It was resting on an antique sideboard. It had a broad, flat surface, which should have retained Farrell's thumbprint along with an index and at least one digit. "Nora, would you mind checking the bathroom?" Shane smiled. "Look behind the toilet? The wallet's a worn brown leather job. Nothing too special."
"Sure," she said, heading off to the guest bath while Shane slipped quickly across the room and stole the large lighter. Using only his fingertips, he dropped it into an evidence bag, which he then sequestered in his side jacket pocket. Next he took out his wallet and laid it on the top of the bar, in plain sight. When Nora returned, Shane was on the far side of the room by the window, down on his knees, searching under a club chair.
"Not in the bathroom," she announced as she moved toward the bar. "Is this it?" Nora suddenly asked, and when Shane turned, she was holding up his wallet, smiling triumphantly.
"That's it!" He grinned. "Where'd you find it?"
"Right on the bar. The maids must've picked it up and set it there." She handed it to him.
"Man, I'm glad I don't have to cancel all these," he said, flipping it open and looking at his two minimum-limit Visa cards. Then he put his wallet away and Nora led him out of the pool house.
"Can you stay for a cup of coffee?" she asked hopefully.
Shane sure as hell didn't want to stay. He already felt like a big enough asshole and traitor, but he was trapped. "Coffee sounds great," he said.
They each had a cup of fresh-ground Colombian. Nora told Shane how hard it had been for Alexa after her mother died, and how vulnerable she was during that first year.
"Underneath that tough cop exterior is one of the sweetest people we'll ever know," she told him.
An hour later he was back in his car, feeling like Judas. He dropped the lighter off at SID in Parker Center, with instructions to send any latent prints up to Lee Fineburg in Records Services.
All in all, it had been a grimy little mission, but he was pretty sure that Farrell Champion was another in a long line of Nora Bishop's romantic mistakes, so what choice did he have? Was he just supposed to accept this handsome Hollywood phony at face value?
The last living prince in America, my ass, he thought.
Chapter 11.
THE PHONE CALL
Later that afternoon Shane returned to his canal house in Venice. He called out, but immediately knew that the place was empty. The house had that strange stillness that told him nobody was home.
It was five-thirty, so he took a beer out of the fridge, and again took his place in his chair on the back lawn. He was beginning to feel like a terrible creature of habit. Like
"The what?"
"It's a huge Warner Brothers plane he gets to use. It's called a Boeing Business Jet--a BBJ. He was going to put everybody up at the Hotel de Paris, do the reception at Jimmy's. But in the end, I just wanted it to be more normal, y' know? More spiritual."
"Absolutely," Shane said. "A Monaco wedding does seem to lack a certain sense of spirituality."
"So as you know, we decided to use that wonderful chapel up in the hills above Pepperdine University. You know . . . the one with the glass atrium. I've always loved that setting. You can see all the flowers and the trees outside, the spectacular views of the Pacific. . . ."
They were in the main room of the pool house now, and Shane was down on his knees, reaching around under the sofa cushions, looking for his "lost" wallet, which was, of course, safely tucked in his back pocket.
"Nope, not here," he said after retrieving a few quarters. Then he spotted what he'd been looking for: the large gold lighter that Farrell had used to light everyone's Cuban cigars. It was resting on an antique sideboard. It had a broad, flat surface, which should have retained Farrell's thumbprint along with an index and at least one digit. "Nora, would you mind checking the bathroom?" Shane smiled. "Look behind the toilet? The wallet's a worn brown leather job. Nothing too special."
"Sure," she said, heading off to the guest bath while Shane slipped quickly across the room and stole the large lighter. Using only his fingertips, he dropped it into an evidence bag, which he then sequestered in his side jacket pocket. Next he took out his wallet and laid it on the top of the bar, in plain sight. When Nora returned, Shane was on the far side of the room by the window, down on his knees, searching under a club chair.
"Not in the bathroom," she announced as she moved toward the bar. "Is this it?" Nora suddenly asked, and when Shane turned, she was holding up his wallet, smiling triumphantly.
"That's it!" He grinned. "Where'd you find it?"
"Right on the bar. The maids must've picked it up and set it there." She handed it to him.
"Man, I'm glad I don't have to cancel all these," he said, flipping it open and looking at his two minimum-limit Visa cards. Then he put his wallet away and Nora led him out of the pool house.
"Can you stay for a cup of coffee?" she asked hopefully.
Shane sure as hell didn't want to stay. He already felt like a big enough asshole and traitor, but he was trapped. "Coffee sounds great," he said.
They each had a cup of fresh-ground Colombian. Nora told Shane how hard it had been for Alexa after her mother died, and how vulnerable she was during that first year.
"Underneath that tough cop exterior is one of the sweetest people we'll ever know," she told him.
An hour later he was back in his car, feeling like Judas. He dropped the lighter off at SID in Parker Center, with instructions to send any latent prints up to Lee Fineburg in Records Services.
All in all, it had been a grimy little mission, but he was pretty sure that Farrell Champion was another in a long line of Nora Bishop's romantic mistakes, so what choice did he have? Was he just supposed to accept this handsome Hollywood phony at face value?
The last living prince in America, my ass, he thought.
Chapter 11.
THE PHONE CALL
Later that afternoon Shane returned to his canal house in Venice. He called out, but immediately knew that the place was empty. The house had that strange stillness that told him nobody was home.
It was five-thirty, so he took a beer out of the fridge, and again took his place in his chair on the back lawn. He was beginning to feel like a terrible creature of habit. Like
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