Chapter Twenty-Six
They cruised around West Hollywood in the white stretch limo Ryan had hired for the evening. They sipped champagne as they went, Ryan pointing out this and that movie landmark, and generally showing off. Isobel did nothing to discourage him, cuddling up and flattering him shamelessly, telling him how she’d always dreamed of riding in the back of a limo with a famous movie star.
He had chosen a restaurant in the heart of Sunset Strip. They laughed as heads turned to check out the possibility of a celebrity arrival. Ryan made a show of taking out his wallet and counting out a ridiculously generous tip for the driver. Even though the evening had turned cool, the outside tables were full and disappointed walk-ins were being turned away. They sat alongside each other, facing outward, elbow-to-elbow with the couples on the adjacent tables.
“I see what you mean about it being busy.”
“Yep, and everyone wants to sit outside, to see and be seen. How do you like it?"
“Very trendy, and it’s a great spot for watching the traffic,” she said, tilting her head sideways to show she only meant to tease him.
“At first I thought to take you to Chateau Marmont, I guess that’s more what you’re used to back home? White tablecloths and waiters who talk down to you.”
“You don’t know what I’m used to back home. And anyway, I’m not back home, I’m with you, and that’s what matters.”
She did not want to risk spoiling the evening but she could not push from her mind the visit from Burnham. It had shaken her to the core, and had caused unresolved questions about her detention on the border, and the unsettling visit by Javier, to resurface. Ryan allowed an incoming text to distract him, and she glanced left and right, but the diners next to them were too wrapped up in their own conversations to be a concern. He lifted his eyes back to her, but his thoughts seeming to be elsewhere.
“You remember the detective who I talked about that night the police stopped me at the border?” she asked tentatively.
He took a sip from his drink before answering. “I remember you mentioning him.”
She rubbed her palm along his upper arm. “Well, he came to see me this morning.”
He hesitated before replying. “Go on.”
“His name is Burnham. He showed up with another plainclothes officer. It turns out he’s with the FBI, not the border patrol or the San Diego police.”
Ryan took another drink. “So I take it he didn’t come to talk parking violations?”
“No, he came to talk about you.” She studied him as she spoke, but his face betrayed nothing.
“I guess you’d better tell me what he wants.”
She recounted the meeting and what they had asked of her, leaving out only the threat that Burnham had made about revoking her visa. He listened without interruption. “Are you in any kind of trouble? And who is it that they’re interested in, these ‘associates’ of yours, as they put it.”
“I know a lot of people. But you’ve had all day to think about it, what’s your theory?”
“I don’t have a theory, but do you still have the pickup?”
“No, I traded it in when I bought the bike, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“Maybe nothing. Except that night on the border, amongst all those thousands of cars, in that rain, why stop a lone woman?”
“They have to stop someone, else what are we paying the taxes for?”
“What if they weren’t interested in me? What if they were interested in your truck?”
“I’m not sure I’m following you, babe.”
“Well, think about it. Today they asked me to let them know when you were in San Diego. Why now? What if they were waiting for that pickup to return across the border, and what if the interview and the drug find was all a smokescreen while they fitted a tracking device to—”
“And now I’ve got rid of the truck they need a new way of keeping tabs on a desperado? You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m an actor, not Al Capone. I think you’ve been watching too many Keystone Cops movies.”
She gripped her knees under the table, feeling frustration rising within her. “This morning wasn’t a movie scene. And they believe you’re connected to some, some,” she struggled for a euphemism, suspicious characters. They’re not asking me to spy on you for fun, they want to know your movements and they must want to know for a reason.”
“Sure they’ve got a reason, but not one that needs to concern me. And what should I care if the FBI is interested in someone I might know, there’s no way I’m helping those muppets rake up dirt on anyone, least of all someone who‘s done me no wrong.”
“But don’t you see, it’s because of that attitude they’re hassling me, not you!”
“Listen, Isobel, I’m sorry that you’ve been bothered today, just like I’m sorry you were stopped at the border. And I appreciate you being honest about what happened. But I’m not involved in anything I need to worry about, and if you don’t trust me on that…” His words trailed away, the silence saying everything.
“I’m not saying I don’t trust you, all I’m saying is that I’m concerned.”
He took her hand. “Babe, here’s the way I see it. When you get back to San Diego you need to decide if you’re going to give those clowns what they want. To be frank, it’s all the same to me. I’ll post my schedule on the Internet if that’s what you need to get them off your back. But what you’ve gotta remember is these guys are as devious and double-dealing as the hoods they run around after. First they ask you to do something easy, something trivial, but that’s where it starts, not where it finishes. Maybe they’re not interested in me at all, maybe they’re interested in someone else, someone you know and I don’t.” He paused, as if to give the possibility more weight. “Seeing if you’ll rat on your boyfriend is how they’re testing you out, whether they can twist your arm to get you to do something you know you’d rather not do. And before you know it you’re up to your armpits in the cesspool with them. These FBI fuckers have no boundaries, and they don’t care who they hurt to get what they want. Next thing you know they’ll be blackmailing you to do their bidding.”
Isobel listened to the monologue, taken aback by its intensity. But her mind also went to Burnham, the menace and threat in his voice as he waved her passport under her nose. She glanced left and right and lowered her voice. “I just wanted you to know. And I never intended to help them, not without any basis, and I won’t do that, no matter what he says.”
He leant across and kissed her. “And you’d risk being a gangster’s moll for me?”
His hair had fallen forward, and she brushed it back from his forehead. “No, if I thought you were a gangster I wouldn’t be here.”
The waiter brought the cocktails Ryan had ordered. “Can I help you with any questions on the menu this evening?”
“Give us five minutes,” said Ryan.
“Let me just run through the specials,” said the waiter, not willing to be dismissed. Isobel could see Ryan’s irritation, and put her hand on his wrist. When the waiter had finished his spiel, Ryan passed her the menu. “We’d better have a look at these before this turkey gives us the tab.”
“There’s nothing wrong, is there?”
“Other than Burnham, you mean? Nothing a couple of cocktails can’t fix,” he lifted the glass, inviting Isobel to join him.
“You’re sure there’s nothing else on your mind?”
“A couple of last minute hitches on the financing of the film, nothing I can’t handle.”
“I’m happy to listen,” she said, now more relieved than before that Ryan had repaid her three thousand. “You need to come up with more money.”
“No, something else. The main guy I told you about, Shahidi, he’s just getting me to jump through a couple more hoops before he signs off.”
“Maybe that’s his way of showing who’s boss?” She could see she had surprised him.
“You work things out pretty fast, don’t you? For someone who says she knows nothing about the film business.”
“Maybe you’ve just been around dumb blondes too long,” she said, daring him to say otherwise. “And if you get someone involved late in any creative project, aren’t they going to always want to put their own mark on it, one way or another?”
He nodded understanding, maybe appreciation. “You could see it like that, I guess.”
“And Shahidi, will I get to meet him tonight at the party?”
“No, late night parties are not his scene. But tomorrow afternoon he’s got some people over at his place in Beverly Hills, drinks around the pool. Should be fun.”
“If I’m not going to embarrass you, being a mobster’s gal and all…”
“I’ve already told Victor I’ll be bringing you along. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”