Chapter Nine
Melchior’s office overlooked the Warner Bros. lot. The bright, airy second story room resembled a successful artist’s loft with skylights and glass facing north and west. Framed posters of Melchior’s bands and movies decorated the walls. There was even a Banshees poster gathering dust in one corner. Stanton was waiting in the foyer when Melchior entered.
“Stan Schaefer confirmed you for eleven o’clock tomorrow at his office. Connie Cosgrove meets with Ian St. James at noon tomorrow at the Park Inn Alexanderplatz. Here are your calls in descending order of importance.” Stanton handed over a riff of papers which Melchior stuffed in his slacks.
“Book a ticket for Freddie for Berlin, so that he arrives no later than five PM. tomorrow their time, do you follow?”
“I follow, boss.”
Stanton followed Melchior into the office where Melchior sat behind his free-form walnut slab desk. “Get Dan Kennedy on the phone.”
Stanton speed-dialed the number. Dan Kennedy was a federal agent who had advised on several Melchior thrillers including Sniffers. Melchior flipped through scripts. The Manchurian Dog. Beverly Hills Chihuahua 4. Burlesque 2. Jurassic Park VII. Mamacitas VI. Die Hard with a Payback. He looked at the latest BO and internal memos.
“Agent Kennedy is on the line, boss.”
Melchior switched to head set. “Thanks for taking my call, Dan.”
“What can I do you for?”
“You know I used to manage a band called the Banshees …”
“I was a big fan back when I was young, dumb, and full of cum.”
They laughed.
“Seems they’re back, Dan. Or somebody trading off the name. The manager’s name is Kaspar Sinaiko, and my informant tells me he looks like a con, possibly Russian. Could you check that out for me?”
“It may take a while, especially if I have to go through Interpol, but I’ll do my best. How do you spell that?”
Melchior told him and promised that they would get together for lunch next week to discuss Kennedy’s possible involvement with Helmet Head.
Melchior waved Stanton away just as Freddie Guttierez burst through the door wearing a chartreuse and magenta Hawaiian shirt over baggy cargo pants, a leather bag hanging over one shoulder. He was six foot three of Latin goodness with twinkling brown eyes, slicked-back hair, a Zapata mustache, and telltale laser scars creeping up his neck.
“Padron!” he sang, sinking back onto the brown Spanish sofa and running his hand along the arm as he always did. “Rich Corinthian leather!”
“How’s she hangin’, Freddie?”
“Hangin’ and clangin’ since I quit bangin’. What I can do for choo?” Freddie laid it on a little thick. His English was perfect when he chose.
“I want you to fly to Berlin today. There’s a band playing tomorrow night called the Banshees. I want you to go to the gig, talk to the manager, find out who the hell they are, and ask them why I wasn’t notified, do you follow?”
Freddie whipped out a spiral pad and a pen. “Fly to Berlin. See Banshees. Ax ’em why the fuck they don’t notify you they’re ripping off your good name. Got it. You want me to make this a memorable visit?”
“Use your own discretion. Suffice it to say, I’m not happy.”
“Padron, when you are unhappy, Freddie is unhappy. So I will make them unhappy.”
“That’s my Federico.”
“What about this part you want me to play?”
“Helmet Head. A biker dressed all in black leather who rides the rural byways of Kentucky slicing off the heads of other bikers with his samurai sword. This could be a franchise operation, Freddie.”
“Do they get to see my face?”
“Uh, no. Not technically. There’s a reveal at the end, but it’s not exactly your face. Still, it’s an important part, an actor’s part. You will have to convey a great deal of emotion without speaking.”
Freddie looked crestfallen. “I don’t speak?”
“You don’t understand. This is job security! This story has winner written all over it. There will be sequels. You’ll become a guest at comic and horror conventions and when they see how good looking and well-spoken you really are there will be other offers. Look at Hugo Weaving. V for Vendetta! This could be your Terminator.”
Freddie smiled. “Well, of course, when you put it that way …”
Stanton knocked and entered. “I have a five-thirty out of LAX on Virgin-Atlantic nonstop to Berlin arrives two-thirty tomorrow.”
Melchior rubbed his hands together. “Excellent! Freddie, do you have your passport?”
Freddie patted his leather bag. “Right here.”
“Stanton, get a limo to take Freddie to the airport. You don’t have anything you can’t put off, do you Freddie?”
“No, Padron.”
Melchior made calls. The limo came. Stanton stood in the doorway.
“What?” Melchior said without looking up.
“Chief, would it be all right if I took a few days off next week so I can go up to San Fran and see my little girl?”
“Absolutely out of the question,” Melchior said without looking up. “I need you here until this Banshees thing is resolved, do you follow?”
“I follow, boss.”
“And for God’s sake, get rid of that shirt. You look like a salesman.”