Hot Shot by Kevin Allman Read Free Book Online

to plug it in, and found her employer’s body stuffed behind the couch. Screaming, she had run out of the house, down the deck stairs, and onto the beach, where two local fishermen had come to her aid.
    From there, the stories started to diverge. Some said the house had been robbed; others swore that it was a maniac on the loose. The cleaning woman had used asalto —the Spanish word for assault—but no one was quite sure if Felina had been raped. In any case, none of the neighbors had heard any noise, seen any cars, noticed any strangers in town. Except me, of course.
    My press I.D. took off some of the heat, but I still got out of Via del Paraiso soon after that. All I needed was some paranoid busybody tipping off the Ensenada P.D. An interrogation by a Mexican cop—in a Mexican jail—wasn’t my idea of fun. So I’d gone back to the Hotel del Toros, called Jocelyn and Danziger, got through the border check, and headed up the San Diego Freeway toward L.A.
    â€œSo, Sport. Where’s the manuscript?” Danziger asked.
    â€œI’ve got it.”
    â€œGreat. I’ll have Daria make a copy and go over it tonight.”
    I shifted in my chair, looking at the Jocelyn box. “Actually, I don’t have it on me.”
    That was true; it was down in my trunk, hidden under the spare tire. Jocelyn had told me not to turn it over to Danziger under any circumstances. It was our only chance to keep the project alive.
    Danziger grunted. “How is it?”
    â€œFelina never showed it to me,” said Kitty.
    â€œI think it’s what you want. Combined with the interview tapes, that is.”
    He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s sleep on it. I’ve got my lawyer talking to the Mexican police. When he gets some answers, maybe we can decide how to proceed. I don’t want it to seem like we’re profiteering off this tragedy.”
    I looked at the framed book covers on the walls and didn’t say anything.
    â€œJack, who’s your lawyer?” asked the Jocelyn box.
    â€œGilbert Françon at Dunne, Dunne, and Lambert.”
    More bad news. Dunne, Dunne, and Lambert was L.A.’s biggest entertainment law firm. Their hourly billable was more than I paid for rent in a month— used to pay. Françon was one of their hotshots, with a daughter at Marlborough and a wife on the Blue Ribbon board at the Music Center. If Danziger was inclined to invoke force majeure and drop the project, Jocelyn and I didn’t have a chance against Gilbert Françon.
    â€œFine,” said Jocelyn. “I just wanted to make it clear that my client is ready and willing to go on this project. You’ll both be getting a fax to that effect in the morning. And you do want to go ahead with this, don’t you, Kieran?”
    Danziger and Kitty Keyes looked at me.
    No, I wanted to say. No, this is a project that turns my stomach. No, I can’t turn a badly written memoir into a sizzling tell-all. No, even though I’m temporarily homeless and my bank account is running on fumes, I won’t stoop to the level of—
    â€œKieran?” said the Jocelyn box.
    â€œYeah,” I said again. “Let’s do it.”
    *   *   *
    In the elevator, I offered to escort Kitty to her car. “That would be lovely, dear,” she said tonelessly, offering a tired smile. “Your agent is very protective of you.”
    â€œI’m sorry if she seemed insensitive.”
    â€œJocelyn was thinking of the book. Besides, that’s what agents get paid for. To be unpleasant so our clients don’t have to.”
    She gave me another tired smile as the doors slid open on P-2, and took my arm as we walked through the garage. Her heels clicked on the concrete. “I am sorry about Felina,” I said. “Really.”
    â€œI was close to her, you know. Despite her past and her eccentricities, she was a good person. She had a