Mitch had spent the summer working at his Dad's Chevron station in Sherman Oaks as he had done so many summers before. Mitch didn't mind the job because he got to learn everything about cars and that was just cool, especially when he got to help out on the Porsches and 'Vettes. Mitch looked at it as good knowledge for the future even though he had no intention of ever actually BEING a mechanic. He was going to be an NFL tackle and make so much money that he could support his parents, and they'd be grateful. Then he could boss THEM around. His father, however, had seen Mitch play and was far more realistic. Mitch was going to take over this business one day, and he ought to learn it young.
The three mechanics who worked for Mitch's dad had seen the Rockman story on the news and were all impressed with the young tackle. Even his dad had given him the thumbs up. As they revamped the trannie on a classic '57 T-bird, Mitch milked the story for all it was worth, just like he did at the Noho. But by the beginning of day two, everyone had heard it ad nauseum and wished he would shut up about it. But he didn't.
It was around the time that Mitch was pumping gas into a '97 Subaru when one of the mechanics came out to cover for him, and he was wearing a devilish smile.
"Go in," he said as he took the pump out of the boy's hand. "You gotta see this."
"What?" he asked stupidly. "What's going on?"
"Go, man," he laughed. "You big fuckin' liar."
So Mitch went into the garage and saw his dad and the other two mechanics glued to the twelve-inch screen on a shelf on the wall as Lisa sobbed her confession.
"...and no one would ever like me," Lisa cried. "So I lied. I lied when I said that Robby tried to rape me, it was Mitch who tried to rape me, and I'm so, so sorry."
"Fuck!" shouted Mitch.
The mechanics turned to the boy and jokingly applauded. Mitch's father only looked at him disdainfully and shook his head in pity.
"She's -- she's -- she's lying now," Mitch stammered. "She's, uh, just scared to go through with it. It's over between me and that bitch!"
"Did you even fuck her?" asked one mechanic. "Or was that bullshit, too?"
"What is wrong with you, boy?" laughed the second mechanic.
All his father had to say was, "We'll talk when we get home."
Mitch had a pretty good idea what his father would say, and Mitch knew exactly how he would respond. Any punishment his father would dish out to him, no matter how severe, Mitch would agree was fair. Then he would drop to his knees and beg his father to arrange it so that he could switch schools in the fall.
After Robby had sprinted off the set, Norman, Ciggy and Savannah were very concerned. So they took it upon themselves to enter his trailer to see what had made him freak out so. They expected to find booze or cocaine, not television.
"...and no one would ever like me," Lisa cried. "So I lied. I lied when I said that Robby tried to rape me, it was Mitch who tried to rape me, and I'm so, so sorry."
"Fuck!" shouted Norman as he suddenly realized the gigantic mistake he had made.
"It's a shame," Ciggy said. "Could you imagine the release we would have had if we had opened during the trial?"
"This may make him a little less stressed on the set," added Savannah. "Maybe he won't be such a mothafucka ta everyone."
The three continued to watch, captivated. By the time Cameron Docks decked Robby and the pundits jumped in with their analysis, Ciggy was smiling once again.
"So they'll nail the bastard for statutory," he said. "We'll still get our opening."
"No, they can't," Norman replied. "The girl's a virgin."
"Really? Damn shame," Ciggy sighed, then turned to Norman. "You do know that you still gotta invest another three hundred thousand dollars into the picture."
"I don't have it," Norman confessed.
"Then get it," replied Ciggy. "This deal was your idea, not mine. I'm not going to let you shut down this movie, not after the performances we got today."
"What the fuck you mean 'shut down?"' asked Savannah. "We ain't shutting down shit."
So Ciggy explained her the deal, and Savannah could only laugh.
"You fucked up, homeboy," she said to Norman. "But guess what? No one's shuttin' down my movie. You said you're good for three hundred g's, then you are, g, or my homeys'll cut you."
"I'm telling you, I don't have it," Norman insisted.
"How's that possible?" Ciggy snapped. "You're richer than me and I have it."
"So YOU invest it," Norman suggested.
"Invest in a movie? Are you crazy?" Ciggy laughed. "The odds are better in a state lottery. Unfortunately, you signed a contract saying you would, so cough it up."
"Everything I have is tied up in long term investments that I can't get out of."
"You have a nice house in Bel Air," said Ciggy. "Sell it."
"Come on, Cig," said Norman, not taking him too seriously. "I can't sell my house. My wife and kids live in that house."
"No?" said Ciggy, calmly. "Then here's what's gonna happen. We temporarily shut down which will virtually double the budget, then I haul your ass into court, get your house, then I sell it and production resumes. If there's anything left over, we shell out big bucks for a great composer in post."
"You wouldn't put my family on the street, Cig," Norman said.
"We're making a movie here, Norm," Ciggy answered. "Of course I would."
And the way Ciggy looked at him, Norman was pretty sure that he meant every word he said.
"The son-of-a-bitch even warned me!" Norman yelled at himself, then turned back to his partner. "Hey, maybe if Robby knows the whole movie is at stake, he'll go back to a scale deal."
"Right," laughed Savannah. "Because he's such a nice guy."
"Don't even ask," added Ciggy. "Even if you convinced him, his agent would talk him out of it. Eichman's getting a piece of that money now, and there's no way he'd let a single penny slip out of his clenched asshole."
"Fuck!" Norman yelled at himself one more time. "He begged me, and I wouldn't listen."
There was a knock at the door, and the first A.D. told them that they were ready for Cheyenne's closeup. Savannah and Ciggy headed out of the trailer. Ciggy turned to Norman one last time.
"I'm sorry, Norman, you're a very nice man," he said, sympathetically. "But you've got a little under a week to come up with the money or I take your house."
"You're a real bastard, Ciggy," Norman replied.
"No, you just got greedy and it backfired on you," Ciggy answered. "I'm just trying to get a movie made."
Then Ciggy followed Savannah back to the set. Norman sighed, then took out his cell phone to call the one person who could help him out of this jam.
Deputy District Attorney Theresa Chavez was going over the file on a routine drug offense when two of her colleagues burst into her office and flipped on her TV.
"You've got to see this!" one of them said wearing an ear-to-ear grin.
"So I lied," sobbed Lisa on live TV. "I lied when I said that Robby tried to rape me, it was Mitch who tried to rape me, and I'm so, so sorry."
"Fuck!" shouted Theresa.
"Girls never lie about being raped, huh?" laughed the first colleague.
"Never, ever, ever," added the second colleague.
Theresa was completely floored. This couldn't be happening.
"It's a hoax!" Robby had shouted during her interrogation of him. "It was all a big hoax!"
"What's a hoax, Robby?" she had asked.
But Norman Jackson entered and she never got her answer.
She always assumed Rockman was referring to himself, and she would find out what the hoax was when Norman filed his brief, assuming it was even relevant.
But now she saw that Rockman was talking about Lisa. The bastard had been protecting his little girlfriend at first, knowing she would eventually come clean. But he was ready to rat her out the second he was threatened with a return to the transvestite in the cage.
But this wasn't just a matter of a case going away -- that kind of thing happens all the time. This one was truly catastrophic.
Much of Theresa's success in court stemmed from her persistent mantra that a woman would never lie about being raped. If the woman said it happened, it did -- and it didn't matter what clothes she wore, how much she drank, or where she went. Now Theresa had to hold a press conference and announce that her highest profile case ever came from just that -- a young woman lying to get back at her adulterous sugar daddy. As an officer of the court, Theresa was not permitted to lie to a jury -- meaning there are serious repercussions if you get caught -- so she could never make her proven winning argument again. She could only imagine how many real rapists might be set free as a result.
Why the hell couldn't the Docks have told her what they knew before taking it to the press? She would have been able to make a statement claiming Lisa wouldn't press charges because her frail psyche couldn't handle the fierce cross-examination Norman Jackson would inevitably unleash. She then could have used the case as an example of why defense lawyers shouldn't be allowed to defame the victim on the stand. Maybe she could have even uprooted the whole broken process altogether. But this? This left her with egg on her face, and she knew it was just a matter of time before someone accused her of going ahead with a bogus trial.
So she decided that just because she lost, it was still no reason to admit defeat.
"They don't lie," Theresa adamantly lied to her ridiculing, immature colleagues. "She's lying now. Rockman must have paid her off."
"Right," laughed the first colleague, sarcastically. "Because the press didn't care about this story. Left Rockman and the girl completely ignored so such a thing could happen unnoticed."
The three watched her office television set as the story progressed to its end. The colleagues heckled themselves silly at Theresa's expense. By the time it was done and the station broke for commercial, the colleagues saw Theresa's face and realized the extent to which they had inadvertently hurt her.
"Hey, you can still get him for statutory," said one of the colleagues.
When Theresa pointed out that Lisa was in fact a virgin, the two colleagues found this funnier than ever and began a whole new onslaught of tasteless barbs.
Theresa wanted to cry. If her friends felt so free to ridicule her like this, what would her adversaries do?
Then her phone rang and she answered it, expecting relief.
"Hello, Theresa," goaded a male voice on the other end. "What do you have to say for yourself now?"
"One moment, please," she said as she punched the hold button, then turned to her colleagues. "It's Jackson. Get outta here."
"Oh, can't we listen?" jibed the first colleague. "Pleeease?"
"Go!"
The two left, determined to spread their best jokes throughout the D.A.'s office.
Theresa sighed as she tried to compose herself and opted to take the offensive.
"He bought her, didn't he?" was all she said after depressing the hold button.
"I'd just like to know if the District Attorney is prepared to drop the charges against my client," Norman asked.
"Come on, Norman," she said. "How'd he get to her? Did the wife pay her off?"
"Maybe you didn't see the same news conference I did," he said. "Apparently they've had quite a relationship for quite awhile, and this was simply a lover's spat."
"There wasn't time for a spat," she blurted. "Rockman had just gotten there."
"Last night you insisted they had all the time in the world," he said. "Is the District Attorney changing her story to suit her highly embarrassed ego?"
Theresa knew he had her, so she had to alter her strategy.
"As an officer of the court, Mr. Jackson," Theresa began. "I must remind you that if you fail to report any wrong-doings, you could be brought up on charges yourself."
"You going after obstruction of justice, Ms. Chavez?" he snapped back. "Have fun, you got nothing. You'd have better luck with the car theft, except for the fact that Miss Abrams won't press charges. Hey, I know! You still have the DUI and drug possession. Granted, it was less than half a gram and it's a first offense on a guy who never even had a parking ticket, but maybe you can get him the chair. Or better still! Why not resurrect that bogus double murder the cops tried to pin on him? If I was a pathetic egomaniacal publicity-hound trying to save my ass, that's what I'd do. You might even get a bestseller out of it. But in the end, I'll still wipe your ass in court, MS. CHAVEZ."
Theresa had totally forgotten about the skinheads' deaths and knew immediately that the situation was perfect for her needs. She could throw one press conference after another and publicly hammer away at the fact that Robby had actually raped Lisa, while claiming the girl was simply too scared to take the stand. Lisa wouldn't be around to contradict her accusations so Theresa would have virtual free reign. Theresa had learned long ago that if people read and hear something often enough, eventually they believe it.
It was perfect. She would try Robby in court for murder -- and try him in the press for rape. As long as she kept insisting that Lisa told the truth the first time, the Deputy D.A.s credibility would remain intact.
But all Norman heard was silence.
"Don't even think it," he goaded her. "I'll get Robby off just like I got your stepfather off when you said he raped your sister."
"Mr. Jackson, you should be advised that I am in the process of filing charges against your client for the murders of Randolph McCoon and Michael Tavers."
"What?" Norman screamed. "You can't do that!"
"I'll see you at the arraignment, Counselor," she said and hung up, then she yelled out to the secretary. "Arrange a press conference for me first thing tomorrow! And I want to talk to everyone who was in that cell when the skinheads got axed. Everyone! A.S.A.P.!"
Then she started drafting the new papers and she felt great.
Norman, however, felt even better. He would be representing Robby in a criminal trial once again, and so he had just saved his family home from seizure.
*** Up Next: "Death Threats" ***
The main characters in this e-novel are fictional and are not intended to portray or resemble any actual individuals, whether living or dead (except for Jeff Abugov who is a real screenwriter, director and producer.) Although certain real people and companies are mentioned in this e-novel, all of the events are fictional and are not intended to portray or resemble any actual events.
Copyright © 2015 Tinseltrash, Inc.