Norman was sorry to have to drop Robby off at his car at the medical building location because he abhorred driving home alone. He couldn't stop his brain from attempting to win the case, but it was a futile effort because he couldn't look at the papers he needed to review as he drove up the winding canyon road. Yet his mind raced on.
Of the three witnesses who would testify to Robby's guilt, Norman only felt confident about discrediting one of them. The drunk had been registered with a .21 blood alcohol level only an hour before the murders, and no jury on Earth would ever believe he was capable of witnessing anything.
But the thief and the transvestite were another matter. The thief was sober, coherent and, although clearly dangerous, seemingly intelligent. The only way Norman could see to discredit him was to point out that the charges for which he had been arrested had been dropped, and that he had clearly made a deal with the D.A. But the information about his dropped charges weren't in the file, so he would have to phone Theresa in the morning to get her to send it. But if Theresa were smart -- and he was pretty sure that she was -- there would be no such file. She wouldn't officially drop the charges until AFTER Robby's trial. In other words, Theresa and the young thief could claim the charges hadn't been dropped at all, and he was only testifying against Robby because "it was the right thing to do."
Norman seemed to have a similar problem with the transvestite-whore whom everyone knew had actually committed the crime. Leon had copped a plea of guilty for solicitation and accepted the penalty of time served -- a charge for which he had previously done real time. It meant he was free to go. It was insanely lenient for one who had already been convicted of murder once -- and had been arrested for it two times before that. (In the first trial, he had pled self-defense and won. The second case was dropped entirely because the victim was a high-ranking state official whose family and high level friends did not want it known that he had died while arguing prices with a gay prostitute.)
But as clear as it was that the transvestite had committed the murders, Norman had no evidence to prove coercion on the D.A.'s part. As long as the three witnesses stuck together, he could never effectively make such an argument to a jury. They were lying, but Norman couldn't see how to prove it to a jury. Especially one that would love to put away a rich, educated, white, male, Protestant TV star who had everything that they never had.
It killed him because he had freed so many guilty clients in his past -- how could it be so difficult to free an innocent one? It was his fault that the white boy was in this predicament in the first place -- he was the one who had gotten Theresa to go after Robby for the murders -- and he was determined to get Robby out of this no matter what it took.
In the words of Norman's political idol, "By any means necessary."
He would use his entire staff, even though it would cost him significantly more than the three hundred thousand dollars that he had told Robby it would cost, and he wouldn't charge the boy a penny of overage. It was his own greed that got them here, and he would do what he had to do to make it right.
By any means necessary.
He even considered enlisting the help of some gang associates. He had only ever used them once before, and he couldn't sleep for months afterwards.
But Robby would not go to prison for the crime of Norman's greed! No way.
By any means necessary.
He phoned Ciggy at home to let him know what was going on. Most of what he wanted to say was confidential, attorney-client privilege. However, the general gist was going to be in the morning paper anyway courtesy of Theresa Chavez, Esq. Norman felt obliged to let his partner know their breakout star was an innocent man who might be found guilty, so he could make his distribution plans accordingly.
More than anything, he simply wanted to stop strategizing in his car over things he couldn't figure out until he studied the documents further.
But Cheyenne answered the phone, and told him that Ciggy was still on the set. She was as interested in what was happening as Ciggy would be, as Savannah would be, as Axel or the D.P. or the editor or the rest of the profit participants of the low budget indie would be, so Norman saw no reason not to tell her.
"He didn't do it," Norman explained. "No way, no how, but it's serious. Tell Ciggy the D.A. coerced all three witnesses -- one of whom actually did it -- to testify against Robby. I don't know how I'm going to fight it yet, but I swear to God, I will."
"Get off the fucking line, you bastard!" Cheyenne shouted. "Sorry, Norman, not you. My brother's here -- he's an asshole. I promise, he won't say nothing to nobody."
"Don't worry about it," Norman replied. "Let him tell whoever he wants. By mid-morning the D.A.'s going to make a statement condemning Robby, and by the end of the day I'll be making one telling the world what I just told you."
"Is it going to fuck up the movie?" she asked, timidly. She did care about Robby, but you can't blame her for caring more about her own future more. If the movie failed, she'd be back to hooking.
"No," Norman responded. "It will only help the movie. But it can fuck up Robby bad if I don't do everything in my power to help him. But as God as my witness, this boy is not going to prison.
"By any means necessary.
"Tell Ciggy to call me."
"Here's the truth about your fuckin' Robby Rockman, according to me," Lisa announced to the throngs of lords and ladies of Tinseltown who had deigned to eat at Royalties that evening. "Y'all ready?"
The overpaid millionaires and their spouses, gay lovers, dates and/or mistresses, no longer even pretended to turn away.
Gloria feared the worst. It had never occurred to her that her plan to make Lisa leave Robby would result in her making a public statement that could potentially put Robby him behind bars. Although the new agent wasn't certain what Lisa would say, she knew the stakes were too high to chance anything.
"How would you like to be the star of your very own TV show, Lisa?!" the law school grad asked in a sharp, curt whisper. Of course, Gloria didn't have the power to deliver on such an offer, but she highly doubted that the high school kid would know that.
Lisa had already called Gloria an "agent cunt," and didn't know quite how to top it, so this time she merely turned to the agent and hissed at her like a jungle snake.
"Robby wants you all to believe that he's a big prick," Lisa addressed the crowd. "The truth is that he's really... he's really... he's..."
She began to cry as she tried to force out the words that would reveal Robby's charade, and make him the biggest tinseltrash laughingstock since Milli Vanilli. But the words wouldn't come out because, deep beneath her rage, she liked Robby. He had been totally honest with her from the start, treated her like an adult, and dazzled her with a commitment to improve her life.
So why should she care if he had a history of fooling around with other girls?
Because he wouldn't fool around with her, and for that he must suffer!
"Everything we said at the hospital, our kiss that everyone's watching on TV, our whole love affair is just one big... one big..."
The crowd, as if of one collective mind, visibly leaned forward to hear Lisa's frail voice just a little better. Even le Monsieur couldn't help but listen, and Gloria let go of her mission to stop the teen-ager because she, too, was dying to see where this was going.
"One big..."
Could she really ruin him like this? How could she betray the trust he gave her? How could she destroy her new popularity with the other kids?
Everyone was watching her now, and she had to say something.
And he was the one who had put her in this mess.
"He wants you to think he's a big prick but he's really... really... a big ASSHOLE!"
Then Lisa broke down in a burst of tears. She couldn't ruin him, and she felt powerless because of it.
The lack of any tangible new information didn't bother the crowd. They were storytellers by profession, and the girl's scene provided them with a wonderful anecdote with which they could dominate parties for months to come.
"He's a humongous fucking asshole! He stood me up and he told me to come here just to embarrass me in front of all of you -- which I've pretty much done on my own. I'm so sorry. I hate him. I fucking hate him and the marriage is off and I never want to see him again!"
That was the moment Robby entered the restaurant. He didn't quite understand how the situation had gotten to where it was, but he knew he had to act quickly. And what actor doesn't enjoy a big entrance?
"Never ever ever do I want to see the big prick again!" Lisa cried.
"But I want to see you, my dove," Robby said loud enough for the back rows to hear. "I so desperately want to see you."
"Robby!" Lisa happily shouted as she sprinted across the dining hall towards him. "You came!"
"Of course I came, baby," he projected from his diaphragm. "Sorry I'm late, but I was indicted for murder."
"I knew you would come," she cried as she buried herself in his arms, her tears now of joy. "I knew, I knew, I knew you would."
"Shhh," he said as he lovingly stroked her stringy hair.
"Can we leave this place?" she asked. "I hate this place."
"Of course, baby." he said. "Whatever you want. Just let me go take care of your bill and we'll get out of here. You wait here, you'll be okay."
He wiped away her tears and headed back to the table where Gloria sat. Knowing that all eyes were contemptuously upon him, he played the moment brilliantly.
"How ya' doin'?" he said in his friendliest tone to the first table full of glaring people table that he passed.
"Benny, Louie, Morrie, Phil, good to see you," he said as he stopped at another table to shake the hands of some network executives he had worked with years ago, purposely getting each of their names wrong before moving to the next table.
"Maureen! Ain't you a sight for sore eyes!" he said to the wife of a studio chief. "It's been, what, six, seven years? And that dress still looks great on you!"
By the time he arrived at Gloria's table, there wasn't a single man, woman or child present who didn't think he was the biggest schmuck in the world.
Gloria knew her plan had backfired and that she would have to come up with something better next time. But for the moment, she had to quickly cover her tracks.
"We're going to take off," Robby told her as he stood hovering over her. "If you want to stay, order whatever you want, on me. Thanks for, well, for trying."
"Don't be silly," Gloria responded. "On all counts. I'm just going to finish my wine and pay for it myself. I can cover Lisa's, too. But, Robby, listen."
That's when she began to whisper, and Robby was forced to lean in.
"I don't think that girl is all that together," she told him confidentially. "Be careful."
"She's fine," he replied dismissively, even though he knew that what she said was the complete truth. "Don't worry."
"She has this whole fantasy thing built up about you seeing other girls and then going back to Trudy. It doesn't make much sense, but I've been listening to it for half an hour. By the end of it, she was saying I was the one who told her about it. It's crazy."
"Okay," he said. "Thanks for the heads up. I'll see you at lunch tomorrow."
Robby headed back out through the crowd in the same manner in which he had come in -- greeting everyone he knew with phony tinsel-warmth and just a touch of subtle rudeness.
The only person who even pretended to be cordial at this point was Al Rubin, senior partner at Mammoth, and his kindness was returned with a loud, wet belch.
"Well that was embarrassing," Robby giggled as he proceeded to the next table where he graciously extended his hand, then just as quickly pulled it away.
"I don't know any of you," he explained. "You're a bunch of nobodies."
He returned to Lisa who was standing awkwardly by the maitre d's dais, and he ran into his old pal, le Monsieur.
Le Monsieur was a legitimate friend of Robby's outside of show business, so Robby dropped the act and greeted the man with true genuine warmth.
And le Monsieur spit in his face.
"A love affair?" he asked contemptuously. "A love affair with a child? I have a daughter the age of this one, so you disgust me. I am ashamed to have ever called you friend. You are no longer welcome here. I don't ever want you to contact me again."
Robby merely wiped the spit off his face, smiled and said, "No problem."
The moment Robby and Lisa walked out the door, the crowd erupted with a round of applause. le Monsieur smiled at them and made an elaborate bow.
Robby heard the applause spilling out through the doorway as he handed his ticket to the valet. He put his arm around Lisa, who nestled her face just below his shoulder, and it was all Robby could do to keep from smiling. It had been one of the greatest performances of his life, and his good friend le Monsieur had unwittingly put the perfect capper on it.
By the time the valet returned with Robby's Lexus SC400, Robby was in such good spirits that he paid no attention to the beat-up old Honda parked across the street. As he drove out of the restaurant's circular driveway with his young bride-to-be, he was far too giddy with delight to even notice the Honda pull out of its spot to follow after him.
So it stood to reason that he never bothered to peer into the other car to see that the driver was his stalker, and that there was a gun on the passenger seat next to him. For the stalker had vowed to make contact with Robby on this night, one way or another.
*** Up Next: "The Scene Of The Crime" ***
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.