Hollywood Secrets (27 page)

“
One with a crew cut and the other sort of ferrety?”

She nodded. “Yes! That was them. The big guy pointed his gun at me and told me that if I didn’t give them the flash drive, he was gonna shoot me. Can you believe it?”

I had a feeling they weren’t the first (or last) people who wanted to shoot Carla.

“
What did you do?” I asked.

“
I screamed my fool head off, is what I did. That’s when the little guy shoved the pantyhose in my mouth and the big guy duct taped me all to hell and shoved me into the closet. I could hear them trashing the place, going through every room. Finally they just left. And left me in closet! I’ve been waiting in there for someone to find me ever since.”

I sat back in my seat, disappointment weighing my shoulders into a slump. “The drive really is gone then.” I wasn’t sure how that boded for Trace and Jaime Lee. On one hand, they had what they wanted. On the other, they still had Jamie Lee. What were the chances they were just going to let her go with no hard feelings?

Only, Carla cut those thoughts short, a sly smile spreading across her features. “Actually, it’s not.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“
They searched for it, but they didn’t find it.”

“
Where is it?” Trace asked. (translation: growled.)

We collectively leaned forward in our seats to get the answer.

“
In a locker.”

“
Where?” I asked.

“
Somewhere safe.”

“
I swear to God, I’m gonna pop you in the mouth…” Trace lifted off his seat.

“
You wouldn’t.”

He growled.

Carla squealed.

“
Okay, it’s at the bus station,” Carla confessed. “Just don’t hit me! My face is my livelihood.”

I rolled my eyes. Oh, brother.

“
Let’s go get it.” Trace stood up and grabbed Carla by the arm. Hard.

She winced, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

The five of us made for the door. I thought about locking it, but, honestly, the place was so trashed I had a feeling burglars would take one look and move on. It was a lost cause.

We traipsed out to the VW, only when we got there, I paused. To say it was going to be a tight fit was the understatement of the year. After two different attempts, we finally threw Trace and Carla in the back, Mrs. Rosenblatt again shoved into the front seat where half of her hung out the window frame. I ended up shoved half on Trace’s lap, half on the floor. Not that I totally minded. Then again, it was a little like asking a nine-year-old if he minded eating all of his Halloween candy before dinner.

The bus station turned out to be a stop on the outskirts of Vegas along the old route 66. While public transit was the green mode of choice, most people still loved their cars enough to prefer traveling through the desert in an air-conditioned SUV. Not to mention that a car trip along the fifteen from Vegas to L.A. took four hours. The bus took six. For most travelers, it was a no brainer.

So it was no surprise that the station was sparsely filled, a smattering of the elderly (too tired to drive long distances) and the twenty-something crowd (who preferred to drink and ride rather than abstain the whole way in a car) the only occupants.

Inside the floors were made of linoleum, the ticket desk a rusted metal thing near the door and two vending machines in the corners selling peanut-butter crackers and Coke the only concessions to the new decade. Two rows of plastic orange chairs, held together by a rusted metal bar, served as the waiting area.

Along the far wall sat a row of orange metal lockers, eerily reminiscent of the ones I’d used in junior high. Each held a lock, half of them with keys hanging out, and a pay slot for coins beside it.

We traipsed to the lockers, drawing stares from the station’s occupants. Though I could hardly blame them. A three-hundred pound psychic in a muumuu, a blonde with a pair of breasts so big they could be used as flotation devices, a movie-star cowboy, and a six-foot-tall drag queen didn’t exactly make for an inconspicuous group.

After some minor prompting (Trace promised to make Carla a ‘true’ woman if she didn’t comply.), Carla led us to locker number 315.

“
Where’s the key?” I asked.

Carla reached in to her shirt, extricating the tiny key from her bra. “I figured no one would look there.”

Not if they could help it.

She shoved the key into the slot and pulled the rusted, metal door open with a creak.

There, sitting all by its lonesome in the middle of the locker, was a small black flash drive.

I suddenly felt as though I’d found the holy grail, angels singing a chorus, a flooding light from heaven falling upon me.

“
That’s it?” Allie asked. I could tell she was hoping for something lined in gold and flashing a neon sign that read, “Caution: scandal within!”

Trace reached into the locker to grab it.

But Carla was quicker.

Her manicured fingers jumped in and snatched the drive right out from under him. Just as quickly it disappeared into her bra where the key had come from.

“
Not so fast, big boy,” Carla said, the sly smile reappearing. “This here drive is worth a cool hundred thou.”

Trace’s jaw clenched so tight I swear he could produce diamonds between his molars. “Give. Me. The. Drive.”

“
When I get my money.”

“
You really think you’re in a position to haggle?” I asked, putting a hand on my hip.

“
Yes, I am. I have the drive,” Carla said, shaking her tatas.

Only, there was at least one person among us who didn’t mind grabbing a man’s breasts. In fact, I was beginning to get the feeling that nothing would stand in the way of Allie getting her story. She shoved a hand down Carla’s shirt before the drag queen could do more than let out another “Eeep” in protest. A second later she emerged with the flash drive. And a rolled-up sweat sock, leaving Carla noticeably flatter on one side.

“
I got it!” Allie said, triumphantly holding it above her head.

Mrs. Rosenblatt immediately snatched it from her hands. “I’m getting a vibe!” she said. Her eyes rolled back in her head, doing a zombie impression as she clutched the drive tight both hands. “It holds… an embarrassing video. Involving a donkey. And a midget.”

I rolled my eyes.

“
Give it to me,” Trace said, prying the drive from Mrs. Rosenblatt’s hands.

“
No, it’s mine!” Carla shouted. She stomped one pump-clad heel down on Trace’s foot.

“
Sonofa-“ he yelled, catching himself just in time to keep from tainting his good guy image for the public group assembled in the station. Only his surprise gave Carla just the edge she needed to pry the drive from Trace’s hands. She took off at a dead run toward the back entrance to the station, toward the platform.

Without thinking, I took off after her, feeling Trace at my back, Allie and Mrs. Rosenblatt bringing up the rear.

“
A hundred thou, if you want the drive!” Carla shouted behind her as she pushed through the glass doors onto the loading platform, running the length of it.

If we’d made a funny group coming in, the five of us running down the platform at a full sprint must have been downright laughable. I, for one, would have been in hysterics, had the life of one kidnapped starlet not hung in the balance.

The platform was hardly what you’d call crowded, a group of frat boys wearing UCLA sweatshirts hovering near the end of the platform the only ones waiting on the next bus. Which, I noticed, I could hear rumbling in the distance.

“
Thief! Stop thief!” I heard Mrs. Rosenblatt calling from behind me.

The frat boys, clearly coming off a night-long bender of spending their monthly allowance looked up to see us approaching.

“
He’s trying to attack me!” Carla shouted, pointing behind her at Trace. “Help!”

“
Hey, buddy,” one of the frat boys with bloodshot eyes said, stepping between him and Carla. “What’s the problem here?”

Trace plowed through him like a linebacker making for the end zone.

“
Hey!” Frat Boy yelled, his drunk ass bouncing off the platform.

“
Hey!” his friends yelled. I saw one of them throw a rude hand gesture Trace’s way out of the corner of my eye. But I didn’t stop running.

I saw the bus coming closer, more people filtering out onto the platform from the waiting area, getting ready to jostle each other for window seats. The headlights of the bus were visible in the not too far distance.

And Carla was running out of platform.

Maybe it was her heels that slowed her down. Maybe it was the thickening crowd of people in her way. Or maybe she was just out of shape and cramping from having been taped up in the closet for an hour.

But I closed in on her. Three feet. Two. I closed the gap to just a few inches, so close I could almost reach out and touch her sequin clad back. I went for it, taking a flying leap forward. My feet left the ground, all one hundred and ten pounds of me slamming into Carla from behind.

“
Uhn.”

All the air went out of her in a whooshing sound as I body-slammed the drag queen.

It’s true that the bigger they are the harder they fall. And Carla was a big girl. She slammed onto the concrete platform knees first, skidding a full six inches forward, ripping her pantyhose in the process, before she slid to a halt. I held on for dear life, one arm wrapped around her neck, the other fisted in hair that I prayed it was not an easily detached wig.

Instinctively, she threw her hands out in front of her to break her fall. Which might have been a great way to save her livelihood-making face from smacking into the concrete and leaving nasty road rash on her cheeks.

But it was a horrible way to hold on to a hundred thousand dollar flash drive.

I watched as, as if in slow motion, the flash drive flew out of right hand, sliding across the platform, twisting end over end as it neared the edge, then disappeared into the road.

“
No!” Carla yelled.

“
No!” I screamed.

“
No!” Mrs. Rosenblatt and Allie shouted.

“
Oh, God, no!” I heard Trace yell behind me.

But it was useless.

The five of us watched in horror as the approaching bus made its way into the station, the wheels rolling over the asphalt, obliterating the drive beneath them with a slow grind as it came to a halt in front of the platform.

Chapter Nineteen

“
You clumsy sonofabitch!” Trace yelled, catching up to us. He hauled Carla up off the ground by the scruff of her neck again.

“
Eep!” Carla squirmed like a child.

“
Hey, that’s no way to talk to a lady!” Frat Boy shouted.

Geez, how drunk was he?

“
It’s not my fault!” Carla protested. “She tackled me!” She pointed an accusing finger at me.

Trace shook her so hard her teeth rattled. “You’re going to pay for this.”

“
Let go of the lady, man!” Frat Boy said, advancing on us. Behind him four of his pals formed a solid wall of drunk post-teens.

Trace eyed them, clearly calculating his odds. But, as much as I could tell he wanted to pummel Carla into a pulp, it wasn’t going to get the drive back. And he knew it.

Finally he let go, shoving Carla toward her group of would-be rescuers. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end as he stared at the spot where the drive had met its demise.

“
Shit,” he breathed.

“
Aw, geez, I’m sorry, kid,” Mrs. Rosenblatt said, huffing as she caught up to us. She put a motherly hand on Trace’s shoulder.

Since there was clearly nothing more we could do there, we left Carla in the care of the drunk frat boys. I couldn’t wait until they sobered up and realized just what kind of damsel in distress they had jumped to the aid of. I had a feeling this was one weekend where they would strictly be adhering to the “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” credo.

“
So, now what?” Allie asked as we crammed back into her VW.

“
Now we do what I do best,” Trace said. He had a faraway look in his eyes, his jaw set in a grim line.

“
What’s that?” Mrs. Rosenblatt asked.

“
Fake it.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“
These guys are expecting me to give them a flash drive tonight. So I will. I know what it looked like. We can duplicate it. As long as it looks the same, they won’t know that it isn’t the real deal until after we get Jamie Lee back.”

I had to admit, it was worth a try.

I pulled up my GPS, typing in “Wal-Mart” until the nearest one popped up on the screen. We followed the highlighted route to the super center, then trudged inside and surveyed the selection of flash drives. They had five different options, the plain, black, 2-gigabyte variety the closest looking to the one we’d lost. For $29.95, we had a reasonable decoy. I only hoped it worked.

For Jamie Lee’s sake.