Trial Junkies (A Thriller) (5 page)

Ronnie said, "It's a thriller of some kind. Something to do with a woman trying to fight off a stalker."

They all turned, Matt asking the obvious question. "And you know this
how
?"

"From Jenny."

"
Jenny?
" Hutch said.

"I ran into her about a month ago. At a play at the Godwyn Theater. We got to talking about you, Hutch, and she mentioned that Andy had called her, wanted her to read a script he'd written, see if she'd be willing to pass it on to you."

Hutch's surprise deepened. "Why Jenny?"

"He thought she might still be in touch with you."

"Or he was just using you as an excuse to call her," Matt said. "Try to see where her head was at."

Hutch frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't know? Andy's had a thing for Jenny for as long as he's known her, but you kept getting in the way. And after you left, she got involved with that guy from Brooklyn—and they were together, what?"

"Over three years," Nadine said.

"Then she hooked up with that assistant D.A., and once
that
went south, Andy probably thought it was time to finally grow some balls and make his move."

Monica snorted. "As
if.
No offense, but I don't see him being Jenny material."

"I tried to tell him that," Matt said. "That she was way out his league. But you know Andy. He's always looking for some new way to humiliate himself."

This cracked everyone up, but Hutch couldn't bring himself to join in. Andy could be an overbearing snot, no doubt about it, but that was no reason to laugh at him behind his back.

Besides, there was no "league" when it came to Jenny. Yes, she was beautiful and smart and classy and successful, but she didn't have a superficial bone in her body. She'd be the last person in the world to discriminate against someone because of some intangible social or personal barrier. And in their attempt to make fun of Andy, they were disrespecting Jenny, as well.

But maybe Hutch was being overly sensitive about all this. He was just coming off of a nearly two-year stint as the butt of everyone's jokes. Two years full of knowing stares, quiet snickering and snide remarks. There was no doubt in his mind that some of the people here—and even Andy himself—had been part of it. But that didn't mean Hutch had to join in when someone else was the target.

He had inflicted enough cruelties in his life.

When they were done laughing, a harried-looking waitress finally approached their table. They all ordered the same drinks they had back in college: a pitcher of draft beer for Matt, Ronnie and Tom, a rum and Coke for Nadine, and a kamikaze for Monica.

The only one who deviated was Hutch.

As promised, he ordered a root beer.

When the waitress was gone, he said, "Okay, enough about Andy." He turned to Matt. "You're the man with all the police connections. What can you tell us about the investigation into Jenny's murder?"

Nadine groaned. "Oh, God, must we? I've done enough crying for one day. Can't we talk about the
good
times?"

"I just want to know how it's progressing."

Matt sobered. "It's not my story."

"Why not?" Monica asked. She had leaned back in her chair as if to accentuate her breasts, which every male in the group had long ago agreed were quite spectacular.

She had worked her way through college as a webcam stripper, baring those breasts on a private video website to anyone with enough cash to subscribe. She had never made any apologies for what she did, but to keep things civil, she'd asked her employers to block the IP addresses of the school and the house they all lived in, so that none of the guys could join in—much to their chagrin.

The last Hutch had heard, she had long retired, but was running her
own
web dynasty now, hiring other models to cater to the lost and lonely.

"Seems like a no brainer, to me," she said to Matt. "Jenny was a friend of yours."

"That's exactly the problem. There's conflict of interest to think about. So my editor assigned the story to another reporter."

Ronnie smiled. "You mean they still have ethics in the news business?"

"Just barely. Although you wouldn't know it if you turned on a TV."

"You might not be assigned to the story," Hutch said, "but I doubt that you're out of the loop. Do they have a suspect or not?"

Matt shrugged. "Our sources at CPD are playing this very close to the vest—which is unusual. And that leads me to believe the hammer has come down and come down hard. I figure they've got someone in the pipe for this, and they don't want any leaks."

"So what's the delay? Why haven't they arrested the bastard?"

"This isn't like your old TV show," Matt told him. "Murder investigations take time and expertise, and in a city this size, that could mean days, rather than hours. And if they
do
have somebody on the hook, they'll want to be sure they've got a solid case against him before they make an arrest."

"My money's still on some random maniac," Ronnie said. "He saw, he wanted, he took."

Nadine hugged herself as if the room had suddenly gone cold. "My God... If that's true, then it could've been anyone in that casket. One of
us
."

"It
was
one of us," Hutch said.

"You know what I mean."

Tom Brandt, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up. "I know you're all hoping for a tidy end to this saga, but if you look at the stats, the Chicago PD only clears about thirty-five percent of its homicide cases in a given year. So the prognosis is fairly bleak."

Tom had been something of a pretty boy in College, but was now a slightly rotund man with very little hair and pasty, indoor skin. He had always, however, been a pessimist, and Hutch refused to allow that pessimism to get to him.

"No," Hutch said. "That's unacceptable. They'll catch this son of a bitch, and the minute he goes on trial, I'll be sitting there in the front row."

"So will I," Ronnie said.

Several of the others nodded their heads solemnly as the waitress approached with a tray full of drinks and started passing them around.

Then glasses were raised and Nadine said, "To Mama J."

It was a nickname Hutch had forgotten about. Given to Jenny because of her striking resemblance to a young Michelle Phillips, one of the members of an old sixties rock group,
The Mamas & the Papas
—a favorite of Nadine's father.

"To Mama J," everyone repeated, then clinked their glasses and drank their drinks.

— 8 —

O
VER THE COURSE
of the next couple hours the drinks kept coming and the conversation flowed, moving on to other, less painful topics—memories, new careers, relationships, travel, sports—several of the conversations branching off as they often do.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Andy showed up carrying a thumb drive, trembling slightly as he handed it to Hutch, saying, "Just give it an honest read. That's all I ask."

Hutch had never seen him so vulnerable. Felt as if he may be catching a glimpse of the
real
Andy McKenna.

"You took your sweet time getting back here," Matt told him. "You might've missed your golden opportunity."

"I decided it needed a few tweaks. Couple clarifications in the second act. The killer's motive seemed a little murky, so I figured I'd—"

"No spoilers," Hutch said. He wanted to smile, but resisted. "I like to read a script fresh."

Andy nodded. "Totally get that, man. I feel the same way." But he stayed on his feet as if he expected Hutch to somehow pop the thumb drive into an invisible computer and start reading.

"Don't worry," Hutch said. "I'll check it out before I head back to L.A. and read the rest on the plane."

This seemed to satisfy Andy and he finally found a chair and sat down. "Thanks, man."

"No problem," Hutch told him, hoping like hell he could get past the first five pages. It wasn't likely, but he was willing to try.

As the conversations changed course again, Hutch switched chairs with Tom and finally got a chance to sit next to Ronnie. They chatted for a moment, then Hutch said, "You still smoke?"

"Not if I can help it."

"It's the one addiction I haven't been able to conquer. I'm down to two a day and I'm due. You mind stepping outside with me?"

"Be glad to," she said.

"Fair warning—I have a bit of a reputation. You might not want to be seen with me."

She smiled. "I'll take my chances. If anyone looks, I'll pretend I don't know you."

A moment later, they excused themselves and went outside. The sky had grown dark and the air felt crisp and clean—and there Hutch was, about to destroy it all with cigarette smoke. The booze and the drugs had been a cakewalk compared to nicotine, so he'd decided to wean himself. Slowly.

So far it seemed to be working. He only felt the craving a couple hundred times a day.

He dug a pack of Marlboros out of his shirt pocket, then lit up and took a deep drag, careful not to blow the smoke in Ronnie's direction.

"So Nadine tells me you're grooming pets these days."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, God, I'm so embarrassed."

"Why?"

"Because clipping dog hairs isn't exactly what I had in mind for a career path in college. I feel like such a failure."

"Don't," Hutch told her. "Failure has nothing to do with how you pay your rent, and things don't always go the way we planned. I'm a shining example of that."

She smiled wanly. "Thing is, I've never
had
any real plans. I went to pet grooming school on a lark, and I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up. Hell, I'm not even sure I
want
to grow up."

"Believe me, I know the feeling. Sometimes I think I never will.”

On this note, they both fell silent, Hutch wondering what he'd do with himself if he ever decided to leave L.A. for good. He had no real skills other than acting, and that one was questionable at best. Maybe Ronnie and he could shampoo dogs together.

After a moment, she said, "So how does it feel?"

"How does
what
feel?"

"Being back home after all these years?" She gestured to the bar. "Especially here. It's gotta be surreal."

"Trust me, I've seen surreal and this isn't it. Truth is, despite the circumstances, I feel more comfortable right now than I've felt in a long time."

"But you're the big Hollywood star..."

She was grinning when she said it, but he still gave her a look. "You're trying to hurt me, aren't you?"

"No, that
cigarette
will hurt you. I'm just giving you a hard time." She paused, then said, "What happened to you out there, Hutch? If you're so comfortable here, why did it take Jenny's death for any of us to see you again?"

It was a serious question, and he knew it. He just didn't have much of an answer for her. "I guess I'm a victim of my own success."

"Oh, please. Who do I look like—Oprah? Give me something I can work with, for chrissakes."

Hutch waggled the cigarette at her. "If you're gonna bust my balls, I may need to light up another one of these."

"Sorry," she said, "but I don't think you quite get how much we all missed you. You were always the one, Hutch. The one member of the group that everyone gravitated toward. We tried to carry on after you left, but it felt like the engine was missing. So everyone pretty much abandoned the vehicle."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"But it wasn't supposed to happen to
us,
you know? And I think it sucks that it takes one of us getting stabbed to..."

She left the words hanging, suddenly distracted, her gaze focusing on a spot behind him.

Hutch turned and saw two dark sedans and a police cruiser coming around the corner at a good clip, and to his surprise, they pulled to a stop in front The Monkey House. Doors flew open and several cops emerged, two plainclothes detectives moving purposefully toward the bar entrance.

They were about to reach the door when one of them swiveled his head in Hutch's direction, then grabbed his partner's sleeve to keep him from going inside, gesturing to where Hutch and Ronnie were standing.

Hutch assumed he had been recognized. He had played quite a few detectives over the years and it wasn't unusual for cops to stop and say hello.