CHAPTER THREE

BUSINESS AS (UN)USUAL

Blu was piloting the restored and enhanced 1968 Lincoln Continental limo down Sunset Boulevard. Pedro, in the rear with Muk, had to laugh. Earlier, Muk had told his driver the type of look he wanted for this job. He said, "Give it some Aaron Spelling." And she did. Her black leather pants were skintight, her flat-chested cleavage was now buxom and her short hair was long, blonde and curly. In that get-up, Blu deserved a nickname like Sugar Fox or Honey Bare. She was eye-candy. Pedro hit pitch-perfect as well. He looked like a cage fighter or a professional killer. In other words, the guy you want to have on your side.

Muk was talking to his attorney Tricky Vicki on the cell phone. "Got it. No prob. See you." He shut the phone closed and shouted out to his driver, "Blu, change of plans. We're going to the Freemani house not the business."

Pedro catted, "Maybe the big sister wants to see you too?"

Muk winked, "I betcha yer right."

Muk took a hit off the joint then offered it to Pedro. Pedro, as he has always done, declined with a shake of his head. Muk rolled down the window and tossed the roach.

Blu rolled the classic crimson black limo through the Freemani gates and up to the circular driveway. The gated family compound offered three mini-mansions, one for each of the two brothers and a slightly larger one for their older sister Cosima. Size held rank. That was the idea that their forward-thinking parents told Paul Williams in 1968, the architect who designed the family digs.

Before Muk could set a Cole Hahn loafer on to Freemani gravel, Cosima burst forth from her manse and was floating to the car.

"Muk, so good to see you," she gushed and wrapped around him like fog. Muk embraced her warmly. She wore the pants and the good taste in the family. Cosima was the one who had truly bought the sculpture. Her brothers voted as they were told.

Muk held Cosima's arm as they surveyed the sculpture site. It was the focal point of the compound in the hub of the wide circular driveway. Steel rods, uncut, sprang up from the concrete foundation like reeds.

Muk was kidding with her, "I dunno, Lady. I don't think its finished. It needs something, something to top it off..." She laughed because she would laugh at anything he said. Muk admitted, "It's gonna look great when we're done. It'll complete the compound." Her eyes never left him as his arm swept the estate.

Cosima looked away when she said, "That is why this Ali BeeDee business is so important."

Muk thought she was beautiful, but Cosima would never agree. Cosima Freemani was graced with distinctive features, much like the Spanish actress Rossy de Palma . A crude mind would call her ugly. Her beak was a honker. Her ears were elf-like. Her chin could poke out an eye. She was ugly in the absolute most beautiful way. Muk had never been so enthralled with another human creature. Cosima Freemani was a class act, a paragon for others to follow. He made a mental note to send her a certificate. Whenever Muk admired someone or something, he sent them an elegant parchment scroll, like a diploma, identifying them as a Paragon in their field. 

Just then, a Bentley sped up the driveway and screeched to a stop, kicking up gravel. An Audi R8 Spyder followed it. The Freemani Brothers had arrived. With welcome arms waving and directing, the gathering moved indoors. Muk's driver Sugar Fox-Honey Bare stayed behind.

Bobby, the youngest Freemani at thirty-one and the most troublesome, was a well-known pussyhound. He was fairly attractive, poolside athletic with sharp features, an opposite of his older brother Hugo, who got the brains and missed the good looks. Together, the brothers were the face of the family business that they had inherited. It was their sister, never seen because she thought herself too ugly, who had expanded it.

They moved inside to a dining room that overlooked the half-finished sculpture and the other two residences beyond. Seated around the antique table, the Freemanis met with an attentive Muk and earnest Pedro who had his leather notepad open and ready.

"It's twenty-one point seven million we're talking about," whined Hugo, "Dollars not euros. The insurances are like Swiss cheese and the set, the whole matching jewelry set, is on loan from Bulgari. We are fucked." After three heartbeats, he slammed his fist onto the table, "Fucked."

Cosima fell back into her seat. She was embarrassed at her brother's language. A maid began to serve everyone a double espresso with all of the condiments.

"That heroin loving little tramp didn't meet us after the Award ceremony to hand over the jewelry," said Hugo. His younger brother Bobby shifted in his seat. Bobby used to date Ali BeeDee the heroin-loving little tramp.

"The next day," Hugo continued, "Ali BeeDee walks into the store, barefoot, a rolled up supermarket bag under her arm..."

Cosima splurted-out, "Like a drug deal!"

Hugo continued, "She had the two small brooches and a bracelet wrapped in a brown paper bag. That's fine. We gave her a receipt. But where are the earrings and the necklace? I ask. She says she does-not-know. She says she'll return with them the next day. She didn't. It's been three weeks! We have to get those back. We are on the hook for twenty-one point seven million!"

Muk asked, "Did she have her publicist or manager with her when she came in with the jewelry?"

"No," said Bobby, "That skank has fallen too far to afford a manager."

Muk asked the player. "Didn't you go out with her?"

"Yeah. We were in the tabs. Free advertising."

"I think you dated her after Tino Limoni."

Bobby snapped, "I was before Timo. Before she even met that no-talent TV schmuck. Before Ali's third rehab. I was the first sex tape guy."

"Bobby..." cautioned Cosima. She was clearly upset with her crass and impolitic brother and he felt her heat.

A demitasse spoon hit the table and bounced loudly. The sharp report startled Bobby and he jumped with a squeal. It frightened the maid who dropped it. Embarrassed at his fey reaction, Bobby slammed his flat hand onto the table. The maid cringed. Bobby swore under his breath.

The maid was suffering a series of fears and Muk could see it in her face. She was horrified by her mistake, having always taken pride in her efficiency. In a flare of panic, she realized she could not afford to lose this job. The money wasn't horrible and most importantly the location was ideal for public transportation. The maid collected herself quickly, picked up the spoon and wiped the table. Muk felt a sudden glow of empathy and warmth for her. Their eyes connected for a long moment. The middle-aged maid in the starched uniform saw this affection in his big cow eyes. She was grateful for the touch.

 "Look at this," said Cosima. She set down a high fashion color photo of Ali BeeDee, a familiar American face that looked bright, happy and hopeful. It was an ad for the store. Ali BeeDee was wearing a huge pair of earrings. Two square cut emeralds were surrounded by diamonds. Around her neck, she wore a necklace, a chain link of the same green stones. "This is what you have to get back for us."

Muk said, "It looks very heavy on the money."

She nodded that it was.

Hugo confessed, "The Award show was a fast opportunity for us. Bobby was dating Ali and they were tabloid fireworks. The whole shebang. We had to move too quickly and the insurance may be sloppy. We need the earrings and necklace back. Simple as that."

"Simple as that," echoed Muk. "This kind of thing gets tricky. It'll take some time. I can do it for $7,000. Expenses won't add too much more." Pedro agreed.

Hugo disagreed, "Muk..." He let the intimacy linger and turn fetid, "We need the earrings and the necklace back. If not, we can't buy your sculpture. It's your choice."

Bobby smirked, "Besides, the Scarface World is Yours globe would fit great on top that pedestal outside..."

Muk agreed, "I bet it would... But my sculpture will be a testament to your good taste. Not Tony Montana's. The installation'll proceed as planned. We'll get that jewelry back for you. Just cover the expenses." He glanced at Hugo to confirm the action.

Hugo produced a pen and a folded set of papers that he opened and smoothed. "Here is a thousand bucks against whatever expenses you have and this will serve as a retainer for your services."

"It's official," said Muk, amused and curious at the formality for such a private affair. He scrawled his name along the bottom of the second page and placed a copy in his breast pocket. Hugo did the same with the original.

The maid, holding a large silver platter, hovered in the doorway.

As Muk stood, he winked at her slowly. Her shoulder's relaxed, a relief at finding a kindred spirit in this harsh and ugly world.

To all, Muk announced, "Kids, we gotta run. We gotta figure out a way to get an emerald necklace out of the hands of a rock and roller drug-addict. That's a lot of work to do in a short amount of time."

Pedro closed his notebook. He buttoned his sport coat, making sure that everyone saw the butt of a pistol that he pretended to be hiding.

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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

© Gordy Grundy, All Rights Reserved

www.Gordy Grundy.com

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