True Detectives

Which explained the pink Juicy Couture sweats, no makeup, hair tied up with a scrunchy.

“Sorry, handsome. Sudden meeting with suits.”

“Back in business?” said Aaron.

Merry's headshake was long and mournful. “Just the opposite, they're trying to whittle down my buyout. You believe that? Three months of negotiations just to get to the current state of being reamed and now they want to start all over again.”

“Bastards,” said Aaron.

“What is it about the Industry that attracts sociopaths? I know why they're doing it. They figure I'll have to hire a lawyer, which will chew up most of the money, so I'll cave.” Jabbing a middle finger in the air, she said, “Think again, corporate assholes.”

The redheaded stick ambled over. “Everything okay, Ms. Ginzburg?”

“Everything sucks. Bring me the albacore on sprouts, medium rare, on a multigrain roll, no mayo, no mustard, no any other crap. But I do want a ramekin of blackened tempeh bits and some soy sauce on the side.”

The redhead pouted. “I'll have to get my pad.”

When she was gone, Merry said, “Like that's so hard to remember? We should've gone to Mickey D. So what's up-hold on, Ectomorpha's returning.”

Red said, “Okay.”

Merry repeated the order. “And throw in some avocado.”

When they were alone again, Aaron said, “Ax Dement.”

“Probably an utter shithole like his daddy.”

“Probably?”

“He's not even Z list, Aaron. He's a waiter so why would I care?”

Aaron said, “Which restaurant?”

Merry cracked up. “Not as in wa

“Big trust fund?”

“I don't know, dear, I'm theorizing. Daddy pulled in half a bill on that blind-faith abomination. Unless he hates his kids, why wouldn't he dribble a little into their grubby little waiter palms?” She looked over at the klatch of idle servers. “Hey ski

Puzzled stares. No one moved.

“Water? H-3-0? Oh, Jesus.” She got up, filled a glass from a pitcher.

Whispers among the cabal. When Red emerged from the kitchen, they said something to her and Red frowned and approached the table.

“Still or sparkling, Ms. Ginzburg?”

“Tap. And more hot water for Denzel Washington.”

The cabal began buzzing, as if plugged into a socket.

Red stared at Aaron. Aaron gri

Red's frown said she wasn't sure who to believe.

Merry said, “Hot? Wa-wa?”

When the fluids arrived, Aaron said, “What do you know about Dement Senior?”

“He's richer than God because of that holy-roller crapathon, but no one will work with him.”

“Because of the anti-Semitism?”

“You know, honey,” said Merry, “Hollywood wasn't started by the Irish. That said, if the upside was big enough, Dement could be Herma

“Uncommercial projects.”

“Wacky projects, from what I hear. As in a Druid musical. Or more pseudo-documentaries on sexy topics like colitis-I'm kidding about that, but the Druid thing could be true. Bottom line, if Dement had come up with anything marketable in the last three years, he'd be shooting right now.”

Merry's sandwich came, arranged sloppily on a plain beige plate. Redhead turned to leave. Merry barked: “More water.”

The girl whined something inaudible.

Aaron said, “H-3-O?”

“In-joke, dear. Heavy water, they use it in nuclear reactors. The implication being I'm going to blow this place up unless someone leases a working brain.”

“I'm impressed.”

“I was a chem major, premed at Duquesne, for about three days. Decided honest labor wasn't my thing. Everyone said I'd have a shot at national anchor. Now the suits are dumping me and I've got as many prospects as Lem Dement at Wilshire Temple.”

“Sorry,” said Aaron.

“Maybe I'll go back to Pittsburgh, live with real folk.”

“Don't, I'll miss you.”

“Sure you will.”

“Anything else you can tell me about the Dements?”

“Don't know the kids but I'll bet they're a nasty bunch. Just look at that movie. Violence for its own bloody sake couched in piety. Bad rolemodeling, too. Talk is Lem pounds on the little woman.”

“Really.”

“Can I prove it?” she said. “But she's got that look, you know? Long-suffering? And a friend of mine did some camera work on the Jesus flick swears the one time she showed up on the set, he saw bruises on her neck. He was thinking I could use that, but A, all they let me do was happy news and B, without something close to proof they'd never run it.”

“Domestic violence,” said Aaron. “Interesting.”

“I hate that term, sounds like the house is punching you. He's a wife-beater, Aaron.”

“She bore him seven kids.”

“Talk about insane.” She nibbled her sandwich.

Aaron said, “Mason Book.”

Merry stopped chewing. “Now, sir, you've piqued my interest.”

“Why?”

“Book's a screwed-up junkie but he's still got potential to relist himself with the As. All that charisma, and he can actually act. What's going on, Aaron? Some crazy thing between him and Dement's kid? Something hot I could use to springboard myself back into un-civilization?”

“Not yet, Mer.”

She put the sandwich down. “Aaron, this is a real bad time for me. I'm being treated like a thimbleful of spit, my retirement fund's not what it should be because I thought the good times would never end, and I haven't been laid in so long I might as well stitch up the honey pot. My parents would love me back in Pittsburgh so they can I-told-you-so forever. If you've got something big brewing, you have to cue me in.”

Aaron stirred his tea. “There's nothing to tell.”

“But there could be.”

“It's possible.”

She grabbed his sleeve. “Oh, Lord, give me a clue. You know I'm discreet.”

Aaron had tested Merry's ability to keep a secret three times by feeding her fake leaks. Twice she'd passed, one time she'd failed.

“There's really nothing, way too early. If something does develop, you'll be first. I swear.”

Her grip on his arm tightened. “First doesn't count, I need to be only. Promise me an exclusive. The one you gave me on that celebutard earned me brownie points for a month.”

“Deal,” said Aaron.

Her hand loosened, dropped off. She whispered, “Can't you at least give me a hint?”

“If you can find out more about any link between Book and Ax Dement-without arousing attention-I might end up with more than a hint.”

“Book and Dement,” she repeated, as if committing a phrase to memory. “We've got to be talking dope. Because Book's never met a drug he doesn't like and seeing as Dement's a waiter with nothing going on but spare time, he probably smokes, sniffs, shoots, whatever, just to keep from dying of boredom.”

Aaron said nothing.

Merry smiled. “Oh, Denzel,” she said, raising her voice, “you are nothing if not strong and silent.”

Over in the corner, the servers quaked with confusion.