Potshot

"Anything at all," I said.

She smiled and stared into my eyes.

"Yes," she said.

Chapter 5

I COMPARED THE list from Lou Buckman with the list from Bebe Taylor. Bebe's list started with a guy named Mark Ratliff. Mary Lou's list didn't name him. Since I assumed he was first on Bebe's list because he was the first one she thought of, he seemed a good choice to visit next.

Ratliff had his office in a corner building with a rounded false front that made it look like a nineteenth-century saloon. There was a glass window to the right of the entry door, in which hung a stained-glass sign that read Tumbleweed Productions. I went in. The reception area was lined with movie posters. The furniture was blond modern and looked very uncomfortable. At the reception desk was a ta

"May I help you?" she said.

I gave her my card. It was a nice, subdued card. Susan had persuaded me not to use one with the picture of me holding a knife in my teeth.

"I'd like to see Mark Ratliff, please."

Vicki studied my card for a moment.

"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Ratliff?" she said.

"I'm ashamed to say I don't."

I smiled at Vicki even more forcefully than I had at Bebe, though not the A smile. The A smile was too dangerous. Women sometimes began to loosen their clothing when I gave them the A smile.

"What was it concerning, Mr. Spenser?"

"Steve Buckman," I said.

"The man who was…?"

I nodded encouragingly.

"I'll see if Mr. Ratliff is free," she said, and went up a circular staircase in the back corner of the room and along a balcony and into an office.

While she was gone, I looked at the movie posters. All of them had Ratliff's name attached as producer. Some of them had stars I'd heard of. There was also an article clipped from Variety and framed, in which Ratliff was referred to as "cult film master Mark Ratliff," which, I think, meant that his films didn't make money. I was still looking at the posters and listening to the white noise of the air-conditioning when Vicki came back with good news.

"Mr. Ratliff will see you," she said as if she were a

"How nice," I said.

"Top of the stairs, turn right," she said.

She smiled at me as if we were co-conspirators. I smiled back. Pals. One of my best friends in Potshot. I went up the stairs.

Mark Ratliff was sitting behind a huge, handcarved, Mexican-looking desk. He had on a light blue satin sweatsuit. He wore small gold-rimmed glasses low on his nose. His hair was white blond and brighter than Bebe's. He was very dark, and the light coming in through the window behind him illuminated the contrast between his dark skin and his pale hair. He stood when I came in and looked at me over the glasses.

"Hi," he said. "Mark Ratliff."

The introduction was superfluous. I obviously knew who he was. But I didn't make a fuss about it. I said hello and sat down.

"So," he said. "Poor Stevie."

"You close to him?" I said.

"My best friend," Ratliff said.

"How about Mrs. Buckman?" I said.

"Oh sure, Lou and I were pals, too. But Stevie was the one."

"Any idea who might have wanted to kill him?"

"God, I wish I knew which one," he said.

"Which one of what?" I said.

"Of those bastards in the Dell. Everybody knows it was one of them."

"He had trouble with someone from the Dell?"

"Sure, haven't you even found that out yet?"

"I'm new in town," I said. "Tell me about it."

He looked at me for a moment.

"You're jerking my chain aren't you, Spense? You know more than you're letting on."

"I'd like to hear your version," I said.

"Compare stories, see if you can catch somebody lying," he said. "I know how that works."

I nodded.

"Well as I understand it, he got into a beef with a couple of guys from the Dell."

"Because?"

"I guess they wanted to extort some money from him. He had that little horseback tour business, you know?"

"And?"

"And Stevie was a tough kid. Played football. Been in the Marines. He told them to take a walk."

"And?"

"And they killed him. Show everybody what might happen if they didn't cooperate with the Dell."

"Do you cooperate?"

"Sure," he said. "Cost of doing business."

"You could move."

"I came out here to get away from the whole L.A. scene," he said. "Agents, managers, lawyers, phonies, backstabbing as a way of life? No thanks."

I thought there might be other options besides L.A., but it wasn't something I cared to argue about.

"You make films, you get used to paying off people," he said. "Happens everywhere."

"Un-huh."

"That's what I do," Ratliff said. "It's my passion. I make the films I want to make and I do it on my terms."

"If the deal is right," I said.

He gri

"Hey, Spense, nothing's perfect."

"Can you think of anyone other than the farmers in the Dell who might have had anything against Buckman?"

"Stevie, naw. He was a straight guy. Up front, you knew where he stood."

"People like that sometimes make enemies," I said.

"Steve was a good guy. Everybody liked him."

"Me too," I said. "How about his marriage."

"Man, it was beautiful," Ratliff said. "Soul mates, I'm telling you. It's a goddamned shame."

"So you know it was the Dell, but you don't know who in the Dell?"

"That's it exactly," Ratliff said.

"Anyone but Buckman ever stand up to them?"

"Not that I know about, and certainly not since they killed Stevie."

"The object lesson worked," I said.

"I'm afraid it did," Ratliff said. "You think you can crack this?"

"Sure," I said.

"Well, you know," Ratliff leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, "if you do it would make a hell of a story."

"You going to make me a star?" I said.

"I could make a hell of a film out of your story, you pull this off," he said. "You be interested in a small option against a big purchase? I'll be straight with you. It'd be only if you solve this."

"Who plays me?" I said. Ratliff smiled.

"It's a little early for casting, Spense."

"Yeah but it's crucial," I said.

"Well you could certainly consult on the casting. Probably give a credit. Separate card."

"I'll get back to you," I said.

"Think about it," Ratliff said. "I'm telling you."

Chapter 6

I TALKED TO five more people that day and learned a little less from each one. Everybody agreed that it was those bastards in the Dell. Everybody believed that Steve was a prince and Lou was a princess. I was sick of it.