| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted April 30, 2014 | Chapters: |
...14 15 -16- 17... 
|
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The media runs with the story. Seniors kid ready to begin.
A chapter in the book The Bard of Bel Air
Lawyers, Headlines, Ungrateful Kids!
by michaelcahill
| Background Blackwell, a billionaire music mogul is missing. A homeless man knows more than people think. |
Previously, Lucy heard from Tenaya the news that Tenaya had been suspended. Lucy decided to push issue with Lincoln and ended up playing hardball with him after listening to him lie about everything. She didn't feel confident that they would be able to trust him. We continue the story now as Lucy reports the latest news to Tenaya and prepares to meet with a young witness that has been observing the Blackwell property from next door.
Lucy excused herself to the lady's room and called Tenaya. "Lincoln's as dumb as a butler that would settle for a twenty K bribe. He's got some intel, but he can't be trusted. We have a homicide right here in the house. The maid Isabel is buried in the new fireplace downstairs. Now, who do we report it to and who do we arrest? We can't do anything till we find Harpster and the Bard. Are we on the same page?"
Tenaya had cooled down considerably from their last conversation. "Agreed. I say we are on our own. They feel the heat and they fry those two and run. Braniac's made his installations?"
"Yep, in and out like a summer breeze. He also rigged the existing monitoring equipment to be run remotely if the need arises." Lucy smiled. Their man had no peer. She imagined that he could take a tin can and a string and call the White House.
"What about the kid in the treehouse next door?"
"That's a go. He isn't much of a rapper, but he needs to meet Braniac. I think they would have a great conversation that only they would understand. I meet him later. Shot a few hoops with him on the way to work this morning. I'm worried about the Bard. There is no telling what the hell he might say to piss someone off."
"Yep. Well, we just hope and wait. In the meantime, we find out as much as we can. For now, we are totally on our own and you don't even know me. We'll meet at The Ice House in Pasadena later tonight. The nine o'clock show, Steve Martin is booked for one night. Bring Braniac and the kid unless you think that would alert his parents."
"Naw. Typical wealthy Bel Air types, out of the country. We'll see you there."
Later that day she met the young man at Starbucks. Brandon or Bran D On, as he demanded to be called, lived next door to the Blackwell mansion. The Hargitay mansion had everything the Blackwell estate had. The slight prominence came in a vague memory that the name Hargitay triggered. Mickey Hargitay had been Jayne Mansfield's husband. They made a few movies and Mickey was shrewd and invested wisely. They made money in the movie industry.
His daughter, Mariska gained notoriety on Law and Order, SVU. But, she didn't live here. No one paid any attention to this part of the Hargitay family except people that needed money or wanted to make money. Bran D On had nothing better to do than play with his collection of electronic spy toys. Lucy was about to add a seventeen year old rapper to the team that she and Tenaya had put together. With the Bard of Bel Air, Braniac, and the formidable Lucy, the team looked a little bit like a Marvel Comics action hero group.
~~~~~~~
"Dammit, Q. You assured me that this was all a formality. Now what? Can't you do some lawyering? Are you telling me that there might be something legitimate to these claims? You've got to be kidding me. I had to leave out the back door. I'm not my father. I don't need a spotlight to validate me. I need all of this crap to go away. I've got a business to run. What am I paying you for?"
"First of all. You aren't paying me, the estate is. In other words, Johnathon Blackwell Senior is paying me or has seen to it that I get paid. It isn't my fault your dad had some dalliances here and there. Be glad there are only three. I have the feeling we aren't done with them though. One of them is totally legitimate. Another might be."
"Make them go away. I'll be damned if I get cheated out of my birthright by some one-night stand dear old dad had on the side. Throw a little cash at them. But, not too much."
"Speaking of cash, this estate is in a living trust. I understand that you have operating costs and a household to run, but I hope you are accounting for your expenditures. Harpster's books aren't looking on the up and up lately. My loyalty is to him"
"Look, lawyer. I get it. You and dad were buddies. Dad is in deep freeze and won't be back for a while. You work for me now. So, work for me. I can find plenty of lawyers that would love a billion dollar account to handle. Just handle it. Get rid of these clowns!" Junior stormed off convinced that he had made his point.
Q watched him leave. If you think I work for you, punk, you're in a bigger dream world than I thought you were in. I know you're bleeding his accounts and holdings dry. I just don't know what you're doing with the money. But, I'll find out.
~~~~~
Junior's desire for a low profile fell victim to sensationalism. Money does that to people. We seem drawn to obscene amounts of money and what people will do to get their hands on it. The press, both legitimate and otherwise, (is there a distinction?) had a re-awakening as muck raking journalism at its finest. The headlines were in direct competition.
Are You Harpster's Kid? Odds Are Good!
The article concerned itself with over 124 separate claims against the Blackwell estate. One gentleman, born in 1924, claimed that his mother had been transported to the future, impregnated by Blackwell, and then returned to the past to invent modern jazz. He said that he became a plumber as his mother lost all of her teeth and could no longer play the trombone. There were other claims that were outlandish.
200 GALLONS OF BLACKWELL SPERM!
The article estimated how many 32 oz. soda bottles it would take to store that quantity of Blackwell's sperm if such a quantity were available. Sadly, it only talked about the question and never answered it. The author claimed to be doing research, but was vague about a completion date.
BIEBER ADMITS IT! I AM HIS DAUGHTER!
Sonja Bieber of Cricketscreams, Wyoming caved in to pressure from her high school prom date in front of the entire student body. It had long been suspected that she was Blackwell's daughter ever since her drunken mother pointed at Blackwell's picture in a magazine and said, "Did him". It was also reported that Annabelle was producing milk again. The Dooley household could breathe a sigh of relief.
Many of the articles were without merit and not worth reporting, but of course they were. It wasn't long before Junior became prominent and his every move was followed and reported on. This did not put his partners' minds at ease not did it make his covert activities easy to carry out. It didn't sit well with Junior, But, Winston found it to his liking. In his mind, Junior could run the circus and draw all of the attention to that while he and his cohorts could slither in the dark and take care of their shady dealings un encumbered.
Winston Blackwell was hard to figure. A one-time war hero and patriot, he had turned, seemingly on a dime, into a money hungry mercenary of the worst kind. There didn't appear to be a moral bone left in his body. He once epitomized integrity and honor. They don't give the Congressional Medal of Honor out on a whim. There is documentation and independent verification.
There are those that play devil's advocate and intentionally try to undermine the process to make sure that the merits of the recipient are beyond reproach. Winston had saved six men single handedly, when any sane man would have run for his life. No one would have criticized him for doing so. Six badly wounded and immobile men, unable to defend themselves, or even walk, already abandoned by medics and two guards, were defended by Winston alone.
Winston had come across them while in an ordered retreat. As his unit poured by him running to safety, he stayed there with his M-16 and guarded these six wounded soldiers, five men and one woman. A portrait of him standing guard while enemy troops advanced from over the dunes hung in the National Gallery, commissioned by then President George W. Bush.
A last minute air strike saved him and the six wounded soldiers. Five of them survived. Witnesses said that he never looked back for help and he never showed signs of abandoning his post even with dozens of enemy troops advancing on his position.
This same man, now, had his own Father held hostage in a dungeon, and was in negotiations with foreign entities for the sale of, not only weaponry, but, also, national secrets that would compromise security for forces in several parts of the world. He was on the verge of becoming a traitor on the scale of a Benedict Arnold. He decided to interrogate his father himself.
Tenaya had cooled down considerably from their last conversation. "Agreed. I say we are on our own. They feel the heat and they fry those two and run. Braniac's made his installations?"
"Yep, in and out like a summer breeze. He also rigged the existing monitoring equipment to be run remotely if the need arises." Lucy smiled. Their man had no peer. She imagined that he could take a tin can and a string and call the White House.
"What about the kid in the treehouse next door?"
"That's a go. He isn't much of a rapper, but he needs to meet Braniac. I think they would have a great conversation that only they would understand. I meet him later. Shot a few hoops with him on the way to work this morning. I'm worried about the Bard. There is no telling what the hell he might say to piss someone off."
"Yep. Well, we just hope and wait. In the meantime, we find out as much as we can. For now, we are totally on our own and you don't even know me. We'll meet at The Ice House in Pasadena later tonight. The nine o'clock show, Steve Martin is booked for one night. Bring Braniac and the kid unless you think that would alert his parents."
"Naw. Typical wealthy Bel Air types, out of the country. We'll see you there."
Later that day she met the young man at Starbucks. Brandon or Bran D On, as he demanded to be called, lived next door to the Blackwell mansion. The Hargitay mansion had everything the Blackwell estate had. The slight prominence came in a vague memory that the name Hargitay triggered. Mickey Hargitay had been Jayne Mansfield's husband. They made a few movies and Mickey was shrewd and invested wisely. They made money in the movie industry.
His daughter, Mariska gained notoriety on Law and Order, SVU. But, she didn't live here. No one paid any attention to this part of the Hargitay family except people that needed money or wanted to make money. Bran D On had nothing better to do than play with his collection of electronic spy toys. Lucy was about to add a seventeen year old rapper to the team that she and Tenaya had put together. With the Bard of Bel Air, Braniac, and the formidable Lucy, the team looked a little bit like a Marvel Comics action hero group.
~~~~~~~
"Dammit, Q. You assured me that this was all a formality. Now what? Can't you do some lawyering? Are you telling me that there might be something legitimate to these claims? You've got to be kidding me. I had to leave out the back door. I'm not my father. I don't need a spotlight to validate me. I need all of this crap to go away. I've got a business to run. What am I paying you for?"
"First of all. You aren't paying me, the estate is. In other words, Johnathon Blackwell Senior is paying me or has seen to it that I get paid. It isn't my fault your dad had some dalliances here and there. Be glad there are only three. I have the feeling we aren't done with them though. One of them is totally legitimate. Another might be."
"Make them go away. I'll be damned if I get cheated out of my birthright by some one-night stand dear old dad had on the side. Throw a little cash at them. But, not too much."
"Speaking of cash, this estate is in a living trust. I understand that you have operating costs and a household to run, but I hope you are accounting for your expenditures. Harpster's books aren't looking on the up and up lately. My loyalty is to him"
"Look, lawyer. I get it. You and dad were buddies. Dad is in deep freeze and won't be back for a while. You work for me now. So, work for me. I can find plenty of lawyers that would love a billion dollar account to handle. Just handle it. Get rid of these clowns!" Junior stormed off convinced that he had made his point.
Q watched him leave. If you think I work for you, punk, you're in a bigger dream world than I thought you were in. I know you're bleeding his accounts and holdings dry. I just don't know what you're doing with the money. But, I'll find out.
~~~~~
Junior's desire for a low profile fell victim to sensationalism. Money does that to people. We seem drawn to obscene amounts of money and what people will do to get their hands on it. The press, both legitimate and otherwise, (is there a distinction?) had a re-awakening as muck raking journalism at its finest. The headlines were in direct competition.
Are You Harpster's Kid? Odds Are Good!
The article concerned itself with over 124 separate claims against the Blackwell estate. One gentleman, born in 1924, claimed that his mother had been transported to the future, impregnated by Blackwell, and then returned to the past to invent modern jazz. He said that he became a plumber as his mother lost all of her teeth and could no longer play the trombone. There were other claims that were outlandish.
200 GALLONS OF BLACKWELL SPERM!
The article estimated how many 32 oz. soda bottles it would take to store that quantity of Blackwell's sperm if such a quantity were available. Sadly, it only talked about the question and never answered it. The author claimed to be doing research, but was vague about a completion date.
BIEBER ADMITS IT! I AM HIS DAUGHTER!
Sonja Bieber of Cricketscreams, Wyoming caved in to pressure from her high school prom date in front of the entire student body. It had long been suspected that she was Blackwell's daughter ever since her drunken mother pointed at Blackwell's picture in a magazine and said, "Did him". It was also reported that Annabelle was producing milk again. The Dooley household could breathe a sigh of relief.
Many of the articles were without merit and not worth reporting, but of course they were. It wasn't long before Junior became prominent and his every move was followed and reported on. This did not put his partners' minds at ease not did it make his covert activities easy to carry out. It didn't sit well with Junior, But, Winston found it to his liking. In his mind, Junior could run the circus and draw all of the attention to that while he and his cohorts could slither in the dark and take care of their shady dealings un encumbered.
Winston Blackwell was hard to figure. A one-time war hero and patriot, he had turned, seemingly on a dime, into a money hungry mercenary of the worst kind. There didn't appear to be a moral bone left in his body. He once epitomized integrity and honor. They don't give the Congressional Medal of Honor out on a whim. There is documentation and independent verification.
There are those that play devil's advocate and intentionally try to undermine the process to make sure that the merits of the recipient are beyond reproach. Winston had saved six men single handedly, when any sane man would have run for his life. No one would have criticized him for doing so. Six badly wounded and immobile men, unable to defend themselves, or even walk, already abandoned by medics and two guards, were defended by Winston alone.
Winston had come across them while in an ordered retreat. As his unit poured by him running to safety, he stayed there with his M-16 and guarded these six wounded soldiers, five men and one woman. A portrait of him standing guard while enemy troops advanced from over the dunes hung in the National Gallery, commissioned by then President George W. Bush.
A last minute air strike saved him and the six wounded soldiers. Five of them survived. Witnesses said that he never looked back for help and he never showed signs of abandoning his post even with dozens of enemy troops advancing on his position.
This same man, now, had his own Father held hostage in a dungeon, and was in negotiations with foreign entities for the sale of, not only weaponry, but, also, national secrets that would compromise security for forces in several parts of the world. He was on the verge of becoming a traitor on the scale of a Benedict Arnold. He decided to interrogate his father himself.
Still more without the Bard. But, he is coming up soon. Suggestions and input? Always most welcome. mikey
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