Murder mystery | Crime fiction

She Cradled the Smoking Gun: Ch 1

Paul Kaye’s girlfriend clings to his arm during a Hollywood film premiere but he can’t shake his uneasiness. Why?

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Another film premiere. Or charity event. What did it matter?

Paul Kaye had attended many during his almost 40-year career in advertising. He strolled along the Red Carpet outside the Century City hotel with his date, a model who was half his age. Morgan beamed and tossed her long, brunette hair over her shoulders and pivoted smoothly while photographers called out to the couple.

Paul smiled yet couldn’t wait to get away from the cameras. The Red Carpet used to signify something special. Now, everyone and everything had a red carpet including dance recitals for kids and nonprofit fundraisers.

Cheap as hell.

“Here, Mr. Kaye,” chirped another photographer. He stopped and Morgan paused, stood straight, and pushed her breasts forward, although they were already filling her tight, sequined gown.

After a few more flashes, Paul kept his smile plastered and sauntered off the carpeting to the bar where neon palm trees glowed on either side. A stout man holding a martini glass sidled up to Paul and Morgan.

“Looking professional as always,” chimed Joel Burman, dressed in a suit with an unbuttoned jacket that couldn’t cover his round stomach.

“Oh, please,” sighed Paul. His always bright smile was fading and what once felt like round-the-clock fun and games was now tedious. Los Angeles.

The city had fed plenty of money to Paul with his outdoor advertising business. He had incorporated billboards into digital as the internet exploded in the early 2000s and included product placement in films. His connections multiplied his riches with the financing of successful film and online streaming ventures and by anyone’s measure, he was a success.

Paul looked around like he was searching for lost car keys while Joel Burman kept chattering.

“Michael the Adonis is here,” said Burman, smiling.

“Who the hell is that?” Paul was scanning the crowd.

“The pro wrestler body-builder guy. You know, he’s the hottest thing right now and is perfect for my idea I was telling you about, Ruckus in the House.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Reality shows.”

“Sorry, Elizabeth Taylor, but these sell much better than indie art films about a woman crying because no one goes into her wine-tasting shop.”

“The storyline is more than that, Joel, and you know it.”

“Your boyfriend here knows profitable ideas when he hears them, right Paul?”

Paul sighed. “You keep throwing numbers at me, but I don’t know.” Paul suddenly looked at his phone and sighed.

“Come on, Netflix says they’re interested. I’ll call the Adonis over. You can meet him. He’s a great guy. He’s got this outer wrestling schtick but he’s a real family man, you know. So we go into his house, follow him around. The kids act up, the wife is funny.”

Morgan spoke up. “Just like the Kardashians but without the glamour. Sounds like it’ll fall flat on its creative ass. It’s already been overdone, overused, and nobody cares anymore.”

“Speaking of ass, lady,” quipped Burman, “you not getting any more swimsuit modeling assignments? Is that why you’re wanting to be a serious actress?”

“Knock it off, Joel. Just shut up,” snapped Paul, putting his arm around Morgan. “I’ve told you to leave her alone.”

Burman rolled his eyes. “Sorry, sweetie.”

“Thanks for the sentiment.” Morgan glanced over the bar. “A Long Island Iced Tea sounds good.”

“Come on, Paul, just a few million gets the ball rolling and it’s our ticket to even greater profitability.”

Morgan laughed. “You mean it’s your ticket?”

A server came by carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. “Lobster roll?”

“Just because I turned you down last year for that commercial — ”

Paul Kaye had enough. “Both of you. Stop it.” He turned to the server. “What’s this?”

“Lobster roll, sir.” The man had reddish hair combed away from his eyes and was athletic-looking.

“If I invest in anything, it’s likely to be — ” He looked at Morgan. “We’ve talked about it.”

She pursed her lips like she was trying to keep something suppressed. “I know.”

“Paul, come on.” Burman sipped his drink, and motioned to the server, eyeing the tray. “Lobster roll, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How about that, Joel? This man is being nice and polite with you,” said Morgan.

Burman picked the lobster roll off the tray. “It’s his job.” He shifted one foot in front of the other and bit into the roll. “Look, Paul,” said Burman chewing, “you’ll be sorry if you don’t.”

“Did you just threaten him?” asked Morgan, sounding concerned.

“Quiet down, youngin’.”

The server started moving away.

“Hey, wait,” called Burman. “One more lobster roll. Damned good.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “I really need my drink now. A threat, hmm?”

Burman smacked his lips in disgust. “No, it’s no more of a threat than you saying — ” and Burman stopped.

The server finally walked away, exhaling like he was glad to be out of trouble.

Burman knew the promises of big money and the despair of no money in Hollywood. No sense in going off on a young woman who was trying damn hard to get her own career rolling along. Especially since she was Paul’s arm candy. Just shut your own mouth, thought Burman. He didn’t always like Paul’s relationship with her and had often wondered how and why they stayed together.

Morgan was beautiful, but she often seemed too beautiful like she was hiding behind makeup and figure-hugging gowns.

“It’s best if I move on for the evening,” said Burman, shuffling along, “I’ll go visit with the Adonis.”

Paul’s money would be so good, so important, thought Burman. He sincerely didn’t want Paul to regret missing out on a promising deal.

And he sincerely didn’t want himself missing out on Paul’s money financing the deal either. The finder’s fee alone would buy him a new BMW.

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