Shafted (11 page)

‘Commercial?’ Larry repeated, giving her a quizzical look.

‘Oh, sorry, did I forget to mention that?’ Terri gave him an
I’m so ditzy
smile. ‘Yeah, we’re planning a twenty-second ad to air at prime time for two weeks, running up to the actual day of filming, with a Freepost address for anyone who wants to apply to be a contestant. Bit of a shame for those who never hear back from us, I know, but at least it won’t have cost them anything.’

Wondering how they would get away with that, given that there
was
no show – not of the kind that they’d be advertising, anyway – Larry said, ‘Isn’t that entrapment, or whatever you call it?’

‘Not if you word it right,’ Terri told him. ‘And our legal guys are the best, so I don’t anticipate any problems. No one will be out of pocket, and we won’t be promising replies, so the ones who don’t hear back will just assume they were unsuccessful, while the targets will believe that they
were
successful.’

‘And what if they never entered in the first place?’ Larry said, thinking he’d stumbled onto a pretty major flaw in her seemingly perfect plan.

‘Oh, you’d be surprised how gullible people can be,’ Terri said, reaching into her pocket for her mobile when it began to ring. ‘And the smarter they think they are, the easier they are to fool. Show them a golden ticket with their name on it, and they don’t tend to question how we got hold of them. Greed is a terrific tool of persuasion, in my experience.’

Glancing down at her phone, she sighed when she saw the name on the screen. ‘My mother,’ she said, switching it off. ‘I keep telling her not to call me on the cell because it’s so expensive, but she won’t wait till I get back to the hotel. And it’ll only be something trivial, like the kettle won’t boil, or the cat won’t come down from the tree, or something.’

‘Right,’ Larry murmured, sure that it had actually been a man, and that she’d ignored it because she hadn’t wanted Larry to hear her talking to him. Probably that dipstick Jon, checking up on her.

‘What was I talking about?’Terri said now. Then, clicking her fingers, ‘Oh, yeah, the commercial . . . Right, well, we’re planning on shooting later today – if that’s okay with you? We can reschedule if you’ve got something else to do, but I’d really appreciate it if you could fit us in. You’re the bait, after all, so we need to get your face out there as soon as possible.’

Assuring her that he had nothing to rush away for, Larry forgot all about the drink he’d been so desperate for when they’d left her office. He was ecstatic to hear that his face
would
be back on screen over here, after all – and at prime time, too, putting him right back where he belonged come Wednesday night: smack in the middle of Matty Kline’s inferior version of
Star Struck
. And what a kick in the bollocks
that
would be for the slimy bastard!

Thanking Larry for jumping in at such short notice, Terri spotted Inspector Keeton arriving just then. Waving to him, she linked her arm through Larry’s as she said, ‘Come and meet Bill. He’s adorable, and he’s got a great sense of humour. But I guess you need one in his line of work, don’t you? The cops we work with back home sure do. They call it morgue mirth, or something like that.’

Looking the inspector over as they approached him Larry thought that ‘adorable’ was the
last
tag he’d have ever given him, because Keeton had a face like a grumpy old bulldog’s. And he didn’t like the way the man was looking at him, with his eyes narrowed – like he was sizing him up for a prison cell.

Bill Keeton was indeed studying Larry. He’d seen him before, of course, but only on screen or in the papers, never in the flesh. Face to face now, he knew he’d made the right choice when he’d suggested him as host, because Larry Logan was a very handsome lad. And Keeton would bet his own untainted reputation that he wasn’t a kiddie-fiddler, either – and he’d met enough of
them
to know.

Extending a hand now when Terri introduced them, he said, ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Logan.’

‘Likewise,’ Larry said guardedly. ‘But please call me Larry.’

‘Will do,’ Keeton agreed, a small but seemingly genuine smile lifting one side of his thin lips as he added, ‘But only if you call me “sir”.’

Relieved that the glint of suspicion had left the inspector’s eyes, Larry was about to make a witty comeback when a loud crashing sound came from the stage area, followed by a string of expletives.

Frowning, Terri said,‘Sorry, guys, think I’d best go see what’s happened. Will you be all right by yourselves for a minute?’

Assuring her that they would be just fine, Keeton waited until she’d gone. Then he turned back to Larry and said, ‘Doing a grand job, isn’t she? I don’t think we’ll have much trouble convincing the jumpers they’ve hit the jackpot when they cop for this lot. Given you the low-down, has she?’

‘Er, yeah,’ Larry replied uncertainly. ‘Sorry, did you say jumpers?’

‘Bail jumpers,’ Keeton explained, folding his arms across his chest. ‘That’s the bulk of what we’re after with this, and I’ve a feeling we’ll net a fair few once the ad’s airing and the flyers are doing the rounds. Good to have you on board, by the way,’ he said now, giving Larry a sympathetic smile as he added, ‘Any luck, it might help to put all the troubles you had last year behind you, eh? Can’t have been easy holding your head up with all that nonsense going on.’

Touched that yet another person – and a police inspector at that – had expressed support for him after the living nightmare of being shunned and vilified for the best part of a year, Larry thanked him. Then, feeling awkward as they lapsed into silence, he stuck his hands deep into his trouser pockets and looked around as if he was suddenly really,
really
interested in the activity of the workmen. He’d never been good at small talk. Not with men, anyway – and definitely not when he was sober.

Rushing back just then, Terri said, ‘Sorry about that. Just a little hitch with some guy ropes, or something, but it’s fine now. Anyway, this is for you.’ She passed a two-sheet script to Larry.

‘And these are for you.’ She handed Keeton a thick wad of gold tickets. ‘Just back from the printers, so be careful they’re not still damp.’

‘Oh, they’re good,’ Keeton murmured approvingly, looking them over and handing one to Larry. ‘What do you think, son?’

‘They look great,’ Larry agreed. ‘I reckon
I
’d be fooled if one landed on my doormat.’

Chuckling softly, Keeton nudged him. ‘Me, too. Good job I’m in on it, or I’d have probably sent in for an application form.’

‘You’re not that stupid,’Terri purred, giving him a fond smile. Then, taking a sheet of paper from the stack she was holding, she said,‘Oh, and before I forget, look what just got faxed through.’

Taking it, Keeton gazed at the printed picture and whistled softly between his teeth. ‘Bloody hell, that’s nice.’

‘What is it?’ Larry peered over his shoulder.

‘Range Rover Sports, with full body-kit,’ Terri told him. ‘One of the guys who works at our head office in LA ordered it for his British wife, and he gave us permission to use it for the shoot before he ships it over. Trouble was, he ordered so many extras to be added to it that I was starting to think it was never going to be ready. But it’s done now, so that’s one less thing to worry about.’

‘Until it gets here,’ Keeton said, his tone serious now. ‘You’ll need armed guards to keep the ringers away when they hear you’ve got this on the premises. There’s firms in Manchester who specialise in stealing and exporting luxury vehicles, and they wouldn’t think twice about hitting an out-of-the-way location like this to get their hands on it.’

‘Good thing you and your men will be on hand to stop them, then.’ Terri smiled, seeming not to grasp the seriousness of what Keeton was saying. Then, letting him know that she was actually
fully
aware of the risks, she said, ‘Don’t panic, Bill, it’s not actually going to
be
here. I had a chat with our guys back home, and we figured we’d need so much extra insurance and security to keep it safe that it wasn’t worth the risk, so I’m having a couple of life-size picture boards made up instead.’

Still gazing at the picture – and seriously thinking about ordering one for himself when he’d built his savings back up – Larry asked what they were planning to do with it.

Telling him that it was a bogus bonus prize, Terri said, ‘We’re going to flash it up on screen at the end of your ad – kind of like an added incentive for the targets to accept our invitation.’ Glowing with excitement now, she hugged the papers she was holding to her chest. ‘This is going to be so
good
! Larry Logan, a gorgeous car, and the best crime-buster in Manchester. How can we possibly go wrong?’

‘Don’t say that,’ Keeton scolded her softly. ‘You know what they say about tempting fate.’

Amused that this upstanding figure of authority was driven by the same superstitious fears as most showbiz folk, Terri smiled again and promised not to even
think
it in future. Then, glancing at her watch, she said, ‘Wow, lunchtime already. I know you said you didn’t want any, Larry, but can I persuade you to change your mind and join us? I’m
starving
, and Bill is bound to be ravenous, because – between you and me – he’s a bit of a pig.’

‘That supposed to be funny?’ Keeton said dryly, frowning down at her.

Grinning guiltily, she said, ‘Sorry, Bill. Didn’t mean it like that.’

‘I’ll let you off this time,’ he said mock-sternly, winking at Larry as he added, ‘But don’t let it happen again, or I’ll have to arrest you.’

After lunch, which he’d barely been able to keep down because he was so nervous about getting in front of the cameras again, Larry holed himself up in his makeshift dressing room and tried to learn the script. It was mercifully short, being just commercial length, but he’d never been good at memorising lines so he just couldn’t seem to get it right. And the harder he tried, the worse it got.

After an hour in front of the mirror, grinning like an idiot, his once sexy wink cheesier than a chunk of Cheddar as he tried to deliver the words with conviction, he tossed the script aside in disgust and lit a cigarette. It was hopeless. He was
never
going to get it right and didn’t know why he’d thought he could, because it was quite obvious that he’d lost whatever he’d once had. He was utter shit, and it was no wonder nobody had wanted to give him another chance after
Star Struck
. And he had half a mind to go and tell Terri that she’d made a massive mistake.

But then he’d have to relinquish the money, and he absolutely couldn’t afford to do that. So, picking up the script, he tried again.

Still plagued by doubts when Terri brought the make-up artist in a little while later to get him ready for camera, Larry was shaking from head to toe by the time she led him out to the set. Standing on the X-spot with the entire crew facing him, he silently cursed whichever gods had put him in this terrible position, pleading with them to quit fucking with his head and whisk him out of here so that he could die in dignity, because he just knew he wasn’t going to remember a single word he was supposed to say.

Then, suddenly, the lights came up, and almost as if they had triggered a switch in his head, Larry felt a surge of Super-Host blood course through his veins. Eyes twinkling, feeling as if he’d come home after being lost at sea for a thousand years, he looked into the camera when he received the cue and delivered a word-perfect take – and that was an absolute miracle, given how long it had used to take him to get it right when he was still fronting
Star Struck
.

Commercial for
Gotcha!
in the can, and his photo taken for the flyers, there was nothing left for Larry to do but go home and wait for the big day to come around.

He was under strict orders from Terri to relax so that he would be on top form when he went back in front of the cameras for real. But he was far too excited for that, so he cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, then waded through the backlog of mail that he’d been ignoring – intent on clearing his debts while he had the upfront half of his fee sitting in his account. That done, he sat back and twiddled his thumbs, willing the time to hurry up and pass.

The advert was airing every evening – and it was brilliant, even if he
did
say so himself. And now that he’d had his first sweet taste of the limelight after so long out of it, he was itching to get back to work.

He just didn’t want to think about what he would do when it was all over.

6

Larry barely slept a wink the night before the big day. He tried, but it was impossible, and he tossed and turned all night, filled with a sickening mixture of terror and excitement. He knew he could have dropped off in minutes if he’d given in to temptation and downed enough Scotch to drown the voices of the gremlins in his head – who were trying to convince him that it was all going to go horribly wrong. But he’d done so well in cleaning himself up over the last few weeks that there was no way he wanted to risk sliding back down that slippery slope for the sake of a bit of sleep.

There would be plenty of time for that when it was all over and he was slung back onto the scrap heap – as the gremlins insisted he would be.

Climbing into the white stretch limo which Terri had sent for him in the morning, pale, exhausted, and in desperate need of an expert make-over, Larry closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool glass of the blacked-out window, praying that nothing would go wrong.

Keeton was standing outside the back door when the limo pulled into the studio parking lot fifteen minutes later. Dressed in slacks, open-necked shirt and buttoned-up cardi, with his thinning red hair combed neatly over his freckled pate, he looked more like a benevolent grandfather than a respected police inspector when he opened the door to let Larry out.

‘All set?’ he asked, giving Larry a pumping handshake.