Strictly Small Time

By J. P. David

There are opportunities here, but when a petty thief and a low level con man stumble into them, they realize they are out of their league. Should they go up against a vicious gang and the gang's big score? Or work the opposite end of the spectrum by conning some of the Hollywood rich? Some people should stay Strictly Small Time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RudeJack Reads
• Release date: Sep 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466183858

J. P. David

Jay is a lifelong musician, from Los Angeles, now living in Northern California. This is his first novel.

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Strictly Small Time

by

J P David

Copyright 2011 by J P David

PUBLISHED BY:

J P David on Smashwords

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Part One Somewhere in the Middle

Chapter 1: Jack

Jack’s bad night started at the party when his wife threw her drink at the head of the agency, accused everyone of murder, and announced she was going to divorce him. Things got interesting after that.

The party. All the head honchos from the biggest literary agency in New York made the trip out to Los Angeles for one reason. Jack was making them a lot of money. And so, for recognition of their biggest selling author, and him not being in the mood to go east to celebrate, they were throwing a party in the back room of the trendiest restaurant/nightclub in town. ‘Trapz’ was in the middle of Hollywood, had an unlisted phone number, and was packed every night with ‘A’ list celebrities, movie producers, starlets, and high class call girls. Dress code for men was fame, or money, or both. Dress code for women was unspoken; under twenty-five, and a C cup or better was a guarantee to get you into the club. Every aspiring actor tried to get hired there as a waiter so they could slip their headshot into the menus.

The back room was filled with writers, agents, producers, and their respective spouses. When Jack and Danielle entered, the room got a bit quieter as every author there fought back a tinge of career jealousy. Everyone knew the agency’s superstar; there was no surprise when the news broke on another bidding war for the latest Jack Dash novel. There he was, confident, gray hair cut perfectly, he had the looks of one who was born to be on a book jacket. And like every successful man of the new century, a May-December marriage to an equally successful wife.

So when the men saw Danielle in person, there was a collective holding of breath and visual raping, while the woman looked at her with a mixture of envy, admiration, and moral superiority. Then the party started up again, and the conversations resumed. This time the subject being the lovely Mrs. Dash, the women finding everything wrong with her, the men nodding, but silently giving her the benefit of the doubt.

One trophy wife, now in her forties, turned to another trophy wife, also in her forties, said, Do I still have to worry about being replaced by that? as she nodded her chin towards Danielle.

The other one asked, How old were the wives we replaced?

Finally Rudy, the head of the agency, came up to Jack and Danielle to say hello. He and Jack had a quick conversation about the latest book, and the upcoming promotional tour. With business now out of the way, Jack began his party in earnest, leaving Danielle alone. Of course, the women wouldn’t talk to her, which would denote acceptance. And the men wouldn’t talk to her for fear of it being misconstrued by their wives. She sat alone the rest of the party, fending off the advances of the bartenders.

All the men writers got drunk quickly while their wives collectively rolled their eyes. All the women writers, except for a few, stayed relatively sober, while their husbands tried to keep up with the professional drinkers.

Since Jack was the most successful of them, he got drunkest of all, fastest of all.

An hour into the party, Danielle pulled Jack aside. I have a headache. We’re leaving.

No, really? I was just starting to relax. Jack was disappointed, tried to talk her into staying.

You stay, she said. I’m done with this. Without another word, she walked to the door, staring straight ahead.

Wait, he said. He shot the rest of his drink down, put the empty glass on a table and caught up to her. She walked, he staggered. All eyes turned and watched them go.

As they passed Rudy on the way out, she said to him, He needs help. I can’t manage him on my own anymore. Rudy cupped his hand to his ear, letting her know he couldn’t hear her over the din. She yelled at him. Do you understand you’re killing him?

A few people close by waited to see if there was going to be a scene. Rudy actually heard her the first time, this time he just shrugged, and nodded. But he wasn’t about to interfere in any way with the agency’s biggest moneymaker. It was a domestic issue, as far as he was concerned. She knew he was ignoring her. Then the drink in the face, the screaming at the guests, her telling Jack, ‘It’s over, I’m done with you’. Danielle walked out tearfully with Jack struggling to keep up.

Then the party resumed, and the rumor mill notched it up.

The valet took forever bringing the car. She drove, Jack passed out. When he woke up, they were almost at his house in Hollywood.

Don’t you want to go home? he asked.

I’m not driving to Santa Monica, I’m too tired. We’ll stay here tonight.

That was all for the conversation. He tried small talk, but she would only answer ‘yes’, or ‘no’, or not say anything at all. When she pulled into the driveway, she pushed the button on the remote, but the automatic garage door did not open.

I should get that fixed tomorrow, he said.

If you’re sober, she said. Danielle turned off the engine, got out and slammed the door. Jack watched her walk up the driveway. Nice dress, he thought. Nice hair. Nice body. She really looks good. She walked in the house and turned on lights, leaving the front door open behind her.

Jack leaned out the car window and yelled Philistine, in a halfhearted joke. But he knew she couldn’t hear him. He began rubbing his face. I’m a jackass, he said to himself. What was she thinking marrying me? She’s more than twenty years younger. He sat in the car.

I think we’re out of tequila. He patted the dashboard. I’ll walk, you stay here. He got out of the Mercedes, and then fell against it. He straightened up and walked to the corner as best he could.

No one else was in the all night market. It was after midnight. He placed a bottle of Gold Tequila on the checkout counter.

The cashier looked at Jack, looked at the bottle, back at Jack. Is this all, sir?

Jack stumbled against the counter. Huh, oh yeah, thanks.

Are you alright? Would you like me to call you a cab?

Jack felt a moment of embarrassment. He turned away from the cashier and looked to the checkout stand magazine covers. Heavy eye shadow and airbrushed cleavage stared back at him. He handed a hundred to the cashier, then picked up ‘Today’s Hollywood’ from the rack. Some actress he didn’t recognize was on the cover smoking a cigar. Under her photo, several small banners declaring ‘Top Young Producers to Watch’, ‘The Industry’s Youngest Insiders’, ‘Look Younger with the Best Plastic Surgeons Who Won’t Tell’, and ‘A Rare Interview with the Super Author, the Ultra Cool Jack Dash.’

Jack laughed aloud. I wonder what I said.

You didn’t say anything, said the cashier.

Did you read it?

Read what? I asked if you wanted a cab.

Jack put the magazine back and took his change.

No thanks. He clutched the bag and walked unsteadily out of the store.

Cool, quiet night. He turned the corner and started down his street. He stepped between some tall bushes, into the darkness and wrestled with the bottle. He took a long drink, lost his balance and fell. He bounced off a bush, and landed on the ground.

Dammit. This is a new suit, he said. He lay there for a moment looking up at the stars. Then a hand appeared in front of his face, offering help. He grasped it and a stranger helped him to his feet.

Jack brushed off the dirt from his pants and elbow. Thank you. I guess I tripped, he said, then noticed a second man behind the first man. Jack couldn’t make out their faces.

Can you help me? the first man asked. He was very soft spoken. My mom’s been in an accident, I need some cab fare to get to the hospital.

Oh. That’s too bad, said Jack.

So could you spare something? I don’t have enough for a cab. Its sixteen dollars to the hospital.

Jack took a deep breath. He capped the bottle and put it in his coat pocket. He squinted at the man but still couldn’t make him out. Jack’s night vision was weak, ever since his eye surgery last year.

Sorry, said Jack. I just spent my last few bucks in the market.

The second man started to get agitated. I don’t believe him. Hey, I don’t believe you.

The soft-spoken man turned and looked at his friend. Easy now, he told him. We’ll get to the hospital.

Well, I don’t want to wait, said the second man as he reached into his coat.

Jack tried to clear his mind, but it didn’t seem to want to budge from its altered state. Did he just see what he thought he saw? There. It wasn’t his imagination. That second guy was pointing a pistol at him. It looks like a toy, he thought. He began to sweat, even as the cold night air worked its way through his coat. Then the cell phone in his coat started ringing. Who could be calling this time of night?

I could use another drink, he said as he swayed. Better hold on to this tree. Bush. Whatever. It’s got branches. Definitely a bush. Definitely another drink.

The phone kept ringing.

The first man turned to his friend. Oh, great! What do you think you’re doing? Put it away. Where did you get that, anyway?

Now Jack was starting to become a little more alert, a little more afraid. He looked up at the closest streetlight and saw that it had burned out. Damn city. It was quite dark where they were standing, he could not see their faces. No one moved.

Jack said, Couldn’t we just find a bar somewhere and discuss this, instead of pointing guns? No answer. His cell phone kept ringing.

I have to take this call. Its really important.

Let your voicemail get it, said the first man.

Jack held onto the branch for balance. He felt the roughness of it. I could use another drink. I’ve never been robbed at gunpoint before.

Well, I’ve never robbed anyone at gunpoint before, said the first man.

I never have either, said the second man, as he gave a little laugh and waved the gun around. Well, I just thought I might try it. He looked at the gun in his hand like he didn’t know where it came from, then held it up and pointed it again. Cool, he muttered to himself. This sure moves things along.

Now that they had all spoken to one another, Jack relaxed. It almost felt like total strangers weren’t robbing him anymore. He knew their voices. He stopped being afraid, and stopped getting sober.

The moon came from behind a cloud and he could begin to make out details of the men. The first man’s hair was neatly trimmed, while the second man’s hair was long and unkempt underneath his Dodgers baseball cap. The first man was wearing a dark suit, loosened tie, and white tennis shoes. The second man was extremely skinny, over six feet tall, and wearing a Hawaiian shirt under a faded leather jacket.

Jack started feeling dizzy again, began wobbling a bit. He grabbed more branches with his other hand to steady himself, but it wasn’t helping. The tall guy coughed.

This is a bad end to a bad night, said Jack. He swayed. I thought if this ever happened to me, I would be really frightened. But I’m not. Am I going to die tonight? He looked at the bush next to him. It felt dry, like it needed water.

The man with the gun said, You might. Don’t push your luck.

Jack said, It wouldn’t be the worst thing. This is funny.

The man turned to the gunman. Will everyone please shut up? No one’s going to die tonight. He turned to Jack. What do you mean, funny? He shook his head. This isn’t funny. You might get hurt if you don’t listen, that’s not funny. Shit. Why didn’t you just give me some money when I asked for it? He was frustrated, starting to breathe heavily. We could have avoided this whole mess.

I knew you were lying, said Jack.

So I was lying. So what? Nobody’s ever lied to you before? Why do you have to be so confrontational? What is the big problem here? I ask for sixteen dollars. That’s hardly an amount to get hurt over, is it? Now we got this going on, this can get dangerous….Geez. He turned to his friend. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this, you know?

Jack got a better grip on the branch for support. Well I don’t have any money to give you, he said.

The thief threw up his hands, looked to his friend, and shook his head. He decided to try another approach. He smiled. Listen, I’m afraid my friend may be a little nervous. He thinks you’re lying. I don’t want you to get hurt, so do you mind if we make sure you don’t have any money? Would you give me your wallet, please?

You’re rather polite for a thief, said Jack.

The man stood up straight and straightened his tie. No reason we can’t be civil about this, he said. Apparently, we have a gun, he looked at his friend and sighed, and you have a wallet. So. What do you think? Your wallet?

The second man leaned into the first man and whispered, Relax. Its not quite loaded.

I heard that, said Jack. I heard him say the gun isn’t loaded. So you can both go to hell.

The first man held up his palm, giving Jack the ‘wait’ sign, then looked at his friend. He whispered, What exactly does ‘not quite’ mean? The second man just shrugged.

Great. It just gets better, said the first man as he put his face in his hands and rubbed furiously. He stopped, shook his head, and grabbed Jack by his lapels. Ok. We need to be reasonable. Don’t you agree? I’m trying to get all of us out of here in one piece and you don’t seem to be helping. For that matter, neither is he. But, ok. We’re here now. So let’s everyone just hold on for a minute. So, Mr. Drunky in the nice suit, pay attention. He relaxed his grip on the coat for a moment. Oh, this is nice. It feels expensive. You got some dirt on it. He began brushing the lapel. Geez, I wish I could afford… Anyway. In the first place, my friend might be bluffing. And, second, there’s two of us, and one of you. And third, you’re a lot older and a lot drunker than we are.

I’m fifty, that’s still young.

Fifty? He let go