Chapter 42.5: New Testament (Patreon)

Chapter 42.5: New Testament

Bas’ Koreatown Apartment, LA. December 2008.

“I’m so lonely~” The flush sloshed as I got off my knees.

“I’m mister lonely~” Flicking on the faucet I cupped my hands, took a big sip, and swirled the water inside my mouth to get rid of the taste of bile.

“I have nobody~” Even as I exited the loo on listless feet, I left the exhaust fan running. Matches only worked on methane.

“For my own. OoOOOOooH~” Phew! Feels good to get that outta my system. Plus the stomach acid has already burnt my throat raw, so ripping my larynx to shreds barely struck a (vocal) chord. 

Ding dong. There’s somebody at the door. “Pepto Bismol, is that you?”

“Police. Open up!” Apparently not. Keeping the chain link slotted, I unlocked my front door to peer outside. Instead of the pink salvation I was hoping for, I was instead greeted by the boys in blue.

“If I’d had the temerity to order strippers, I’m certain they would’ve been bustier than either of you.” Had this been a car they’d pulled me over in, I’d be blowing into a breathalyser right about now.

“We’ve been getting reports of a noise complaint coming from this unit. According to witnesses, it sounds like a howler monkey during mating season.” Nosy bloody neighbours. Can’t a man enjoy some despondent karaoke in the comfort of his own home?

“I hope we don’t need to tell you, sir, that unless you have a permit, you’re not allowed to own exotic pets in the state of California.”

My Steve Irwin influenced conservationist heart would never allow me that cruel opulence. “Don’t worry officers, I’m very much aware this isn’t Florida.” Discarding my impression of Jack Nicholson from The Shining, I unsqueezed my head and torso from the frame and the door, unlinked the chain, and held it ajar for the fuzz to get a better look into my flat. 

Not an animal to be found, just a surprisingly sparse dwelling. 

About the only items that seemed in use were my television, the connected Xbox 360, the sofa and coffee table combo in front of it that suspiciously sported just a controller, a box of wet wipes, and a canister of lavender scented cream. 

There were neither howling monkeys nor strangling cats. Merely choking chickens.

Wall to wall cardboard boxes with the ubiquitous marker written labels identifying the contents of the taped, fully packed, half done, and to be touched parcels. 

Aside from my favourite cocoa set, I had no plans on transporting any crockery. The kitchen was still stocked with appliances and utensils. Except for a few bottles of ginger beer, a banana on the verge of being cake worthy, and a grease stained bag of fast food, the fridge was largely empty.

The living room was just as barren. What little furniture hadn’t been sold off, was covered under draped sheets. Now that my lease was up and I’d decided not to renew, they’d be free to tack on the sofas and carpets as part of the listing price to get an inflated rental rate for the next tenant. 

“Just moving in?” Policeman Mike asked politely.

“Moving out, actually. Back to the motherland for another year, at least. Doesn’t quite make sense to pay upkeep.” No doubt the landlord would also mention that I was here last. Good to know that fresh off of profiting from a housing crisis, I’d be inadvertently contributing to the start of another. 

Officer number two was far less gregarious. His crossed arms successfully blocked the name on his shirt. His eyes were shifty as they perused my domicile. Perhaps the LAPD was facing budgetary issues - there wasn’t any other conclusion I could draw as I watched him steal the job of a K9 unit the way he aggressively sniffed the surrounding air. “Smells skunky in here.” Policeman Magic, accused. Magic because of my initial misconception - and also appropriate because he was completely pulling this out of his ass. 

“Yes, I agree. Something stinks, alright.” Time to make my one phone call here and now rather than from jail.

–

“Should you wish to return - with a warrant this time - we will, of course, cooperate.” Anita sent off the double act of Magic and Mike.

“You may also inform the complainants that I’ll keep the singing to a minimum.” And I pulled the curtain on any encore performance. 

She twisted the lock and my ear in one refined and practised motion. “I just got you out of a mess. Is it that hard from waiting five minutes before sticking yourself knee-deep in doo-doo?”

“Officers! Come back! Domestic abuse!”

“Shut up! And sit down.” My dear agent deposited me back in my masturbatorium. If she noticed my man cave’s intended purpose, she said very little about my fascination with fiddling with joysticks. “You’re a mess! This place is a sty!” Whipping herself into a frenzy, Anita swam around the assorted boxes and opened the fridge to grab herself something to calm down. “Honestly, I don’t even blame the cops for being suspicious. This place reeks, and - ah!” She reached in and pulled out the brown bag of McDonald’s. “Mystery solved on that front, at least.”

“Para-pa-paaa! I vomited~” short, sweet, to the point, and sung in a catchy jingle. Although, it seems I already broke my promise to the rozzers. 

“Damn it, Bas!” As she tossed the leftovers in the bin, I have to admit that there was a not insignificant part of me that wanted to finish my happy meal. Despite the state it put me in. “Look, Bas. A major portion of my life revolves around you. My job is to get you into movies, make sure you work well, make you look good in the press, and stuff your pockets with enough cash that you never even think about leaving me. But, as you end up doing with almost everyone in your life, you’ve made me fall in love with you. So that means I treat you like the annoying little brother I ate in-utero and come running every time you so much as sneeze! I’m all for going above and beyond - you deserve it - and frankly, I’m too fucking good at my job to do otherwise.” Set of lungs on her, eh? All that in one breath - and I thought I had enough breath control to hold a note. “I get that you’re still sore about Cadbury. I miss her, too. However, I think it’s high time we get you a new manager. Because unless we do, something is going to slip through the cracks. I’d very much not like it to be either of our flourishing careers.”

Haaah… the sigh came out deep - just like I’d sunk into my recliner during one of Anita’s rare genuine tirades. “Fine, I hear you. Make the call.”

“Great! You rest for a few days, and after that, we’ll get you in a room with a few candidates. We’ve still got time before we fly back to the UK.”

“No.” 

“Wha-?” My hands were busy rubbing my tummy, so I raised my foot to get her to simmer down before she launched into another attack. I wasn’t flip-flopping or being stubborn.

“If they can’t handle me at my worst…” I took stock of the disarray my impromptu illness, and current circumstances, had forced me into. “Then they don’t deserve me at my best.” Social media users and tattoo artists would weep in equal measure if these words ever escaped my mouth in public. “Call Endeavor’s ‘talent management liaison’ now and tell ‘em to organise the interviews ASAP.”

Anita wasted no time getting on the phone. “This is Specter. I’ve gotten Bas’ go ahead. Don’t bother sending CVs without the people.”

–

Way back when, during the ordeal we went through until Cadbury popped into my life, I had the faint memory of a WB lackey in charge of recruiting. “Mrs Fine, for the time she spent with you, was a resounding success. It’s my duty to replicate that with your next personal assistant, manager, or whatever else you wanna label them as.” The years had clearly been good to him, because in the ages since I’d last met the fixer, he’d somehow exchanged his sweaty nervousness for some slimy, slick-backed charm, and a company of his own.

“You can skip the theatrics.” Too bad Anita preferred him meek. “What’s been your search criteria?”

“O-oh, uh, well… I kept it simple. I just looked for a history with big names. Similar to Mrs Fine, I sought candidates who’d signed so many NDAs that everything in their files was either under black lines or red tape. 

“Bodes well for discretion, then.” That was Anita, again. Even a few days on and I still felt like I’d chunder every time I opened my mouth.

“Yes! Only actual difference I ensured was that they ranged from their mid thirties to early fifties, so that they can stay on for longer than Mrs Fine could before retiring.”

“Okay. Who’s first?”

The fixer opened the door, and in walked a well-built man in his late thirties with a military aura that screamed ‘drill sergeant.’ Cadbury was stern, but with the way this guy was standing at attention, there was nothing at ease about him. “Jimmy Broderick, ma’am. As you can see from my extensive career, serving as security and counsel for various important outfits and entities. I can adapt to any situation and handle all sorts of missions.” I was probably one of the few people that appreciated his vague vernacular. Nonetheless, certain details still needed to be disclosed.

“That bulge in your pants probably has very little to do with me, and more to do with the gun you have tucked. So safety isn’t gonna be an issue around you. But I also need to know how your… custodial proficiencies are.”

“Exceptional. I can keep a clean bunk. I follow a strict meal prep regimen. Boiled veggies, lean meats, and rice. Nutritious and efficient. From my ocular pat-down, I can tell you’re not doing well, son. Give me a blender. I’m great at making protein shakes and hydration solutions. With my care, you’ll be back in peak condition in no time flat.” By the grace of my phenomenal acting talent, I kept the grimace off my face while he beamed with pride.

 Yeah… I’d rather dive back in the garbage for my half-eaten burger. The interview didn’t last much longer at that revelation. “We appreciate you coming in.” Anita shook his hand, then me. The dismissal was evident.

“Thank you for the opportunity.” Jimmy didn’t so much shake the fixer’s hand as crush it before walking out of my flat.

“...Maybe someone with a softer side next time?” Whatever you say. Go fix your hand first.

–

Maybe a tad too soft. “Please let me introduce you to Amanda Horowitz.” Seeing how hard Anita was clenching her jaws; this meeting was almost over as soon as it began. Easy on the armchair, Specter. My landlord will take it out of my deposit if you dig your manicure in any deeper.

She looked like someone stuffed a sultry 1950s jazz lounge singer into a very relaxed pantsuit. “My references speak for themselves.” God! She also had that raspy voice going for her. “I’m proud to say I’ve had more than just a hand in turning those boys into wonderful young men. Under me, young Mr Rhys will be no exception.”

“I’ll bet. If we hired you, Bas would join quite the fraternity. Any anecdotes you can share with us?” 

“Don’t expect me to kiss and tell! Perhaps letting me nurse Mr Rhys back to health may provide ample insight…”

Might’ve been the nausea hitting me hard, or the suffocating embrace of her smoky perfume; either way, I was tongue-tied. No, I assure you; it had nothing to do with her areola making a cameo from under the lace of her plunging camisole top.

Oh, nevermind. I wasn’t fooling anyone, and neither was her blazer. She was a pro, alright. 

To this day, I still wasn’t sure if Cadbury was having a (limited) laugh, or was dead serious, when she suggested we hire someone on to deal with certain bits of me. Wink wink nudge nudge. But Anita wasn’t about to let me find out, even if I’d wanted to. 

My agent bid her a swift goodbye. “We’ll be in touch.” 

Highly, highly doubted we would; in any sense of the word. I looked at Anita without an ounce of belief and spoke. “Don’t get either of our hopes up.”

–

“Do you mind if I look around?” Our newest qualifier had no qualms about meandering through the city of cartons strewn about and entering my kitchen.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Someone may as well be - my tummy still wasn’t doing me any favours. 

Taking advantage of the applicant’s location, Anita turned up the heat. “So, Ms Alexie-”

“Please; I prefer Federica. It is important to grow familiarity early, no?”

“Ms Alexie, it says here that you’ve spent the last twenty-odd years working for a single family based out of Italy.” Ah, that’s where her slight accent was from! She sounded exotic, but appeared far less so.

 Unlike the hulking mass that was Jimmy, Federica wasn’t too tall or too short, too fat or too skinny. She looked average in just about every visual metric. Compared to Amanda, the only curves I could attribute to Federica was the one dead centre on the bell curve. 

Frumpy wasn’t nice, but it was fair. Ever heard of the man in the grey suit? Well Federica Alexie was the woman in the boring blouse. Beige and brown, just like her skin and hair, respectively.

 I will say, though, that she had a striking pair of peepers. Two pinpricks of black sitting in the middle of a bright blue canvas. They felt cold - and not just because of the colour. She could smile with her teeth all she wanted. No expression reached the top half of her face.

Could’ve been Botox, though. We were in LA, after all.

“Indeed. Just the one family. But they were large in both name and number. Also, across many generations.” Once the conversation got well and truly started, Federica left the kitchen and joined us in the living room.

 “Exactly what did you do for these people?”

“Whatever they needed.” She placed an open bottle of ginger beer in front of me. “Drink it. My title unofficially was consigliera. I believe it translates as advisor in English.” 

“Sounds fancy, but I wager you spent about as much time cleaning noses as giving counsel.” I found my voice as the spicy beverage wound its way into my burbling guts and doused the turmoil by fighting fire with fire.

“This is true. At times, I gave advice, solved problems, protected the family, and helped run the house. And other times I worked as a simple secretary or maid. It was all-encompassing. But fulfilling. This is the same as you require of me, no?” The words she spoke and the way she tilted her head were cute. Yet I couldn’t hear a lot of emotion in her voice. Just the sirens blaring in the back of my mind. 

“You seem happy talking about them. Why did you leave their service?” Anita came in again, asking the tough questions.

“They say I am not needed anymore. So I decided I do not want them anymore. I wish to be somewhere where I am both.” She didn’t have to turn her eyes on me to get me to stare at them. I was having trouble looking away. “Shall I share what you need, Mr Rhys?”

“An adult?” Because I sure ain’t feel like one now.

“No. An accomplice.” 

“That, even I can agree on.” Hey! That’s no way about your most valuable client, Anita. “Bas has got bodies to hide - and will more than likely have more in the future.”

 “Then I will bury them.” 

Anita shot her a final narrowed eyed glare, which Federica returned with a piercing, wide-eyed gaze. She dug into her handbag and pulled out my manifesto. “This is the Bas Behavioural Bible. Read it. Learn it. And for the next month that you’re on probation, use it. Pending your success - as well as a signed non-disclosure - you’ll be flying to London with us soon.” The Specter seal of approval mattered the most; and I’d be lying if Federica hadn’t impressed me either. 

“Now that the fluff is out of the way, I think we need to move on to more serious matters.” I steepled my hands in front of my face. What I didn’t do was lean forward - my intestines weren’t yet ready for the added pressure. “I need to give you a nickname.” 

“How exciting!”

 Her name, the surrounding packages, and the speed with which she’d displayed her confidence immediately brought one poignant handle to mind. “How’s Fedex sound?”

“Like a lawsuit. Not to worry, though. Go ahead and call me that. No lawyers will make it to the courtroom.”