Dastardly Bastard(7)
The last simply read: good luck lil buddy ttyl!
“Motherfucker!” Donald roared.
Jeff had given him up. For whatever reason, Donald had been betrayed. He’d known Jeff for almost twenty years, even since Sunne died, and he’d thought the man a true friend. What the hell had happened over the course of less than twenty-four hours?
Donald called the cops to deal with the unhappy mob at his door. Then, he called Lars to find out what came next.
~ * ~
By the time the police arrived, the throng of angry villagers had dispersed. Donald supposed they had thought better of their actions. The Pointvilla Hotel might have had something to do with it, as well. It didn’t look good for a five-star hideaway to be harboring possibly dangerous fans, especially since someone on staff must have given away Donald’s room number. Donald would let his lawyers have a field day with that once everything died down.
Lars Stillstead was not happy. “I just can’t believe Jeff would do something like this.” Lars sighed into his end of the phone, so loud Donald thought he could feel the wind in his ear. “I think he sold the story to Newsweek.”
“What?” Donald almost screamed as he finished packing his suitcase. “You’re shitting me!”
“Afraid not, Don.” Lars always called him Don, and Donald hated it. “The only other emails I got, other than the one about eMurder placing numero uno on the best seller list, were from John Clarence over at Newsweek.”
“The Man with the Two First Names,” Donald scoffed. He hated John’s gossip column.
“That would be him.” Lars’s breathing sounded labored. “I’m going to need you to keep your head down, Don. At least until all this shit blows over. I’ll handle John Clarence and the rest of the press. They can’t go live with this bullshit until they get a confirmation from the source. But what I’m worried about is—”
“The Trash.”
“Yep.”
The Trash referred to the tabloids housewives frequented while waiting in grocery store checkout lines. Those women couldn’t care less about the spine of a story; they wanted the bleeding heart. True or not, the story would break in the tabloids first if Lars didn’t do his job.
“So I hide?” Donald asked.
“Exactly. Leave that hotel. Go find some place where no one will give you a second look.”
“Have you not noticed I’m a wee bit short, Lars? I get attention wherever I go.”
“Damn it, Don!” The outburst was unlike the agent, but Donald let it slide. “I’m trying here, pal. Really, I am. Just keep out of sight.”
Something occurred to Donald, something Candice had mentioned. “Waverly Chasm,” Donald whispered, not meaning to make the thought audible.
“What? You losing it on me, Don?”
“No. It’s just… something that was brought to my attention last night. I think it’s a tourist spot, or something. The deskman called this morning before everything went down and told me he had some stuff on it. I think I might go out there. Keep a low profile and all.”
“Sounds like a plan. Vacationing douchebags are less likely to make a stink over you. People don’t watch the news on vacation. I know I don’t.”
~ * ~
Robert-From-The-Front-Desk turned out to be a skinny white man with a cleft lip. The uppity garb he wore fit his surroundings, but not his wraith-like frame. He looked like the result of someone letting the air out of a bellhop.
“I’m so very sorry, sir, but I can assure you that none of our staff would ever break our privacy policy.”
“What about Candice? She seemed to know a little too much last night.”
They stood in the lobby. Donald had asked the man to step out from behind the counter; otherwise, he would have had to step back to the middle of the atrium to see Robert over the counter. Donald knew human beings well. He was a people-watcher at heart, like most authors. Writers couldn’t create real-life, flesh-and-blood characters people cared about and be a shut-in. It just didn’t work like that.
“We don’t have anyone named—”
“Bullshit, Bob.”
“My name is R—”
“I don’t care what your name is. Candice was here last night. She’s the one who mentioned this place.” Donald waved the brochures for Waverly Chasm.
“There was a note left for me to acquire those for you, sir, but not from anyone named Candice.”
“Then who?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know. There was no name on the note, only a brief sentence asking for the morning staff to procure them. Other than your room number, the note didn’t even have your name on it.”
“And you have no idea who left it? Not a clue? Really? Somehow, I don’t believe that, Bob.” Donald liked the defeated way the deskman looked, and felt a little taller, more powerful, because of it.
“I manage a staff of over one hundred people, sir. It could have been any one of them.” Robert straightened his tie, nodding to a group of customers as they entered the lobby area.
Donald fumed. People did that to him all the time. It was so easy to look over him, past him, as if he wasn’t even there. Donald snapped his fingers at Robert, whistling up at the man.