SILENT (a psychological thriller, combining mystery, crime and suspense) Read online

  ‘Luigi!’ he pleaded, his hands spread out in appeal. ‘One more week, that’s all I ask. Look, I’m signing a contract tomorrow. The money’s as good as in the bag. One more week, eh? You know I’m good for it.’

  ‘You bring me what you owe in back rent and then I’ll let you have your rooms back.’

  ‘But I haven’t anywhere to go!’ said Mason.

  ‘That’s not my problem!’

  ‘I’m going to be a big star one day. I won’t forget the favour…’

  ‘You know how many times I’ve heard that?’ he said, shaking his head. He went inside and made a point of slamming the door so it rattled.

  Rick Mason sighed. It came from a deep pit of despair inside him. He lifted the lid of his trunk to check over the contents, then closed it and sat on it. He fumbled for cigarettes, lit one, pushed back his hat and thought over options. It didn’t take long; there were precious few on the table.

  ‘You look like I feel.’

  It was a woman’s voice. Mason looked up to see a tall, slim figure standing in front of him. Young, pretty, with large expressive eyes any camera would love to get on close-up. She wore an off-white, short-sleeved cotton dress, shapely legs dropping out of it ending in light-green shoes that didn’t sit well with the outfit. She had a small beaded clutch-bag grasped in both hands.

  ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘Had a bad day?’

  ‘Had better,’ he said. ‘You gloating?’

  ‘To gloat you’ve got to be in a better position than those who are the subject of your gloating, I would think. I’m afraid I don’t occupy such an elevated position.’

  ‘So that means what?’

  ‘I’m not gloating.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ said Mason. ‘What can I do for you, Miss…?’

  ‘Bellamy. Betsy Bellamy. Can you spare a cigarette?’

  Mason looked about him at the many people walking the street. ‘Out of all this choice you picked me to ask? What is it you really want?’

  She came over and sat on the trunk beside him. ‘A girl asks a fella in the street for a cigarette they get the wrong idea. I ask someone like you, who, the evidence would suggest, doesn’t have spare money to splash around on – what shall we call them? – costly pleasures, and all he’s going to think is I want a cigarette. That’s what I thought, but guess I thought wrong.’

  ‘So that’s all you want?’

  ‘You’re very suspicious. We share similar orbits, you and I, Mr Mason; we’re both spinning a little too far away from the Sun and feeling the cold.’

  ‘You know my name.’

  ‘Sure, I’ve seen you on the big screen a couple of times. Never thought to see you sitting outside on a big trunk. You looked like you had it made.’

  He tapped a cigarette out of the pack and held it out for her to take. She popped one in her mouth and he put a match to it. ‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ he said. ‘Let’s say Prima and me had contractual differences we couldn’t sort out. Let’s say I gave Prima the big elbow.’

  She laughed, puffed out smoke. ‘Sure you did. Same as I told them they could stuff their audition this morning. And the one before that.’

  ‘So you’re an actress,’ he said. ‘Hard to find someone who isn’t.’

  ‘I would be if I could land the right part. Till I do I’m a hotel chambermaid borrowing cigarettes because being a hotel chambermaid isn’t paying too good. I think I need to change my agent.’

  Mason nodded slowly. ‘I see. You suppose I might be able to help you out. I didn’t think it was just the cigarette you were after.’

  She laughed again and he found himself warming to the sound. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Mason. Have you looked at yourself recently? You’re obviously flat broke, kicked out of your apartment, your cigarettes are cheap, and all you own is this single trunk. A gravy train you most certainly are not.’ She rose to her feet, held the cigarette up between index finger and thumb. ‘This is all I wanted from you. It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Mr Mason, but I’ve got to go prepare for another audition for a part I probably won’t get because I refuse to lie on my back on the casting couch. Goodbye, and I hope your luck changes.’

  ‘Wait, Betsy,’ he said, rising from the trunk. ‘I didn’t mean to come over rude. Betsy Bellamy – is that your real name?’

  ‘It’s real,’ she replied.

  ‘You eaten recently?’

  She blinked, averted her gaze. ‘Not recently, no.’

  ‘You want to grab a bite to eat some place?’

  Betsy Bellamy took a long, thoughtful drag on the cigarette and the end flared. ‘I’m not that type of girl, Mr Mason. I told you that.’

  ‘And I’m not that kind of man,’ he countered. ‘A piece of pie, coffee, just two cold, lonely planets in the same orbit coming together for a little while, that’s all.’

  ‘You paying?’

  ‘Get it while you can,’ he said. ‘What little I’ve got won’t last long!’

  * * * *

  4

  Aim High, Sink Low

  ‘I’ve got another fifteen minutes and then I’ve got to be going,’ she said, pushing away her plate and grabbing the coffee cup. Betsy Bellamy had made short work of the blueberry pie. She noticed him staring at her from across the table. ‘Times have been tough for Davey and me,’ she explained, turning to look out of the plate-glass window of the diner.

  ‘Davey?’ he said. ‘Who’s Davey?’

  ‘He’s my brother.’

  Rick Mason felt relief wash through him. He’d hardly been able to take his eyes off her the whole time. Something about her had sunk its soft hooks into him and when he started to find the way she ate her pie mildly fascinating, he knew something was wrong. Or right, depending which way you looked at it.

  ‘Your brother’s here too?’

  ‘Yes. He’s a writer, or trying to be. He’d like to be a novelist but nobody’s interested so he’s trying his hand at writing screenplays.’ She smiled. ‘He’s my unofficial chaperone.’

  ‘You have a chaperone?’

  ‘Yeah, quaint, I know. He’s older than me by a few years and insisted he come out to Los Angeles with me, make sure I don’t fall in with the wrong sort, that kind of thing. I guess it’s been kinda good to have him around. Hollywood’s a lonely place.’

  Her eyes were blue, he thought. The blue you get in a swimming pool in bright sunshine, the kind you want to dive right on into. Her skin was flawless, one side of her face edged by a fiery band of sunlight from the window.

  ‘So where is your Davey?’ he asked.

  ‘He washes dishes three days a week, works as a mechanic in a motor repair yard three days, writer at night and on a Sunday. It’s Tuesday so he’s washing dishes.’

  ‘Is he the protective kind when guys come around you?’ He stirred his coffee, putting the spoon into his mouth and sucking it dry.

  ‘All the time,’ she said. She glanced at the clock over the counter. ‘I have to go soon.’

  ‘What part are you aiming for?’ he asked.

  ‘Young woman with a dog,’ she said. ‘Walk on, walk off.’

  ‘Exciting.’

  ‘I’ll take what I can get. We can’t all be as lucky as you to land a lead in a movie, even if the movie was Dust of the Sahara.’

  He winced. ‘Why do you do it?’ he said. ‘I mean, you seem like a nice girl, you’ve obviously not eaten properly in a long while and you’re putting yourself through the audition mill with nothing guaranteed except sunshine.’

  She put her coffee cup down. He noticed it didn’t make a sound, the movement was that slow and deliberate. ‘You know why, Rick. It’s like a drug. It gets into your system. Ever since I was a kid at school, stepped up onto a stage and got my first rattle of applause, I knew I had to be an actress. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it.’

  ‘What if you don’t make it?’

  ‘That’s not an option,’ she said, those blu
e eyes looking like cold metal. He saw a strong streak of determination in her and liked her all the more for it. ‘But I don’t need to tell you that, because you already know.’

  ‘What does brother Davey say about his little sister trawling the streets of Hollywood looking for her big break?’

  ‘It’s easy to cheapen it or make it sound dirty, Rick.’ He could tell she was a little annoyed by his question. ‘Men trawl the streets too, looking to make it; ever think of saying the same to them? No, bet you don’t. What I want is no different to anyone else’s ambitions – we’re all looking for our big break, every one of us, wherever we are, to lift us out of the crap that’s our ordinary, unexceptional lives. Mostly we don’t find it. But some do. Those are the ones who don’t give up trying. That’s the American way, isn’t it, to aim high? Become the next President, if you want to.’

  ‘Principle and reality are two different things. Where I come from it’s social class that gets you to the top rungs of the ladder. If you start out at the bottom, you ain’t ever going to make it to the top. Over here it’s money. Money is America’s class system, but it doesn’t want to admit that.’

  ‘But over here you’re free to make that money, no matter who you are. That’s why you came over, isn’t it, for that freedom? Europe is full of socialists,’ she said, eyeing him. ‘See the mess they’re making.’

  A shadow loomed over the table. ‘You can’t leave that there,’ said a tall black guy who was waiting tables. ‘Your trunk is blocking the aisle and someone is going to fall over it. You gotta shift that thing.’

  Mason apologised and said they were about done. He watched the man’s back as he trudged away. ‘Take that waiter,’ he observed. ‘If he wanted to get a part in a motion picture it would probably be as a primitive native, slave, servant, waiter or farmhand. End of choice. Me, I could try out for a cowboy, Roman, polar explorer – everything real life ain’t. But him, even in Hollywood he can’t escape what’s laid out for him. I just think that no matter where we are, America or wherever, we all ought to have the same chances in life.’

  She rose from her seat. ‘I didn’t create the rules, I just play by them. So are you a socialist? Leftist revolutionary? If so, you’re in for a hard time and I’d keep those kinds of things to myself if I were you.’

  ‘None of the above. Just a guy who wants to see fairness.’ Mason got to his feet. ‘All I’m saying is don’t let this game poison you. Hollywood can suck out the decent person you are and replace it with something else if you let it. No amount of ambition is worth sacrificing basic humanity. Acting, yeah, well it can be a wonderful thing, I guess, but it can be a curse too. What’s the sense of aiming high if you’ve got to sink low to do it?’

  She laughed. ‘I’ve got to go now or I’ll miss my big break.’

  ‘Can I come along with you?’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t know. It would mean you hauling that trunk a few blocks.’

  ‘Not so much in it,’ he admitted. ‘Most of what I had is down at the pawn shop.’

  ‘It’s your back you’ll be breaking. Why put yourself out over me?’

  ‘Because one day I’m going to marry you. That’s why.’

  Her mouth hung open a fraction as she drew breath. Her brows lowered, eyes narrowing. ‘I really should dump you now,’ she said. ‘You’re a crazy socialist.’

  Crazy about you, he thought, grinning. ‘I’m an actor; we’re all crazy!’

  ‘Well don’t let Davey hear you talking like that. He’s liable to land you one in the sucker.’ She left him to settle the bill, walked out into the harsh Californian sunshine and crossed the road. She heard him calling out from behind her, and turned to see him stood outside the diner, holding onto the trunk’s handle. ‘I can’t wait for you!’ she called.

  ‘Where’s the audition?’ he shouted.

  ‘Nestor’s!’ she hollered back.

  ‘I know it; not far from Prima. I’ll see you there.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ she said, leaving him to lug the trunk across the road. She shook her head and smiled to herself. He was kind of cute, she thought, but she doubted he’d keep his word. Those sorts of guys were like flies around shit out here. And actors were the worst kind of fly.

  ‘I can walk however you want me to walk,’ she said, shielding her eyes against the bright light that swamped the impromptu stage they’d set up in one of the outside lots at Nestor studios. ‘Tell me what I did wrong.’ Betsy Bellamy still hand her arm crooked, pretending to hold onto a dog lead.

  ‘We ain’t here to teach you how to act, lady,’ said one of the two dark, shadowy forms from the chairs out front. ‘You were OK but not what we’re looking for.’

  ‘Was I too quick?’ she asked. ‘I can do it slower.’

  ‘We’re busy,’ said the man. ‘Get your ass off the stage so we can get on with this. We have other people to see.’

  ‘I need the work,’ she persisted. ‘Just tell me where I went wrong and I can fix it. I can dog-walk a hundred different ways.’

  ‘I’m sure you can, but not for us.’ He motioned with his hand for her to leave. She hesitated. ‘Don’t make us kick you out,’ he warned. ‘Next!’ he yelled, and a stick-thin woman clattered nervously onto the stage. They took one look and before she’d even opened her mouth to speak, shouted ‘Next!’

  Betsy grunted her disappointment but kept her head, and only let off steam once out in the street again. She kicked a fire hydrant. ‘Bastards!’ she said. She heard applause and looked up to see Rick Mason sitting on his trunk by a wall.

  ‘I take it that didn’t go well?’ he said.

  ‘All they need is someone to walk a dratted pooch across a scene. Four or five seconds max. That’s it. And I have to go through all this to hear I can’t walk a dog for four or five seconds the way they want it. You know what that does to a person’s confidence?’

  ‘I’ve had worse,’ he admitted. ‘Tell you what, though, when they want someone to come along and audition for the part of a woman kicking the hell out of a fire hydrant, it’s a part you were born to play.’

  Her face coloured, got all heated up. ‘That supposed to be funny?’

  He shrugged. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Well you thought wrong, Mason! Jesus, I hate this town.’ She went over to the trunk, sat down beside him.

  ‘Cigarette?’ He offered her one. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance. I know it.’

  ‘Oh yeah? How come you’re so certain?’

  He put his back against the wall, tipped back his hat and folded his arms. He stretched out his legs, all relaxed like he was on a sofa in front of a log fire. ‘Because I’m going to help get you that chance, that’s why.’

  ‘So speaks Mr Big-Shot sitting on everything he owns. Correction – most everything; the rest is in hock.’

  He laughed. ‘It won’t always be like this. Life never stays the same. Things change. You and me, we’re gonna make it big!’

  ‘You and me, huh? So now we’re a twosome?’

  ‘Sure we are. And it’s gonna be bigger than big. We’ll be able to tell the kids how we moved from a cramped old trunk out on the sidewalk to a mansion up on Whitley Heights.’

  She flashed her bright eyes at him, her mood already lighter. ‘Now we have kids?’

  ‘Three. Two boys and a girl. And a couple of dogs, too.’

  ‘I prefer cats.’

  ‘’That figures,’ he said. His face fell thoughtful. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Have you got room at your place for a guy to bed down for a night or two till he gets straight? A man with a medium-sized trunk? I mean, it’s the least you could do in return for stardom.’

  ‘The least,’ she said. ‘We have an old sofa you could use.’

  ‘Sounds divine.’

  ‘My brother Davey sure won’t think so,’ she said.

  * * * *

  5

  A Bowl of Cherries

  They faced e
ach other across the table, like silent combatants closely engaged in a high-stakes game of poker. Thin soup dribbled from a spoon, dripping noisily into a dish. Betsy could stand the enforced silence no longer and plonked a pitcher of water down hard between the two men.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Rick Mason, smiling awkwardly at her.

  ‘How’s your soup?’ she asked, sitting down at the table.

  ‘It’s…’ He paused to locate the right words.

  ‘It’s all we can afford,’ said the man opposite him, dipping his spoon into the broth and stirring it around. ‘What is he doing here?’ he asked of Betsy, as if Mason wasn’t in the room.

  He was a handsome young man, he thought; had a woman’s eyes, like his sister’s. Dark hair in need of a cut, a sour face that hadn’t altered since he came home from work and found a strange man in the house; a strange man who appeared to have taken up residence.

  ‘I’ve told you, Davey,’ she said, a little irritated. ‘He’s here for a couple of days, that’s all, till he finds somewhere else.’

  ‘I’m perfectly harmless,’ Mason said, his smile failing to melt the young man’s frosty expression. ‘I’ve managed not to murder a single person this week, though I admit I have come close.’ He saw the man’s startled eyes widen. ‘That’s a joke,’ he said.

  ‘We can’t afford him, Betsy,’ he went on.

  ‘He’s not a dog, Davey!’ Betsy sighed.

  ‘But you picked him up off the streets like one.’

  ‘Hardly…’ said Mason uncomfortably. He rested his spoon on the table. ‘Look, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I ought to be leaving.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ Betsy insisted firmly. ‘Davey will just have to get used to the idea.’

  ‘I can’t afford to keep the pair of you,’ Davey said, pushing away his chair and leaving the table. He went over to the fireplace, took down a tobacco tin from the mantelpiece and began to fill a pipe.