"Let's get on that, then. Call Detectives Anderson and Enzite and tell them what you told me."
"Will do. After that, I think we need to keep a close eye on Mr. Hunky Vampire. You down for a little sneakiness tonight?"
"I'm always down."
***
That evening, after hanging up the phone from the Pismo Police Department and so easily getting the name of the man who appears to be obsessed with him, Brad Jackson began flipping through the phone book and calling every motel in the area, requesting to be patched through to a Mr. Archie Lemons' room.
16.
I had called and told Anderson everything I had and he said he would try to get pictures or video of the trail. Just something we could go on. I would really like to talk to that mystery man.
After ending the call, Elise and I made a quick trip to the local Wal-Mart and picked up two small pairs of binoculars for our little stake out tonight, and once the sun set, we took off down the hill towards the cliffs where we could keep an eye on Mr. Jackson. We really needed to do some snooping around in that house, but we would have to wait until he was gone. Hopefully we would luck out.
We picked out a spot near the edge of the cliff that would partially hide us from any casual observer. We took a seat and focused our binoculars on Brad's house. There was a light on in, what I guessed, was the main living room, and I am pretty sure I could make out the slightest bit of movement in the house. I was almost positive he was home.
Now we had to wait. I had an idea about what I was looking for but I needed to get close to the house to check on it. Something I would not be doing as long as Mr. Douche was home.
We sat in the evening air, the sun setting behind us, and waited.
"Man, you know what I hate?" I ask Elise.
"Everything?"
"Yeah, but besides that?"
"The abbreviation of ID4 for the movie Independence Day?”
"Yeah, I do hate that. Like, it sounds like it’s the fourth movie of a series titled ID. It made no sense. But that’s not what I was talking about. Besides that."
"Oh. Watching people eat cereal? Old people? Temple of the Dog? Grunge music in general? The Kings Speech? Reality shows? The Kardashians? Football? Basketball? The names Josh and Matt? Movie remakes? The royal family? Family Guy? Benjamin Button? Shall I go on?"
"Okay, okay. Point taken. But no, what I hate is the Shania Twain song That Don't Impress Me Much."
"Where in the hell did that come from?"
"I dunno. Oh, the whole Brad Pitt thing. Guess it just reminded me. It is so fucking retarded though when she names off the things that 'don’t impress her. And that’s another thing. It's DOESN'T, not DON'T, ya dumb country bumpkin!"
"Geez."
"Well, it's retarded. She starts off saying ‘So you're a rocket scientist.’ But hold on, that don't impress her even though it pretty well goddamn should. Then she says ‘So you're Brad Pitt,’ which also doesn't, sorry DON’T impress her much, and it kinda should since he's a big star. He may not be as impressive as a rocket scientist but still, it’s not every day you meet Brad Pitt... But then, the last one is, ‘So you've got a car!’ A fucking car! Whoopty-goddamn-do, a car! Fucking children have cars, but man, that DON’T impress Shania Twain! She goes from Rocket Scientist, to Brad Pitt to any po-dunk hillbilly with a goddamn car!"
"Calm down there, Tiger. It's just a song."
"Yeah, well, it’s stupid."
Elise rolled her eyes at me and went back to looking through her binoculars.
"Hold on there, Cowboy" she said to me. "I think he's haulin' out!
"Oh great. Let's get ready to go."
We saw a car back out of the driveway, one of those fancy-ass BMWs or Mercedes, I couldn't tell from this far away. When he was out of sight, we stood up and headed towards the house.
"Maybe instead of playing the Guess What Archie Hates Game, we should have come up with a plan," Elise says as we reach the house.
"Yeah, well, shoulda coulda woulda. Let’s go." I took out my lock pick kit and once again opened his locked gate and let us onto the property. What kind of tool locks the gate around his house? How does he expect to have visitors if no one can even reach the door? Seems fishy.
"Archie," Elise calls out to me. "There is another door over here by the garage."
Oh. Oops.
I walk over to her, since my main point of business here is, in fact, with the garage. I give a good once over and am dismayed to see there aren't any windows I can peak in to.
"What are you doing?" Elise asks me.
"I had a thought. Okay, the lady I saw killed was obviously visiting here, since apparently Brad lives here alone, right?"
"Right."
"Well, where is her car?"
"She could have walked."
"You're right, she could have. But she also could have driven and it’s worth a shot."
"Right on."
"I'm thinking the easiest thing for him to have done to get that car out of sight was to just pull it into his garage for hiding. So, seeing as he is out with one car right now, I find it rather unlikely there should be another car in that garage. And, if there is, it’s definitely worth following through on."
"So what do we do?"
"Here," I said and I bent over and grabbed the bottom of the garage door. "Help me with this."
Elise bent down and we both tried to pull the garage door open so one of us could peak in. No luck though, it wouldn't budge more than an inch or so.
"We've got to go in through the house," Elise said.
"Are you insane? You think this asshole doesn't have a security system?"
"Well, I don't see any signs for it out front if he does."
"He doesn't need a sign. His giant house is sign enough. And the fact that he is a celebrity. AND his wife was murdered."
"Well, this isn't Los Angeles, it’s a small beach community and it's at least worth a shot. Follow me."
Elise walked around to the side door near the garage and gave it a tug. No luck. She opened up the gate that I picked and walked up to the other door, the one I had knocked on when pretending to look for my dog. I followed.
Elise gave the knob a slow turn, and low and behold, it actually opened.
"See?"
"Are you kidding me, Elise?! This asshole doesn't even lock his door. What kind of psychopath does that?"
"Come on, let’s go."
She opened the door slowly and peaked her head in. We listening for an alarm warning but heard nothing. Elise calls out Hello to make sure no one is there. When she gets no response, she goes inside. Once again, I follow her. This was not the first time I have had to break in to someone’s house for a case, but this is the first time I’ve had this bad of feeling about it.
Lights were still on in the house, which made my bad feeling worse. Usually when people didn't kill any lights, they weren't going to be gone long. We needed to move fast.
We headed straight for the door leading to the garage. I gave the knob a turn and was dismayed to find that it was locked. With the deadbolt.
Why would someone exit his house through this door leading in to the garage, deadbolt it from the outside AND close the actual garage door, all while leaving the front door unlocked? Peculiar.
I needed in to the garage. We cut through the house until we found a sliding glass door that would lead up to the north side lawn. From there, hopefully, there would be another entrance into the garage. We got lucky. The outside door was only locked with the knob and it took me all of six seconds to pick it. Once inside, we found what we were looking for.
The car was one of those New Bugs from Volkswagen, bright green. A hideous embarrassment to all who drive them and, even though I didn't know this Brad Jackson cat, I was willing to bet this was most definitely NOT his car. This thing screamed SISSYPANTS.
Elise and I made our way over to the Vagina On Wheels
and took a peek inside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I took my phone out and snapped a quick picture of the license plate. This might come in handy. I would need to run a check on the plates, and then hopefully, I would find my murdered woman. Well, that was the plan at least.
I told Elise I was satisfied with our findings and that we should get out of here. She agreed. We left the garage through the door we came in and entered back into the house through the sliding glass door. Once back inside, I did a quick check of everything to make sure we didn't leave any evidence of us being there. I shuffled through some papers that were on his kitchen counter but found nothing of interest. I opened the lid to the trashcan nearby and checked inside. There was no way in hell I was sticking my hand in someone else trash can, but I could at least check the top layer. No real luck there either. Just the normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill trash. An empty Hungry Man box, a crushed pack of Clove cigarettes and some crumpled up napkins and paper towels. That was as deep as I was going to go though, especially with time being of the essence. I closed the lid and took one last look around the kitchen.
I made my way into the large living room area and went to check out Brad Jackson's entertainment center. I was pleased to see that, even though it was just a vacation home, I still had a much better TV than him. His may have been bigger, but it wasn't nearly as slim and badass as my television back home. This thing was such a fossil, it even had room for him to set the remote controls on TOP of the TV! We're talking, this thing had to have been at LEAST three years old! How embarrassing. I grabbed one of the remotes from the top of the TV and hit the power button. I was really curious as to what the Hollywood elite watch in their free time. I expected to find the news or an entertainment channel, what I found was Nickelodeon and an episode of that annoying little prick Sponge Bob.
Elise came running over to me. "What the hell are you doing? We have to get out of here."
I stifled a little laugh. "Hey Elise, you believe this asshole. Millions of dollars and he sits here and watches children's cartoons. What an idiot."
"How do you know he wasn't watching Nick @ Nite last night and just hadn't turned his TV back on since then? Because it seems like I also know a certain idiot who watches this very same channel at night."
Ouch. Burn! Faced! Check and mate, my good madam.
"Fine." I clicked the television back off and set the remote down on his ancient pile of shit TV and double checked everywhere we had been in the house to make sure we left no signs of The Archie and Elise Traveling Circus.
Once I felt satisfied that we were in the clear, we headed for the unlocked door where we entered. Right as we were passing the door leading to the garage, though, we heard a key hit the lock and saw the doorknob start to turn.
17.
Brad Jackson sat at his desk in the main room of his house-on-the-cliff, flipping through the yellow pages until he landed on Hotels/Motels. He picked up his landline and began calling every hotel in the area, asking to leave a message for one of their guests, a Mr. Archie Lemons.
This Mr. Lemons had apparently seen Brad's crime on the beach below and, now that the body had apparently, hopefully, been dragged far out to sea by the current, Archie remained the only loose thread that needed tying up.
He wasn't exactly sure what his plan would be to properly dispose of his problem. In fact, he was never really sure of much. But who cares? With a jaw line and chiseled abs like that, nobody gave a shit what you thought. Maybe he would just play it by ear, or see what comes up when he finds this guy with the stupid name.
Paying him off didn't seem like a very good idea. It never worked out well in all the movies he had played in, and besides, he had no idea who this guy was and admitting to him that what he saw was true and handing him some evidence to the crime didn't seem like the best of ideas. Brad Jackson wasn’t exactly known for his intelligence, but he was smart enough to know a bad idea when he saw it, apart from a few clunkers he starred in over the years.
Yeah. Archie Lemons would probably need to be disposed of.
An accident perhaps?
Maybe an obsessed fan trying to break into his house? Brad thought of ways he could get Archie into his house and just kill him in a self-defense way.
Maybe Archie could take a bad fall while trying to climb up the cliffs and get into his backyard?
Yea, those two options would seem the most reasonable, especially considering Brad's previous situation with stalkers. No one would question him killing a man trying to break in to his home. Even if this Archie Lemons was a great, all-around guy, or even if he told everyone he knew what he saw, the bottom line would be that he broke into the house and got himself killed. Seemed like a good enough plan to him. He felt proud of himself. He had formed a plan without the help of one of those stupid, ugly screenwriters he usually had to rely on.
Brad would need to get rid of that stupid homo-eroti-car parked in his garage in case the real police started snooping around his place, though. In fact, the sooner the better. He and his partner-in-crime would move it out of there. Brad could have no ties to that car. It would raise too many questions for which he did not have the right answers. Yeah, he would have his partner take it back to Hollywood. Later. Right now, he had to find Archie Lemons. He had a bad feeling that if he didn't act soon it might be too late. This guy had balls, showing up like he did to his house and all but telling Brad he saw what he did. If he had the balls to do that, then that could mean he is dangerous. And if he is dangerous he could be unpredictable. It was a bad combination.
Brad's paranoia started getting the best of him. He got up from the desk and peaked out his closest window, not really expecting to see anything, but still feeling a strong urge just to check. In case.
"Calm down, man," he said to himself. "You're Brad Jackson! Nobody messes with YOU!"
He walked to his fridge, grabbed himself a bottle of beer, and quickly took two large swigs. This seemed to calm him down a little bit.
"Mess with Brad Jackson and you get messed with! Brad Jackson’ll cut a bitch!" he yelled, to no one.
Bitch-cuttin’ Brad Jackson downed the rest of his beer, walked back to the phone and took a seat. After thinking for a few seconds, he slammed both fists down on his desk. Hard. Nobody can get the best of me, he thought. I'm done messing around. Archie Lemons has got to go. Soon.
He picked up the phone and continued dialing down the list of motels in the area. When he got to the Ocean Inn, his search ended. The friendly man on the other end of the line informed Brad that Archie had just extended his stay and he would be happy to leave a message for him.
The fact that Archie extended his stay had supplied Brad with much more paranoia. This guy was planning something. Brad knew it. He had to act fast and be rid of this pest.
Brad asked the motel keeper if he would tell him what room number Archie was staying in, as he would love to pop in and surprise him. Unfortunately, this was against company policy to give out room numbers, so Brad was out of luck. He would have to do a little surveillance work. He played a private eye once in a bomb from about ten years ago, how hard could it be? He decided he would go and case the motel today. Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe not. Either way, he could scope out the place and decide which plan of action to take from then on out.
He thanked the man on the other end of the phone and ended the call. He then pulled up Google on the Safari server on his iPhone and did a quick search of Archie Lemons.
There appeared to be only one.
And the information he found flooded his body with fear and paranoia.
Of all the goddamn people to see him murder someone, it had to be some hotshot piece of shit private investigator.
He needed to find Archie Lemons, get him to his house, and kill him. And make it look like an accident. Or self-defense. Either way, but he needed to do it ASAFP!
He could do it. He is a superstar!
But first, he nee
ded to shake this feeling of being watched.
He took one more trip to the front window and peeked out. Still nothing out of the ordinary.
Okay, it was time to go. He did a few last minute things then grabbed his keys and headed for the garage. He locked the deadbolt with the key, although he wasn't sure why. He just knew he didn't want anyone to see that extra car, no matter how unlikely it really was.
He hit the garage door button, got into his car and backed out into the driveway. With his foot on the break, he took one more look around at his surroundings. He still felt like he was being watched. He was used to that in Los Angeles, but here, people mostly left him alone.
He decided he was okay, closed the garage door and took off towards the Ocean Inn.
The motel turned out to be just up the hill from his house and took him about one minute to get there. He parked on the side of the office and stepped out of the car, hoping not to run in to anyone that may recognize him.