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“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
His eyebrows arch slightly.
“You mean anything less savory?”
“Sure, let’s try that.”
The laugh again.
“Chris learned to pick locks like a pro. He taught me how to do it too. Not that I did it much. Just picked up an item here and there to keep the lights on. You know.”
“Of course.”
“It’s not like the cocksuckers in this building don’t deserve it.”
He gets up and bangs on the wall for a few seconds.
“Turn down that goddamn music,” he yells. But the country pop keeps coming. He shakes his head at the noise and sits back down.
I say, “Where did Chris learn to pick locks?”
“From his trick.”
“And you have no idea who it was.”
He thinks for a minute.
“If you ask me, it was Jimmy Summers or Claire Hennessey. Ever heard of them? The son and daughter of some big-time producer pricks. A couple of real juvenile delinquents, those kids. But money up the ass.”
I wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t, so I speak up.
“What does ‘forever yours, forever mine’ mean?”
“Is that a line from a movie?”
“That’s what I thought, but I can’t find it anywhere.”
“Well, there you go.”
He goes back to smoking and ignoring me. He has his money. Why not?
“That’s everything you know?”
Through the smoke, he squints at me.
“What is it you’re looking for?”
I think about it for a minute. Successful Hollywood people, hangers-on, and forgotten actors. Sex parties, drugs, and a secret lover. It’s great stuff for a drive-in m
ovie, but I’m not sure what good any of it does for me.
“I really don’t know,” I say.
Gentry beckons me forward and speaks quietly.
“You know, at one of the parties, I saw Elvis eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich off a certain starlet’s tits. Balanced it right on top. For an extra hundred, I’ll tell you who.”
“I’d rather pay you not to tell me.”
