“Can we talk a minute?”
I keep the knife against Moore’s ribs and lean up where I can talk to Candy.
She whispers, “This is kidnapping, exactly the kind of thing Julie doesn’t want us doing.”
“I suppose you’re right. Maybe you should leave that part out of your report.”
“This once, but we seriously need to work on your bedside manner.”
“Good plan. But I already have Moore, so let’s see what we can get out him.”
“Fine.”
I swivel around so I’m facing Moore again. He’s pressed up against the door, as far from me as he can get.
I say, “You wanted to sell me a wild-blue-yonder contract a few days ago. Actually, you lied to me—said you were with the L.A. Times—then you tried to sell me a contract.”
“So? I embellished a little. Welcome to show business.”
“Why come to me?”
“I told you before, the agency wants A-listers. You’d fit right into our Smoking Gun department.”
“What’s a Smoking Gun department?”
“I think he means crooks,” says Candy.
“Is that what you
mean? Who else do you have in there?”
“Client names and affiliations are confidential.”
“But basically you want me to do a dog and pony show with Johnny Stompanato for some rich idiot’s sweet sixteen party?”
Moore frowns.
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“What else do you do for ECG?”
“I just look for clients.”
“For wild-blue-yonder contracts.”
“Yes.”
“You must have a lot.”
“Not as many as you might think. We have high standards. Only the right backgrounds get an offer.”
“What’s the right background?”
“That’s also confidential.”
“Show me your left arm.”
I grab his arm and pull it straight so Candy can hold him by the wrist.