Claire McNab - Wombat Strategy

"Where do you want to go?" I asked Perkins.

His head was sunk into his puny shoulders, and he was glaring out the windscreen. "Take me home."

"I don't know where home is."

He swung around to look at me for the first time. This close up, the bloke was even less appealing. His gigantic nose made his eyes seem like small black dots placed there as an afterthought. "Who are you?"

"G'day. I'm Kylie Kendall."

"Not your name," he snapped. "Who are you?"

"Dr. Deer's personal assistant. Temporary only."

He grunted, fished in his pocket and took out a mobile phone. Punching in a number, he listened with growing impatience. "Ah, Jesus Christ! Pick up, you bastard."

"If you don't tell me where to go," I said, "I'll drive in circles till you do."

"What?"

"You've got to direct me, Mr. Perkins. I have no idea where your house is."

"Hollywood Hills."

I had a vague idea of the general location, off to the north of Sunset. Ariana lived there. Maybe she and Perkins were neighbors. But wouldn't she have said so before? Perhaps not. Ariana wasn't noted for blabbing personal information.

Perkins had given up on that particular call and was punching another number. "Jill? The fucking Hummer's a total write-off…"

While he continued with his expletive-laced conversation- seemingly to someone in P.R.-I wondered about the possibility that the explosion was somehow linked to the blackmail threat. But why not just ask for money? Why run the risk of planting a bomb? If it was to intimidate, Jarrod Perkins wouldn't make the connection, because he hadn't been told about the missing therapy disks. Of course, maybe the blackmailer didn't realize this.

"Turn left here! Watch out for the fucking bus." When I'd darted through a gap in the traffic and completed the left turn more or less successfully, Perkins went back to his phone. He finished one call and began another. "Sven? Open the gates. I'm five minutes away…I'm on the tube? What are they saying about me? Mention my latest movie?…Yes, of course I'm fucking well all right."

Once we were off the main arteries, the way narrowed so much it seemed there would hardly be room for two cars to pass. The road rose steeply, winding in hairpin bends between houses built right up to the edge. I couldn't imagine how Perkins could negotiate this route in something as wide as a Hummer.

"Turn right! Jesus! This next street!"

Tires squealing, I made the turn. "I'd appreciate it if you gave me more warning."

Astonishingly, a faint smile appeared on his face. "You'd appreciate it, would you? I must try to do better."

I rolled my eyes at his sarcasm, then whipped the wheel around when he screamed, "Turn right! Now left! Take the driveway on your right."

The gates were open. Apparently Sven, whoever he was, had come through. The drive wound its way ever upward, until we crested the rise and came to a flat parking area. The house perched on the brink of the cliff, hanging on for dear life so it wouldn't slide over. It was an ungainly building, with a roof that looked like a big flat cap pulled down to shade its glass walls.

The view, however, was a bit of all right. My mum would have said it was more a vista, or maybe a panorama. Even with smog blurring the outlines of the tall buildings, I could see a spectacular view of downtown Los Angeles. At night the lights of the city spread out like a blanket would be worth a second look.

A bulky, crew-cut, blond bloke, with thigh muscles so over-developed he was forced to waddle, came out of the house and opened the passenger door. Jarrod Perkins got out. "Did you contact my attorney? Someone's responsible. I'll sue the pants off them, the bastards."

If I'd been holding out for thanks, or even an acknowledgment I'd gone out of my way to chauffeur him here, I would have been one disappointed dame. But I wasn't, and he didn't. Without one word to me, he left Sven holding the door, turned his back on us both, and stalked into the house.

Sven closed the door. I waited until he was my side of the car. Giving him a little farewell wave, I said, "And the pity of it is, I didn't even get an autograph."

He smirked. I drove off.

A few wrong turns later, I was on Hollywood Boulevard. I'd been studying the Thomas Guide, and thought I knew exactly where I was. My confidence was misplaced. Shortly I found myself heading in quite the wrong direction on a street I didn't recognize-which didn't mean much, since I didn't recognize most of them.

Being lost turned out to be a good thing, though, because I noticed a huge bookstore and turned into its parking lot with only a couple of near-collisions on the way. Inside I found the information desk, manned by a pimply boy with the first bad teeth I'd noticed since I hit LA. "Help you?" he asked without much interest. He brightened up at my reply.

"I'm thinking of becoming a private eye," I said. "Is there a book you'd recommend?"

"A private eye?" he sounded almost enthusiastic. "Come right this way."

As soon as I entered the reception area, Melodie latched onto me. "You've got to tell me every detail! Was Jarrod Perkins real upset? Did you see inside his house?"

"Crikey," I said. "How do you know I drove him home? Receptionist hotline?"

"Chantelle called and clued me in. And she said you were real nice to her."

An incoming call interrupted. "Hold, please. I'll see if she's available." Melodie made a face at me. "It's Fran's husband," she confided, "and I just know she won't want to talk to him."

Fran was married!. I contemplated what it must be like living with her thundercloud face. You wouldn't want to be a depressive or you'd slit your throat.

Apparently Fran did want to talk to him, so Melodie put the call through, then got back to business. "Did you hear the bang?"

"The whole place is soundproof, so you can't hear a thing. First anyone knew was when the doorman turned up to give Jarrod Perkins the bad news."

"You didn't hear the explosion?" Melodie was clearly disappointed in me.

I shook my head. "No explosion, but I was standing next to Jarrod Perkins when he learned his Hummer had blown up."

"No!" exclaimed Melodie, delighted. "Like, how did he take it?"

I visualized the director's bulging eyes and contorted face. "Not too well."

"They're saying it's a terrorist attack. It's on all the networks. Chantelle says the whole of Deerdoc is in an uproar. And when Dr. Deer called a few minutes ago, he sounded real shook up, know what I mean?"

"I'd better report to Ariana."

Before I'd left the reception area, Melodie was on the phone. "Tiffany? Oh, my God! You'll never guess what's happened…"

Ariana's unruffled persona was soothing, after the excitement I'd just been through. "Wouldn't it rot your socks?" I said, slumping into a chair. "No sooner do I get to Deerdoc, all keen to learn the ropes, when bam! A bomb goes off. It was a bomb, wasn't it?"

"Nothing's confirmed. I'll call a friend on the bomb squad later this afternoon and find out what they know."

"It could have been a fuel leak, or some electrical short."

"Could be, but there's no doubt Perkins has a knack for making enemies."

I slipped off my shoes and wriggled my feet. I couldn't imagine tottering around on really high heels all day, but maybe it was a matter of practice, like ballerinas standing on their toes.

Ariana said, "Dave Deer's just called. You're starting work at Deerdoc tomorrow. Nine sharp."

"Fair go, Noreen hasn't taken me through her duties yet. I wouldn't know what to do."

"It's your opportunity to be creative. Noreen's put in her resignation as of this afternoon. She says she's not going to be a victim of international terrorism."

I had a little smile at that, trying to come up with a scenario that'd have international terrorists blowing up an Aussie director's Hummer in Beverly Hills.