Grey Skies in Mourning

© 2010 Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Chapter Nine

Driving back to Hollywood was their only choice, too many places automatically assumed that the mare Nikki was a blackfur and refused to rest a room for the night. After five refusals Nikki had instructed Charlene to just take them home. “Cities know the difference” the Fillyipino mare explained. “Small towns do not with too. This will change but not in our lifetimes, our own movies will help make that change.”

“You will star in some?” the vixen asked, her eyes on the darkening road.

“Some yes, when I can manage it. Now we have to return to Spontoon to explain the change in plans. It is after all not all our money involved remember.”

“Spontoon? I can’t go back to Spontoon right now” the vixen argued. “I’ve a movie to complete even if I am a supporting character.” She slowed to allow a passing car overtaking them room to clear before another vehicle coming at them was too close, it was something one expected on these roads at night. Slowing a moment made the trip safer and didn’t impact their arrival time enough to consider.

“I have people” the mare explained, leaving it at that. Soon she was asleep leaving Charlene alone to deal with the traffic, not that Nikki could help, she was a pilot, automobiles were something she knew how to drive in the English manner. She certainly did not have an American licence. Alone now with nothing but the roads rumble to accompany her the vixen continued driving. She didn’t awaken Nikki until the closest traffic light to the mares hotel.

Charlene herself took another half hour to return to the apartment she lived in. Contrary to public belief most stars did not live in mansions, in Charlene’s case it was what one would call an efficiency. She could afford a better home but the price difference allowed her to put money away in a savings account. Considering who she was engaged to be married too, she was going to need that money.

Entering her apartment the first thing that the vixen noted was that her reading lamp was on, that had been off when she left. Turning around quickly she expected to find someone waiting but the doorway was clear. There was only the bedroom to check so drawing the blade Jean had given her so long ago she eased into her bedroom, turning on the light from outside the room.

It was empty, everything was as she had left it, her entire apartment was exactly the same as she had left it other than that reading lamp. Satisfied the vixen closed her door, sliding home the two deadbolts that secured it. Only then did she inspect the table her reading lamp was shining on, there she found a grey envelope, an unusual color still nothing more than a fat grey envelop the size to hold a regular sheet of paper, or a dozen.

Setting down on the floor she pulled that envelope to her, nothing exploded so she must be safe but who would break into her apartment to leave this. Opening the envelops two sets of papers fell out, contracts. She turned them to read the names and gasped, both were originals, originals that always trumped copies. One had her name on it, the other Jean Lynn Morris. They were their Republic contracts but how? Certainly they were kept in a special vault in Sanford Yade’s office and she had head that only Yade knew the combination. Still here they were, impossible but here they were. She was still marveling at what she held when someone knocked on her door. But of course, now she would pay someone’s price wouldn’t she the vixen thought, probably DAKKA though she would not go willingly to that dead end road.

Standing the B Actress Vixen put on her best face then walked to her door. “Who is it?” she asked cautiously, after all this was not the high end neighborhood and she expected no one.

“Ah fren Sand” came a gruff male voice from the other side. “We need tah talk dollface.”

It was the word sand that gave the vixen courage to open her door, only a very few people knew that name for her and only one was in America. Opening her door she found the stereotypical melodrama movie private investigator standing on the other side, complete with aged trench coat with the collar snapped up, battered fedora with a wide black band and a cigar hanging from his mouth. Even his pants suggested that he was wearing the traditional a classic gray three-piece suit. Charlene couldn’t help it, she managed to put both hands over her mouth before she started giggling.

“Com’on toots, yah gonn invite me in or not” the rough looking basset hound asked.

“I’m sorry” Charlene answered, stepping away from the door, “But you are a bit on the short side to be a classic meladrama detective.”

“Get that ahlot” the hound agreed, waiting until his hostess had closed the door and locked it. When she did he seemed to relax, taking the unlit cigar from his mouth to shove into a pocket of his trench coat. “I don’t smoke” he explained, his false accent vanishing. You know why I am here toots?”

“Those contracts, but even though they are the originals sir, Personnel and Pay have copies” Charlene explained.

Reaching into his voluminous trench coat the basset hound withdrew another grey envelope. “How about we take a walk to the basement, where there is a furnace I am led to understand.”

“But... how?” Charlene asked even as she moved to recover all three contracts in her possession.

“You need a better doorlock” the hound explained, “Yade needs a better safe and it only takes a professional office manager to fool those dweebs. They fully believe that eight very pretty actress’s are headed to DAKKA and that Mrs. Ringwald must have it in for you. She can’t wait to see you on film again, without any clothing.”

“Oh.. My... god...” the vixen managed. “Come on, we can take the back stairs, they lead directly to the basment.”

“Ah knos toots” the hound agreed as he shoved his cigar back into his mouth. “Already been there.”