The Wolf of Los Angeles

[Chapter 27: Which News Was Most Popular]

After signing the exclusive licensing agreement, Bearded Jerry handed over a check, and Hawke turned in the photo copies. Both sides parted ways.

West Coast Media Entertainment Studio had completed their first major deal.

The income amounted to a neat $10,000.

Hawke drove back to East Hollywood, parked his car on the roadside, and returned home, locking the security door behind him. He checked the surveillance system and alarm, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a couple sips.

After a long night at the Viper Room, he hadn't paused for even a moment.

He pulled out the check, laid it on the table, and glanced at the amount again. Money was a man's greatest confidence, and Hawke was no exception.

To make it in Los Angeles, cashing out was the name of the game.

Hawke initially called up that escort from the hotel and then arranged for someone to deliver fireworks; it had nothing to do with charm, rather it was all about cold hard cash.

The news would hit the stands tomorrow.

In Hawke's mind, Robert Downey Jr.'s acting career was bound to face significant setbacks.

With the whole "bug" thing messing with the producer's wife, it was bound to have negative repercussions.

Hawke didn't desire to bring Downey down; he was fair in that regard -- an eye for an eye. If Downey wanted him to jump off a building, then jumping off was precisely what Downey should do.

As midnight approached, Hawke headed upstairs to shower and sleep.

His gun was in a position where he could grab it in an instant; the bedroom had a security window that could be opened from the inside, allowing for an easy jump into the backyard.

...

The next morning, a custom-made safe was delivered.

As the workers were unloading it, Frank, an old man living in the nearby parking lot, came over while picking up cans and sparked a conversation.

"Got yourself a safe, huh? What secrets are you planning to store?" Frank asked.

Hawke replied clearly, "Yep, to store secrets."

Frank shook his bag, the sound of crushed cans echoing from within. He was audacious enough to say, "If you don't want that cardboard, I'll take it."

"Sure, I can send over my recyclables whenever I'm not home," Hawke suggested, adding, "But you'll have to keep an eye on the place for me."

Frank agreed, "No problem, folks around here respect old Frank."

Hawke, now intrigued, questioned, "You don't look like a gang member; are you the head of the vagrant crew in this block?"

His gaze fell on the cans again. "This business seems pretty lucrative. You pick up cans so openly, and nobody bothers you..."

Frank proudly raised his chin, "Because no one dares to mess with me."

Curious, Hawke asked, "Why do you live in a trailer in the parking lot?"

Frank's face told a story, "It's complicated; you young folks wouldn't understand."

At that moment, the workers unloaded the safe, prompting Hawke to end his chat with Frank and direct them to place it in the corner of his living room.

The safe was hefty and secured with an old-fashioned mechanical combination lock.

A technician briefed Hawke a little, then took off with the crew.

Hawke set the combination, stuffing old newspapers, books, and photos inside.

Working in media and consulting, he knew they'd often step on each other's toes; high-stakes business dealings and elite PR were never straightforward, always needing caution.

Thus, he pulled out a pre-prepared tripwire switch and installed it in the designated spot within his custom safe, carefully connecting wires to a power source from a less noticeable angle.

If anyone attempted to unlock that safe, they would experience the horror of an electric jolt.

Just as serious people don't keep diaries, and unserious people wrote theirs to impress outsiders, someone like Hawke wouldn't be hiding valuable items in a safe.

After finishing with the safe, Hawke approached the window and noticed Frank still waiting outside. He tidied up the cardboard and foam, stepping out to hand it to him.

"I'll buy you a beer sometime," Frank said, cradling the box as he crossed the street back to his trailer.

Hawke headed to the nearest newsstand, intending to grab a copy of the National Enquirer.

Not even up close, he saw the vendor putting the paper on display prominently, a sensational front-page photo of a man and woman kissing taking up nearly half the page, grabbing the attention of passersby.

A few people were buying papers, and Hawke lingered, observing for a moment.

The stacks of newspapers in front of the vendor showed that the National Enquirer was selling better than the Los Angeles Times.

When the coast cleared, Hawke bought a copy and casually asked, "Selling well today?"

"The Enquirer has big news today!" the vendor said cheerfully, "And what kind of news is most popular? Not the latest Washington policy or how much richer some millionaire got. No, it's the juicy celebrity gossip."

He hit the nail on the head: "That's what ordinary folks like best and can actually relate to; it makes for good discussion with just about anyone."

Hawke remarked, "You see things clearly; that makes sense."

The vendor, in a knowing manner, replied, "I've been selling papers for twenty years; I've seen it all."

Hawke took out a business card and handed it to the vendor. "If you stumble upon anything interesting or anyone intriguing, give me a call."

The vendor understood: "You're a reporter?"

"Sort of, it's a part-time gig," Hawke said as he headed home, examining the paper to see how others crafted their pieces.

Because the studio's future work would touch on that aspect.

"Robert Downey Jr. and Sarah Jessica Parker Caught Sneaking Out from Hotel, Both Betray Their Marriages!"

The headline was crisp and to the point, but alas, it lacked a sensational punch. As he recalled, the shocking style would take a few more years to emerge.

Hawke figured that if the right opportunity arose, that shock-and-awe style could come in handy.

...

BWR Public Relations, Director's Office.

Roonie Chasen, the senior partner and director, slammed the National Enquirer down on her desk, causing a thunderous noise.

Sasha and Amanda instinctively recoiled.

Caroline Jones stood silently in the office, her long neck craned in attention.

At 40, Roonie glared at her younger, prettier counterpart, seething with rage at the fifteen-year age gap, reprimanding, "You got the news first, and you failed to secure it! We're dealing with an independent journalist here!"

Though Caroline wasn't intimidated by Roonie, she refrained from speaking out.

Roonie continued, "Both clients are furious with us. Robert Downey Jr. has already decided to terminate his contract. Your failure cost the company a significant reputation and financial loss. The board has taken notice, and if it weren't for me backing you up, you two would be out on your jobs!"

Caroline didn't deflect responsibility, "It's my fault."

"What I care about isn't just losing Downey as a client, but that this scandal surrounding him is beyond tiring! I've had enough of it!" Roonie took a deep breath and switched her tone, "What frustrates me the most is that you let this spiral out of control!"

She turned to Caroline, "Getting caught up with a man has left you in such a state; if it were me, I would have climbed the Columbia Building and jumped off by now."

Caroline quietly confessed, "I underestimated him."

Having vented, Roonie felt a little better and said, "Losing Downey isn't the end of the world, but we absolutely cannot lose Sarah Jessica Parker. You need to find her and do whatever it takes to pacify her -- even if it means sucking up to her!"

Caroline felt uneasy but knew she had no choice but to comply.

*****

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