Sedona Law 6 by Dave Daren (best non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

“Jagger,” he said. “Jagger heard about it from Brent Levinson and assumed I knew. Fucking Aussie windbag. Can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Why did Brent tell Jagger?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Jagger hates Brent, and wants to sue him. I assumed Brent wanted to smooth things over, so he told him he’s coming to Sedona to work with JMB, and they can have drinks. So then Jagger came to warn me about Brent, and I didn’t know a damn thing about what he was talking about.”

“Until the night of the show,” I said.

“That was when Jagger told me,” he said.

“Jagger told you about the contract the night of the show?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “He was there with Leila Jaxson, the music writer.”

“So Leila knew about the contract with Arista?” I asked. “And no one else did?”

“I guess,” he said.

“So James was going to dump you,” I said. “And the whole band, and Kelsi, and run off to L.A. and violate your contract with him, and you found out all of this the night of the show. Is that why you killed James?”

“For the last time,” he said. “I didn’t kill James.”

I pressed my foot into his throat. I knew I was going over the edge. But after what he had said about Vicki, I morphed into some sort of action movie. And damn it felt good, especially after all the scumbag murderers I had dealt with over the last several months.

“Then who did?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “He died of a heart arrhythmia for all I know.”

“You know that’s not true,” I said.

“I told you everything I know,” he said.

Roy’s breathing was shallow now, and I figured I had milked self defense long enough. I kicked Roy one last time and threw a cordless phone at him.

“Call 911 yourself,” I said.

I walked out of the body shop, glad to have some answers. I would need to get into contact with our federal agent, and let him know everything that I had uncovered.

But first, I had one more stop to make. I drove out to a place I would never expect to visit in this town. It was a bar on the outskirts of town called The Pink Kitty Kat Lounge. Jesus. I had been a playboy in my younger years and have been in a few of these things in my life.

But, aside from the fact that Vicki wouldn’t approve, a strip club in Sedona would suck.

Every dancer in there would be someone I went to high school with, or their little sister. Ugh.

I drove through the half filled parking lot, looking for the first California license plate I could find. Bingo. A black Mercedes.

I parked and was trying to figure out how I was going to explain to Vicki that I went into a strip club. Fortunately, I found what I needed just outside.

“Brent Levinson,” I called out.

Brent was a squirrelly man in his early forties. He was portly in a gray suit, and leaned against the wall chatting it with a couple of women that looked to be about nineteen.

“Henry Irving,” he smiled when saw me. He met me out on the steps to the building. “I heard you were living out here these days. Decided not to chase success, get back to basics, and live simply. Love that, man. Love it.”

I coughed on the implied insult. It was going to make this confrontation go so much easier.

“What the fuck were you were doing with James Matthews?” I blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow. “James Matthews, God rest his soul.”

“Look around you man,” I gestured toward the pink building in the shape of a kitten. “Leave God out of this.”

He shrugged as if even he agreed I was right.

“James was a good man,” he said. “He was talented. Had what it took to get to the top.”

“Did he?” I asked. “Or was it something else you wanted from him?”

“What?” he asked.

“What was it?” I asked. “Was he secretly gay? Did he have a cocaine connection?”

Brent laughed and rolled his eyes. “Always the conspiracy theorist. I heard that about you too. You go around chasing ghosts. It’s sad what’s happened to you, Irving. You used to be a real sharp shooter. People were intimidated by you. Lots of people. People admired and respected you. Now, look at you. You look like you just go in a bar fight, blood on your lip.”

I instinctively rubbed my lip and checked my finger for blood. He was right.

“And you’re going around,” Brent shook his head, “making up stories to keep yourself occupied. I pity you, Irving. You want my advice? Stop messing around with cows and goats, and cactuses, and get your life back on track. I know you had something of a nervous breakdown after that thing with your sister and all. And that’s understandable. Anyone would. But, it’s over, man. Get yourself some closure and move on. You’re not doing you or anyone else a favor by punishing yourself by staying here.”

I laughed. “Fuck you, Brent.”

He shook his head in pity. “And you’re just throwing it all away, aren’t you?”

“Speak for yourself,” I said. “Was James Matthews selling you cocaine? How about Roy Oberland?”

Bret sighed. “This conversation is over. Call me when you’re sane.”

He turned and walked away.

“You’ve got a house in Beijing,” I remembered. “And a private jet, and another house in Cancun.”

He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around.

“Oberland sold you tusks,” I said. “Irwin and Tony shipped them to Cancun, where getting a private jet through customs in Mexico is easier. You loaded the jet with tusks, and went home to Beijing, and made shitloads of money.”

Brent turned around and