Blind Item(114)

“Okay,” said Billy, slightly annoyed. “I saw all of that on YouTube about five minutes after it happened.”

“Well, Harrison had to arrest poor Mr. Zetta, of course,” Flanger continued. “The entire drive to the police station was faggot this and cocksucker that. So of course, our policeman friend impounded Zetta’s belongings. And … hmm … copied his laptop onto one of those miraculous little USB memory things. They can hold so much! The contents, young man, will be very interesting to you.”

Joe appeared in the room with a glass pitcher containing iced tea and slices of lemon and orange. He poured glasses for both men, and then stood and formally addressed his boss.

“Sir, your guests are about to arrive.”

“Perfect, Joe, thank you,” Flanger said. He raised his glass and tipped it toward Billy. “Cheers, good sir. A toast to the end of one of the great bigots of our time.”

Billy held his glass back.

“I thought it was bad luck to cheers with nonalcoholic drinks.”

“My dear, who ever said this was nonalcoholic?” Flanger cackled and clinked his glass against Billy’s. As Billy sipped, the unmistakable scent of bourbon tickled his nose.

“So, just a regular afternoon pitcher of old-fashioneds?” He laughed. “We’re going to get along just fine.”

Billy heard Joe welcoming folks out in the main hall. A swaggering CHP officer with black hair, blue eyes, and heavily tattooed arms walked into the room. Billy nearly tripped on his own feet as he stood to greet the cop. His stomach dropped when Bluey entered the room behind him.

“Hey, Billy,” Bluey said amiably, walking toward him with his hand outstretched. Billy ignored it and turned to Flanger.

“So that’s your fucking background check? Seamus’s kangaroo? Wow, I feel really validated.”

“I told you he wouldn’t be too bloody happy,” Bluey said.

“Shouldn’t you be in Ojai wiping Seamus’s ass?” Billy spat.

“Got the weekend off, mate. Maybe you and I can grab a drink.”

Billy walked up to the cop and shook his hand. “I’m Billy,” he said.

“I know,” said the cop. “I’m Harrison.”

“Okay, everyone,” Flanger said with a giddy edge in his voice. “Let’s all let bygones be bygones. We have a laptop set up in the kitchen. Let’s go see some filth. It’s almost too delicious.”

Bluey handed a memory stick to Joe, who stuck it in the waiting MacBook on the kitchen counter. The men crowded around it.

“Have you seen what’s on here?” Billy asked Harrison, deliberating positioning himself by the cop’s side in front of the laptop.

“I took a quick look at some stuff,” Harrison said, waving a tattooed forearm at the laptop. “There’s one folder I found that’s the one you want. It’s hidden inside a folder of photos of his grandkids. It’s called JC.”

Bluey looked Billy in the eye.

“So you know the deal, right, mate?” he said affably. “We are going to sell these, and we are going to destroy Max Zetta.”

Billy thought about Gaynor and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“I’m already conflicted,” Billy said, and all the men turned to look at him. “His publicist, Gaynor, has done some real solids for me, and this will really fuck her.”

“I have a great idea,” said Flanger. “Call her right now and tell her to fire him as a client. Trust me.”

“No need, mate,” said Bluey. “He fired Gaynor two days ago. He’s talking to Crystal but they haven’t signed, so if anything it’ll become my problem.” Billy silently thanked his lucky stars that Gaynor has listened when he warned her. But he was still nervous about what he was about to see.

Bluey began to click through the contents of the memory stick.

“They ain’t pretty,” warned Harrison. Flanger clapped his hands like a seal.

Bluey clicked on the folder marked JC, then on a subfolder titled EASTER. He highlighted all the images and then clicked Open. The screen filled with images that made all five men gasp.

In the first image, Max was dressed as Jesus, in the center of a nondescript hotel room. He had a crown of thorns on his head, and a dirty robe on. In the subsequent photos, he masturbated furiously on the bed.

“Who fucking shot these photos?” Harrison asked.

“They’re all self timer; the camera position hasn’t moved at all,” Bluey said, clicking through the photos.

“He has a JESUS FETISH,” Flanger crowed, spilling his cocktail on Billy’s back. “All these years we thought it was a God complex, but no.”