Chapter 46: True Feelings Exist in This World
Early Morning, Hawk jogging out of Ranch Park.
At the park entrance, Frank, who was begging with a hat in front of him, waved at Hawk and reminded him, “It looks like soone’s looking for you. That girl’s got quite a figure.”
Hawk had already noticed her. Across the street, in front of the studio, a girl with golden-brown hair tied in a ponytail and wearing jeans was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk.
Frank asked, “She’s not looking for you, is she? Introduce her to if she is.”
Hawk shot back, “What’s the deal? Don’t you have enough ex-wives already? Haven’t they worn you out enough? You want to do it all over again?”
Frank snorted, “I’m free and unburdened now, a lone wolf.”
“So am I,” Hawk replied as he crossed Fountain Avenue. He gave the girl a quick once-over and asked, “Officer, are you looking for soone?”
The girl turned around, recognized Hawk, and took the initiative to extend her hand. “Erica Ferguson. We t on Santa Monica Boulevard. Julian gave this address.”
“Hawk Osmond.” As they shook hands, Hawk discreetly studied her. She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but she exuded a bold, spirited charm.
She was tall, with golden-brown short-to-dium hair and sun-kissed, wheat-colored skin. Her toned figure, with long legs and a slim waist, hinted at regular exercise.
She vaguely reminded him of Erica Schmidt, a female athlete he’d seen online in his previous life.
Hawk guessed she must be new to the field because most experienced female police officers were like tanks.
Heavy tanks.
“Do you need sothing?” Hawk asked.
Erica smiled. “I wanted to thank you in person.”
Hawk opened the studio door. “Co in.”
Erica followed him inside, quickly glancing at the furnishings. The place was clean and organized.
Hawk pointed at his sweat-stained workout clothes. “I’ll go change. Make yourself comfortable.”
He went upstairs, wiped off his sweat, and ca back in fresh clothes. “Tea or coffee? Aren’t you working today?”
“No, thanks,” Erica replied. “I’m on administrative leave.”
“Is it serious?” Hawk asked.
Erica looked a bit uneasy. “Just a few days off. I’ll be back soon.”
She paused before adding, “Without you, I might’ve lost my job.”
Hawk said, “No need to thank . I just happened to be there and recorded it.”
He stuck to his usual line: “My conscience and professional ethics wouldn’t let ignore it and let an innocent person suffer undeserved criticism.”
Erica smiled. “You saved from a lot of trouble. I just started on the job and ended up in a ss like that. If the public backlash had gotten worse, I don’t even want to think about it... especially since the person who died wasn’t just anyone.”
Hawk bluntly replied, “All I saw was a scumbag—a parasite who thought he could do whatever he wanted because of his fa. A thug who wanted to shoot a lady.”
Erica suddenly found Hawk’s otherwise ordinary face rather pleasing.
“Oh, by the way, here.” She pulled out a special card from her bag and handed it to Hawk. “My boss asked to bring this over. If you have this, my colleagues on the road won’t bother you.”
Hawk accepted it and politely said, “Thank you.”
He had heard of this card before—a special LAPD exemption card. For minor offenses like speeding, even if caught, LAPD officers would let it slide.
Erica also gave Hawk her contact information. “If you run into trouble within the West Division’s jurisdiction, feel free to call .”
These were useful to Hawk, so he accepted without hesitation. Just as he was about to say sothing else, the door suddenly swung open, and Edward walked in.
The old-tir imdiately noticed Erica and exclaid, “Boss, you work fast...”
Hawk cut him off. “This is Officer Erica Ferguson. She’s the one who shot Downey.”
Hearing she was a cop, Edward instantly felt a sense of suppression in his veins and clamped his mouth shut, managing only an awkward smile.
An LAPD officer who dared to shoot Robert Downey Jr.—wouldn’t she empty her magazine on a black guy?
Erica chose this mont to leave.
After she left, Edward asked, “Boss, you’re not thinking of making her your girlfriend, are you?”
“Are you kidding ? Having an LAPD officer around would be asking for trouble,” Hawk retorted. He decided to throw Edward a bone. “Erica’s a street cop. Her patrol area is in West Los Angeles, where celebrities gather. Who knows? We might need her soday.”
Edward’s mind imdiately went to inappropriate places. Grinning, he grabbed Hawk’s sleeve and said, “For the sake of our startup and the future of this studio, Boss, you should take one for the team!”
Ignoring Edward’s nonsense, Hawk tossed him an envelope. “Your bonus.”
Edward pulled out a thick wad of cash. “$5,000? This much?” He scratched his head. “Boss, I didn’t do much—just followed soone.”
Hawk replied, “I made more. If you don’t take it, I won’t feel at ease.”
Edward grinned, showing his white teeth. “For your peace of mind, Boss, I’ll take it.”
Hawk left the studio alone. After disguising himself, he used so tricks he rembered from his past life to exchange so cash. Near Manhattan Beach in Venice, he rented another safe house and a long-term berth for a speedboat at a private dock.
No matter how well a plan is laid out, unexpected situations can arise.
It’s always good to have an extra exit strategy.
Sherman Oaks, a hillside mansion.
Bro Derek hung up the phone and grabbed several newspapers from today. The front-page headlines were all about Robert Downey Jr.
Sarah Parker walked over with a cup of coffee, leaned down to kiss her husband, and said, “We haven’t seen him in just a few days, and now he’s eting God.”
“I told him several tis to quit that stuff when we were on The Singing Detective set,” Bro Derek said as he sipped his coffee. “Addicts deserve what they get.”
Sarah added, “Downey was quite fierce when he was high.”
The couple didn’t touch that stuff themselves, having found more “interesting” gas instead. Bro sighed, “It’s such a sha...”
Sarah was puzzled. “You just said addicts deserve what they get. Why are you saying it’s a sha now?”
Bro set down his coffee cup, pulled Sarah onto his lap, and explained, “I was planning to have you invite Downey out so the three of us could take a little trip together and... experience a different kind of life. But now he’s gone to et God before we could act.”
Sarah tightly embraced Bro’s head. They’d tried sothing along those lines recently, and the thrill was unparalleled.
The toxic Hollywood environnt and the unique power of producers on set had warped Bro’s character. He held his wife tightly and said, “I know what you’re worried about, but, darling, you have to believe —I’ll always love you and do anything for you.”
Sarah wasn’t as twisted as Bro, but she was addicted to the sa thrill and couldn’t bear to lose the resources Bro could bring her as a producer. In this mont, her acting skills exploded. “I’ll always love you too.”
The sudden ringing of a phone interrupted the intimate mont.
Bro left the room to answer it. When he returned, his face was clouded with worry.
“What happened?” Sarah asked.
Bro kept it brief. “Because of the negative impact caused by Downey, the distributor is pulling out of The Singing Detective. The company might have to find a new distributor—or, more likely, push it directly to DVD and VHS.”
He gathered his things. “I’m off to a company eting.”
Sarah handed him his briefcase.
Driving toward his office in Santa Monica, Bro passed an intersection where he saw a familiar figure. A Bentley overtook him—it was Deborah Falconer, Downey’s newly widowed wife.
The Bentley entered Brentwood, and Deborah returned to her familiar ho.
The large villa was empty.
Far from grieving, Deborah felt a sense of relief and exhilaration. If it weren’t inappropriate, she would have liked to thank the LAPD officer who shot her husband.
No lengthy, expensive divorce case. She directly inherited everything.
As for her late husband, Deborah’s only thought was that addicts deserve to die.
Entering the house, she noticed that the collection room’s watches and so valuables were gone.
Considering how Downey had always been obsessed with that stuff, she wasn’t surprised.
He might’ve even one day dared to pawn her and their child to get more.
The most valuable thing left here was still the house.
Deborah’s lawyer called, asking her to co in to handle the formalities for identifying the body and inheritance paperwork.
She drove off.
At a Brentwood intersection, Edward, in the second-hand van Hawk had just bought, raised his cara and took several shots of Deborah’s car until it disappeared from sight.
Wealthy, beautiful, and with a big house to boot.
Edward realized how good his boss was—finding such a potential match for him.
For a mont, he felt that even in this cold world, there was still so warmth.
True feelings exist in this world.
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