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Another voice penetrates my ears.
“Excuse me.”
Putting the phone on speaker, I spin around.
Ava’s mother, Rena. She’s dressed in a flimsy light-blue sleeveless nightgown and a matching sleeping mask that rests on her forehead. A crown of pink rollers grips her hair and an unlit cigarette dangles from her mouth.
Her eyes shoot darts at me. “What’s going on in here? All your shouting woke me up!”
“Mother—”
I cut Ava off. A sudden thought rushes into my brain. Of course! Her mother needs money. The old harpy forced me to write that check and now wants more. “Rena, you stole my grandfather’s gold watch…and your daughter’s diamond wedding rings.”
She yanks the cigarette out of her mouth and plants her two bony hands on her sharp, jutting hips. Her hawk-like eyes narrow at me. “I did no such thing!”
“You’re lying!”
Ava butts in. “Ned, please…my mother is the one who told me to put my rings back on. Why would she tell me to do that if she was the one who stole them? It makes no sense.”
I try to wrap my head around what she’s saying. I’m so incensed I’m not thinking straight.
Rena smirks. “I’m going back to sleep. Can you please keep it down in here?”
Clad in a pair of quilted satin slippers, she stalks out of the room.
As she disappears, a dispatcher finally comes on the line. The phone still on speaker, a nasal female voice filters into my ears.
“Nine-one-one. Can I help you?”
Like, why else would I be calling 911? To hear about the weather?
Breathing in and out of my nose like a fire-breathing dragon, I bite out, “I’d like to report a robbery.”
My blood simmering, I explain to her that three very valuable pieces of jewelry were stolen from our house and that I want someone from the LAPD to come to our residence immediately.
“Was anyone harmed?” she asks.
Nodding like one of those bobblehead dolls, an all-ears Ava mouths the word “yes.”
I tell the woman no. A big mistake. The dispatcher explains that it’s not possible. The LAPD can only respond to dire, life-threatening emergencies and that I should file a police report and call my insurance company. She gives me the number of the Hollywood precinct before I end the call with an angry jab of the red button.
I glance at the time. 7:30. The breakfast with the Japanese starts at eight. I can’t be late. I don’t have time for this shitstorm.
“Can I do anything?” asks Ava.
Ignoring my wife, I curse under my breath and dash out of the house.
The breakfast with the Japanese investors goes exceedingly well. Despite the rage consuming every atom of my being from the jewelry heist, I manage to be all smiles, ears, and nods.
Gabe and I assure them IMAGE has a glowing future ahead, with its mega slate of movies in development and new talent signed. We give them all a copy of the company’s prospectus, each beautifully sealed in a jewel-colored plastic folder. Then, we invite all eight of them to the upcoming $5,000-dollar-a-seat gala in honor of IMAGE being named Agency of the Year. Twelve hundred dollars later, the ten-person breakfast is over, and we’re one step closer to making the deal. A 45% stake in the agency.
The rest of the day at my office is a day I want to forget. I spend the better part of the morning filing a police report. I ask the officer in charge, Detective Hernandez, if the burglary could be related to the wave of robberies that have been plaguing the Hills. He tells me from what I’ve told him, it’s unlikely. It’s not their style. The police suspect those thieves are a bunch of teenage looters who are pranking the rich and famous. Breaking into their houses when they’re away and stealing truckloads of stuff, mostly pricey electronics, before tagging the residence with their signature graffiti. Our robbery doesn’t fit the pattern.
“What about that other guy…the home invader who holds up couples at gunpoint in broad daylight?”
Again, he says it’s unlikely. This perp only preys on the elderly and always makes his way into his targets’ houses by forced entry.
Since there have been no signs of forced entry into our house since the last time I wore the watch, which I distinctly recall was back in March—three months ago—at a tribute for my late parents at the Academy Museum, Hernandez tells me it’s likely an inside job. He asks if I have any security cameras around the house.
