CHAPTER FIFTEEN

FIFTEEN
Chaos beyond chaos greeted me this evening.
Danny did not show up at rehearsals today. The
reason he did not show up is that he was stabbed to
death this morning.
There were fifty seven text messages on my
Blackberry – from Patti, from Danny’s assistant David,
from my stage manager, my company manager, my
general manager, from the assistant managers to each
of those individuals, and from every entertainment
reporter in the country -- and almost as many voice
mail messages, including one from a homicide
detective in Queens, where the crime occurred.
I was
paralyzed for a good thirty minutes, slumped in my
red wing chair trying to sort it all out in my mind.
I thought about Danny. He was a man who
could be, by turns, difficult, charming, stubborn,
immensely talented, grasping, desperate, self-satisfied
and completely full of himself. In short, he was a true
artist. I would miss him. It struck me that the abrupt
nature of his demise must be a form of what is called
karma, for me. How many lives over the millennia
had been disrupted by the violence of my hunger?
I knew Danny’s family lived in the Central
Valley region of California. I made a mental note to
have Patti get in touch with them and offer financial
assistance with the funeral arrangements, if they needed it. I imagined they would want the body shipped west for burial.
There’s bad timing, and then there’s disastrous timing. Danny’s death seemed to go beyond the bounds of the latter category. The first preview would have to be delayed, of course. I wondered if one of the actors killed him. He could be brutal with actors when they failed to give him what he wanted. I looked at my watch and shrugged. Timing is everything and it was time for me to go from inertia to action.
My first call was to Matt Dunleavy. He didn’t answer his cell phone and I left a message, saying it was time for him to start earning his retainer, and the matter is urgent. Matt is a criminal defense attorney with a reputation for feistiness, getting his clients off, and his inability to stay either married or unmarried. His current wife is his sixth, or perhaps his seventh – which could mean she will be good luck and stick with him.
My next call was to Patti. She didn’t answer either. I was about to call Jacob Macklin, my entertainment attorney – and one of the brightest bulbs along the Great White Way these days – and confirm that delaying the first preview would not present any contractual difficulties. My cell phone rang.
It was Matt of the many wives. We exchanged salutations and he said, “So, what’s up?”
It was clear he had not heard about Danny’s death. I filled him in quickly and succinctly.
“Okay. What was the detective’s name who called?”
I checked my notes and gave him the name of Detective Carl Swiecki and the phone numbers that were included in the voice mail. “I don’t recognize the name but that doesn’t mean anything. I’ll call him and set up an appointment. What’s a good time for you? You still a confirmed night owl?”
“Some things never change, Matt. I’ll show up whenever they want but night time is definitely better.”
“I’ll get back to you,” he said, then disconnected
I called Jacob. He answered on the third ring without saying hello.
“Gus, I’m so sorry to hear what happened to Danny.”
With a show opening soon, he must be keeping my number in his cell phone and that thought warmed the cockles of my brutal heart -- whatever cockles may be and even though I don’t have what could properly be called a heart. New York theater is a small world, and the world of Broadway even smaller and more insular. It was not surprising that Jacob heard about Danny’s murder. He was probably waiting for my call.
“It’s terrible, Jacob. Devastating. Danny was a real talent. Pretty Lady was going to be his break into the big time.”
“I know. I loved what he did for you with Ukulele, Baby. Are there any suspects yet? Have you talked to the police?”
“Not yet as far as talking to the police. I’ve got Matt Dunleavy handling that. He’s setting up an appointment with them.”
“Good idea. Matt’s got a good reputation. Don’t talk to the detectives alone.”
“I don’t plan to, though there’s nothing to hide.As far as suspects, you’ve probably heard more than I have. I just awoke about an hour ago to about a hundred messages on my Blackberry. The media vultures are circling of course.”
My phone beeped with an incoming call, as if to underscore that
statement. The number was unfamiliar and I let it go to voice mail.
“I advise against talking to the press right now. Let Ben Cody handle them after you two meet and come up with a strategy. This is going to be huge. You know that, right? Wait until they start with the Belasco being haunted and shows east of Broadway being cursed.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that aspect. It’s madness, Jacob. Let’s just hope the show runs longer than the news story. That would be the real tribute to Danny’s memory, not all the tabloid blather.”
My phoned beeped with another incoming. It was Matt calling back.
“Jacob, I’ve got to take this. It’s Matt Dunleavy.”
“Go. Call me tomorrow, please.”
I beeped Matt’s voice into the phone.
“All right, good news and bad news – The detective wants us to meet him soon, this evening. The bad news is that the station house is in Queens. Your director was killed in Queens. What do you think he was doing in Queens? Any ideas?”
“He lives there.”
“A Broadway director living in Queens? What’s the world coming to, Gus?”
“It was his first Broadway show -- his big break. Where are you right now?”
“In a Town Car headed towards you. With the way traffic is flowing, I should be there in ten minutes, fifteen tops.”