Chapter 36
36
D avid asked our lawyers to drop us at the LA Gazette newsroom, which was not far from the Downtown police station. I was going to say he should stop there to talk to his editor or finish his article or whatever he wanted to do, but I needed to get home. But he pleaded with me with his eyes, and I wasn’t able to deny him even if—and I apologize if I’m getting tedious in my basicness—I hadn’t showered in two days, I probably had slept a total of eight hours in as many days, and I was still craving a thorough fuck.
But ten minutes after leaving the LAPD police station and having been reassured for the umpteenth time that Fred Appleton would be in custody at any moment, I was by David’s side at the newsroom of his former newspaper. John Diaz, his editor at the Gazette , was flanking him on the other side. We were all going through David’s copy. I negotiated my way into an article bylined by both me and David after writing a few paragraphs. And John demonstrated an iron hand as an editor. He deleted, rearranged, and asked us the right questions. David had always talked about him in stellar terms, saying that good editors are difficult to come by because they needed to be selfless and make someone else’s writing better. I understood what he meant then.
The trepidation was such that I told David it should be him, and not me, who hit the publish button when the article seemed ready. Or as ready as it would ever be. Then I realized John would do it.
In the end, I warmed up a bit to David’s former boss and present editor, especially when I saw them working together and after John offered David his old job back as a freelance contributor at the Gazette . David politely thanked him and told him he’d think about it, but I intuited what the answer was going to be. The whole professional scene reminded me that my own career was on the line as I still owed my agent an answer of some sort before that evening. But I gathered, or more precisely I hoped, that the whole kerfuffle with Fred Appleton trying to kill me and still being on the run may buy me some sympathy—and time. After all, there could hardly be a NYC Misconducts show with the showrunner being accused of murder, no?
Ten minutes after David and I had left the newsroom of the Gazette and a couple of hours after getting there, our article was published on their website.
LA Misconducts Showrunner Fred Appleton Will Be Charged in the Death of Actor Dashing Henry
The LAPD is about to make an imminent arrest of the television writer and producer. Fred Appleton’s Toyota Prius was revealed to be the car that killed Dashing Henry. Appleton tried running over screenwriter Elena Freire Valls early this morning.
By Elena Freire Valls and David Ramos
Don’t believe everything you read in other, less reputable publications. None of the writers involved in the reporting of this story are responsible for the killing of Dashing Henry. And the LA Misconducts star, while dead, will remain an uncovered sexual predator who made unwanted advances toward several of his colleagues and subordinates.
On the evening of Wednesday, February 21, LA Misconducts showrunner and producer Fred Appleton followed actor Dashing Henry to the Eastern Columbia, the downtown building where the reporter David Ramos resides. Celebrity superfan Marky Fitzsimmons, also known by the moniker LA Troubelmakr, witnessed a car matching Appleton’s silver Toyota Prius tailing Henry’s car into the building’s parking entrance.
Fitzsimmons had been engaged by Henry to follow Ramos and warn the actor about the journalist’s whereabouts. Henry visited the Eastern Columbia with the intention of confronting Ramos regarding the articles the reporter had written about him that had unveiled him as a predator. The actor sued the journalist for libel and the trial was set to start next week but, according to legal experts, the trial would have in most probability been dismissed. Henry had been recently fired from LA Misconducts for his behavior. As a result of that firing, the show was canceled and Appleton was preparing a spin-off set in New York.
Dashing Henry’s Involvement in the Weird Circumstances Around His Death
Henry had been resentful against Ramos reporting and had leaked a series of fake emails pretending the journalist summoned him at the Eastern Columbia the night of his death. Henry’s intention was to get the journalist to look suspicious ahead of the trial. Proof about said emails being fake and written by Henry was found inside of the actor’s car in a USB-C pen drive that has already been surrendered to the LAPD. Henry’s car, a bronze-painted Mercedes-Benz AMG G63, was registered under Henry’s assumed name and left at the parking garage of the Eastern Columbia for a few days before being searched by the police.
In the CCTV material obtained while reporting this article, Henry can be seen outside his car in the parking area of the Eastern Columbia. Appleton lambastes him from inside his silver Toyota Prius. Evidence indicates Appleton would run over Henry, kill him, grab his $80,000 Patek Philippe watch to make it look like a possible robbery, and flee the scene with his car. The motives behind Appleton’s actions were not clear at the time of publication.
After reading several articles that implicated Ramos in the killing of Henry that had been published without reasonable proof, Appleton took advantage of the confusion and decided to further incriminate the journalist. On Friday, February 23rd, and while Ramos was at the Downtown LAPD police station making a statement, Appleton broke into his apartment at the Eastern Columbia and planted Henry’s Patek Philippe.
Ramos was able to obtain CCTV material of the building from that Friday where Appleton can be seen taking the elevator and exiting the Eastern Columbia fifteen minutes later. Both the watch and the CCTV material have already been surrendered to the police with all other pertinent evidence.
Appleton’s Attempt on One of His Former Employees
On the morning of Saturday, February 24th, Appleton demanded the presence of screenwriter Elena Freire Valls for a “walking meeting” in Griffith Park. Freire Valls had been a writer on two seasons of LA Misconducts . Appleton had offered her a writing position on the staff of his new spin-off TV show, NYC Misconducts .
When the walking meeting was over and after Freire Valls shared with Appleton that she’d been investigating the death of Henry, the showrunner tried running her over with the same Toyota Prius involved in Henry’s death.
Appleton remains at large and was last seen running from the LAPD at Griffith Park shortly after making an attempt on Freire Valls’s life.
After leaving the newspaper, we realized we had been running on fumes and empty stomachs, so we stopped by Cabra for sustenance in the form of Peruvian tapas.
“I can’t believe you brought me to another rooftop restaurant in a swanky Downtown hotel,” David said while we were seated at a tall round green-tiled table with views over Broadway street and its many Art Deco buildings.
“Oh, shush!” I dismissed him and I was immediately reminded why I loved the downtown area of Los Angeles so much. It was inconvenient, at times packed, chaotic, and sometimes even grimy, but no one could dispute its cinematic qualities.
“Try and enjoy the beauty,” I ordered David.
“How do you even find out about these places?” he asked. “It’s not like you can walk around and discover a bar on top of a building.”
“I subscribe to at least three local publications, and they all have a great food section,” I explained as we were served veggie empanadas, avocado dip, and a mango pineapple berry salad.
“Thanks for keeping my business afloat,” he said as I doused a taro chip with avocado and devoured it while making a very audible sound. “Hungry?” David joked, and I was glad he didn’t inquire whether any of those publications were the Voice or the Gazette . The truth was, I subscribed to both of them but had been actively avoiding any section where I could encounter his writing.
“More like famished,” I said, my mouth still full of food. “This whole investigating stuff is too stressful. There’s no time for anything! I don’t know how you can do it.”
“Well, it’s not always this...” David said, and I knew he was looking for the right term to describe it.
“Fucking crazy?”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” he conceded. “Plus, I’m normally not a suspect and wanted by the police. That also helps keep things a bit more manageable.”
“Don’t forget the part about the man-child following you around and then chasing us down, please.” I attacked the tomatoes from another dish that had just been served and avoided the chorizo in it.
“Technically, he wasn’t chasing us around,” David said with a smile. “He was just looking for answers about his beloved icon.”
“He still scared me to death,” I said. “But since we seem to be done with the frightening episodes. Do you want to talk?”
“Aren’t we talking?” David asked, playfully.
“You know what I mean,” I said, even if I knew he wouldn’t take that for an answer.
“I don’t actually,” David said as I rolled my eyes. I knew him so fucking well.
“Us, Scribe. Let’s talk about us.”
“Are you still mad at me for not finding the time to tell you I had been offered a job I wasn’t going to take?”
“I’m not mad,” I admitted then ate a mouthful of berries—only realizing what he’d just said after and being forced to speak again with my mouth still full of food. If only my mother could see me, she’d be so disappointed in my lack of table manners. “What do you mean you weren’t going to take the job?”
“I don’t think that’s relevant now. I heard Gloria Kingsley was offered the position,” he said.
“Gloria Fucking Kingsley.”
“Gloria Fucking Kingsley,” he repeated. “But since I’m still pretty much crazy about you, I don’t think I could have taken a job where one of the conditions was to stay away from you.”
I dropped a forkful of some veggie or other headed for my mouth. The food landed on my jeans, the table, and the restaurant’s floor. I grabbed a napkin and cleaned myself as well as I could. I suddenly had the urge to make myself a bit more presentable—and attractive, if possible. I took my hands to my eyebrows, combing them to make them look brushy. And I raked my fingers through my knotted, messy hair. Where was a mirror when one needed one?
“I’m happy to hear you’re still crazy about me,” I said, and I tried keeping my voice calm and sexy but I could hear my heart racing. “Because I too have a massive crush on you.”
“Do you think we could give us a second chance given the reciprocating feelings?” You may be thinking: Nobody talks like this. Well, he does. And it’s definitely part of the turn-on for me.
“And disregarding the long list of grievances and irreconcilable differences?”
“I didn’t even know there was a long list,” he said.
“I can fill you in, if you really want, but I think I liked your last proposal a lot. It could work for us.”
“Remind me again?”
“No more fights but, especially and please, no more misunderstandings,” I said. “We need better communication from now on. It shouldn’t be so hard as we both specialize in communication, no?”
“No more secrets?” he asked.
“No more secrets,” I said, and there was an understanding between the two of us.
“So absolutely no misunderstandings but fights are okay-ish?” he said, jokingly.
“Not ideal, but from time to time and if they aren’t so massive that we can’t ever recover from them. They can help keep things interesting, no?” Not for nothing, our last big fight—our breakup—seemed to be bringing us closer together now. And it had been just what our sex life needed.
And that’s when we decided we wouldn’t be having dessert after all. We finished the rest of the food in record time, asked for the check, and headed home.