Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Hollywood Mystery
    Hollywood Mystery
    Hollywood Mystery
    Ebook222 pages4 hours

    Hollywood Mystery

    By Pro Se Press

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Hollywood, a land of imagination and dreams, where anyone’s star can rise and fall...and where the best actors and actresses ever portrayed characters of all kinds, including private eyes, cops, and other mystery solvers...

    But what if the stars from the Golden Age of Celluloid actually ended up investigating real crimes, finding themselves in the crosshairs of danger while pursuing murderers and criminals through the studios and back alleys of America’s Dream Factory?

    HOLLYWOOD MYSTERY is a collection of stories turning beloved Hollywood icons into detectives, turning over every rock and following every blood trail, hunting for the truth and hoping not to end up on the cutting room floor!

    HOLLYWOOD MYSTERY. From Pro Se Productions.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPro Se Press
    Release dateMay 6, 2017
    ISBN9781370516414
    Hollywood Mystery
    Author

    Pro Se Press

    Based in Batesville, Arkansas, Pro Se Productions has become a leader on the cutting edge of New Pulp Fiction in a very short time.Pulp Fiction, known by many names and identified as being action/adventure, fast paced, hero versus villain, over the top characters and tight, yet extravagant plots, is experiencing a resurgence like never before. And Pro Se Press is a major part of the revival, one of the reasons that New Pulp is growing by leaps and bounds.

    Read more from Pro Se Press

    Related to Hollywood Mystery

    Related ebooks

    Thrillers For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    Related categories

    Reviews for Hollywood Mystery

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Hollywood Mystery - Pro Se Press

      HOLLYWOOD MYSTERY

      By

      Mark Squirek, Christofer Nigro, Wayne Carey,

      Gordon Dymowski, James Hopwood

      Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords

      HOLLYWOOD MYSTERY

      A Pro Se Productions Publication

      All rights reserved under U.S. and International copyright law. This book is licensed only for the private use of the purchaser. May not be copied, scanned, digitally reproduced, or printed for re-sale, may not be uploaded on shareware or free sites, or used in any other manner without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

      Spanky Won’t Stop Laughing! by Mark Squirek

      Rock Hudson, Movie Star Secret Agent: Crimson Glitter by Christofer Nigro

      Hope For Murder by Wayne Carey

      In The Frame by Gordon Dymowski

      The Poison Pen by James Hopwood

      Editing by David Farris & Connor MacDonald

      Cover by Adam Shaw

      Book Design by Antonino Lo Iacono & Marzia Marina

      www.prose-press.com

      HOLLYWOOD MYSTERY

      Copyright © 2017 Each Respective Author

      Table of Contents

      SPANKY WON’T STOP LAUGHING!

      ROCK HUDSON, MOVIE STAR SECRET AGENT: CRIMSON GLITTER

      HOPE FOR MURDER

      IN THE FRAME

      THE POISON PEN

      ACT I.

      ACT II.

      ACT III.

      ACT IV.

      FINAL ACT

      ABOUT THE AUTHORS

      SPANKY WON’T STOP LAUGHING!

      By

      Mark Squirek

      As he spoke, Jimmy Durante sat idly behind the piano allowing the fingers of his right hand to slip mindlessly across the keys. Each time he did, a small group of random notes sang out across the rehearsal room, every one of them dancing off the clean white walls of the long hall as if they were part of a Silly Symphony cartoon and Mickey’s baton was dancing in a whirlwind.

      Next week they’re pulling me to do some NRA shorts, Buster. I’m going to film them after we work with Eddie on the upcoming feature.

      Durante was talking to his screen partner, famed silent comedian and filmmaker Buster Keaton. Famed for his deadpan reaction to anything that happened around him, Durante expected little, if any, acknowledgement from the great stone-face to what he had just told him.

      As the man who bore that great stone-face sat next to the piano on a folding wooden chair cradling a ukulele, he simply looked over at Durante and nodded Yes.

      It was more of a reply than the piano player had thought that he would hear.

      Created by the executives at MGM, the team of Keaton and Durante was getting ready to begin their third film together. This bright Sunday morning in early January of 1933 found the two men working alone together in a large rehearsal hall on the studio’s lot.

      They were working on a Sunday, trying to come up with a musical number that would brighten up their third picture together, What? No Beer? The film was scheduled to begin production this Thursday.

      It was to be the first time that Durante was to receive equal billing with Keaton. While Keaton was already a star, the series had seen Durante’s status with management rise.

      Even the studio’s head Louis B. Mayer had noticed that Jimmy Durante, with his endless enthusiasm, his rapid-fire delivery and that easily identifiable nose which sat smack dead center on his hang-dog face was the perfect comedy star for talkies.

      One of the assistant directors had told him that Mr. Mayer had laughed the minute he had seen that massive schnoz on the screen. Durante knew what his ticket was, and he had no problem exploiting it. He loved putting his nose right out there for people to see.

      For Keaton, things were going a different route. Since coming to the studio in 1928 amidst massive expectations, he found himself hamstrung by what he saw as restrictive management practices at the Studio.

      So far, all the films that he had made had each brought in good money for the studio. But he couldn’t stand the tightly-written scripts that featured puns, wordplay and, what he had told more than one friend in a bit of alcohol-inspired honesty, was just bad, bad writing.

      As the two men sat there quietly, they were each going in different directions. One up, the other down.

      Durante repeated himself. Buster, they want me to do some NRA shorts.

      Once again, the actor nodded at his screen partner and then began to use his thumb to strum out an odd chord progression on his uke. Despite all that he heard, Keaton was actually thinking ahead to a baseball game that was scheduled to be held on a vacant lot at one that afternoon.

      Buster Keaton loved few things more than a good game of pick-up baseball.

      A minute later Keaton broke the silence. Let’s go out the gates and visit the Little Palace. We need some breakfast. You eat yet, Jimmy?

      Durante picked his head up out of his hand and suddenly seemed to be filled with energy. He replied, Sure, Buster, good idea. I was so anxious to get here that I ran right out of the house without eating a thing. He stood up, closing the lid to the piano as he did. Continuing on, he said, I reserved the room until one because I figured you had a game scheduled for the afternoon. So let’s grab an egg and get this done.

      The prospect of a sandwich brightened both men’s outlook. They had been at the job for nearly two hours, since eight a.m. and neither one had been able to contribute anything solid.

      Keaton placed his uke across the top of the piano and put his hand on Durante’s shoulder as they began to walk out. You ever play the Riverside? My old man used to love it there. Said the joint was one step away from the Palace.

      Durante smiled. Nah, by then I was earning too much at the Speakeasies over in Brooklyn to come across and play legit joints. Stopping for a second, he looked at his friend and said, Buster, how you survived that childhood I will never know.

      The man who had come to be known by millions as The Great Schnoz was referring to Keaton’s old Vaudevillian act, The Three Keatons. Ostensibly about a family, it was really just an excuse for wild slapstick as Keaton’s old man would throw a three year old Buster from one end of the stage to the other for little, if any, reason.

      Not once did he break a bone in his son’s body, even as the poor boy tumbled into the orchestra pit. It was obvious to anyone that the kid was gifted. It was Harry Houdini himself who, after witnessing the kid hit a stage wall and bounce right back up, said That kid’s a Buster, a real Buster!

      The name had stuck with Keaton ever since.

      For decades, The Three Keatons had always made money as the audience loved the crazy action.

      Loosening his usual tight grimace to reveal a warm and personable smile, Keaton smiled back at Durante and said, Jimmy, the old man was something else. Just something else. But I loved it when he tossed me around like that. It was being alive. Like a good gag on film, or a good double-fall, one where it keeps going just when they think it’s over. You’re just really, really alive when it happens.

      It was a warm and, until this very moment, a rare bit of affection between the two veterans.

      As they walked out of the hall and into the sunlight of a California Sunday morning, they heard a single gunshot ring out across the nearly empty lot.

      In response, Durante flung his arm across Keaton’s chest and, without thinking, Keaton grabbed his flat hat and did a quick, exaggerated double step. It was if he were on camera or back on a vaudeville stage with his father; it was just habit.

      The two men barely had time to figure out where the sharp crack had come from when a second shot rang out.

      The two men stood still, silent and motionless in the alley between two massive soundstages. The echo of the sound told both of them that the sound came from a real gun.

      They looked at each other a second time when suddenly an unfamiliar figure turned the corner, grasping his chest with one hand as he did. His other hand was supporting himself along the wall as he stumbled towards the two comedians.

      It was clear that a brilliant crimson river of blood was flowing through the man’s twenty-dollar Arrow shirt, across his expensive silk suit coat, and down across his hand.

      Both Durante and Keaton had been around long enough to know the difference between stage blood and real blood.

      This is real blood, thought Durante.

      I am going to miss my game at one, thought Keaton.

      In the blink of an eye, the gunshot victim now stood just an arm’s length away from the two. He looked at Keaton and then over to Durante. His eyes begged for another minute of life, but the gunshot wound that had torn a baseball-sized hole in his chest was going to deny that request.

      Slipping down the outside wall of the soundstage, the blood was now filling every empty space of white still visible on his shirt.

      Making eye contact with Keaton as he fell, the man found the strength to whisper two words as he collapsed.

      The gourd… the gourd…

      Now kneeling before two of America’s favorite funny men, the man fell to the ground, rolled to his side and, with a single breath, left this plane of existence.

      His last words brought confusion to the faces of Keaton and Durante who then looked at each other in near shock.

      Keaton looked away from Durante and saw two other men, each brandishing a pistol in their fists, come running around the corner. The taller of the two men moved faster and in a few steps was suddenly towering over the dead man. As he waved the gun menacingly over his head, small bits of the morning sun kept bouncing off of the tip of its well-oiled barrel. The unintended distraction caught Keaton’s eye.

      The tall man looked up from the body into the eyes of the two actors. For a second, no one moved. Before the tall man began to speak, his overweight partner caught up to the group. Puffing and wheezing from his run, he found a place on the opposite side of their victim.

      The fat man pulled out a leather wallet that appeared to hold a dull, silver badge. Opening and shutting it quickly, he flashed it towards Keaton and Durante.

      Pinkerton boys, he said. Gesturing towards the body, he said, We caught him robbing the payroll office. Broke right in he did.

      To Keaton’s sharp eye, that badge had looked like a cheap wallet with nothing inside but a dented silver dollar. And possibly a moth, thought Keaton to himself.

      For Durante, who had seen more than his share of questionable events while playing back alley clubs and bars in New York City over the last ten years, he could care less about the badge. In another two months, his name was going to be on a marquee next to Buster Keaton’s, and he wasn’t going to stick his notable nose into anything that didn’t involve him.

      Nodding at them both while smiling, the fat man holstered his pistol. Bending down to the dead body, he put his arms around the fallen man and in one swift motion picked him up. As if he had done this a hundred times this week alone, he flung the considerable bulk of the now limp body over his shoulder.

      With the body secure, he turned to his tall friend and said, I got him. You clean up here and we’ll meet at the gate in a minute. Adjusting the body across his shoulder, he began to trudge back down the alley in the direction that he had first come from.

      His partner, the tall man, remained standing in front of the two actors. Lowering his gun, he held it out in front of them, not necessarily as a threat, but more in the way that people do when they forget that they are holding a cup of coffee as they begin to get lost in a conversation.

      His gun moved through the air as he spoke. Pointing at Keaton with the weapon, he asked, You’re Keaton, ain’t you? The train movie made my Dad laugh.

      Unsure as to how to reply, Keaton hesitated.

      In a voice that belied years of playing speakeasies in Brooklyn, the man known as The Schnoz spoke up, "That’s right. That was The General. Damn good movie!"

      The tall man looked over at Durante and showed signs of recognizing the man. Looking him up and down as if he were examining a cheap suit for bad seams, he said, I seen you someplace?

      Durante nodded his head. Yes.

      Where?

      Not sure, replied Durante with half a smile and a cocked head.

      The man looked at him closely and then smiled. It was Posty’s on the west side, back east. The joint closed when Posty died last year. But I recognized you when you came around the corner. You’re a piano player. I recognize the schnoz! Smiling at the memory, he lowered his gun down and placed it in his belt.

      Keaton whistled quietly. Durante stuck out his hand to the tall man who quickly took it.

      As they shook hands, he told Durante, Posty got one about a year ago. Everybody heard. None of my business on what happened there, piano man, but can’t say I’m surprised.

      Years of dealing with men with guns had taught Durante that the best answer to a question like this was always a joke. Adding a big smile for emphasis, he said, I hear things, but that ain’t my business. Me? I keep my nose clean. For emphasis, he shook his face left and right a few times before breaking into a big grin.

      The tall man laughed and broke the handshake off. Everyone who had been in a speakeasy or bar in New York City over the last decade knew who Jimmy Durante was. The joke was that his nose came on stage a full two minutes before he did.

      Keaton looked past the two new friends where he watched the fat man rounding the corner of the building with the body. He stood still waiting for Durante to clear up the mess they had just witnessed.

      The nose did just that. Speaking quietly to the tall man, he began, Look, we both, he gestured at Keaton as he spoke, know how this works. It’s Pinkerton business and we have nothing to do with it. He paused, stood as tall as his five foot seven inch frame would take him, and looked the taller man straight in the eye. "We are good, ain’t we?"

      For added effect, he used an acting trick he had learned on the last film, punching the word are as he spoke. This was supposed to make his question move from a request to a quiet command.

      The tall man looked over at Keaton and made a gesture towards the gun in his belt.

      Without thinking, Keaton grabbed at the flat, pork pie hat on top of his head and then did a little leap off of the ground with both of his legs. The tall man laughed and pushed his suit coat to cover the gun. He looked over to Durante and carried on.

      Came out here to work for Pinkerton after Posty got put out of his misery. Good job. Get to shoot losers for a salary. He smirked as he said this.

      Keaton began to feel a little sick in his stomach.

      Oblivious to Keaton’s discomfort, he continued talking. Helps to have the law on our side.

      Durante sidled up to the man and said, I like the sunshine. And the girls. Every pretty girl in the world is out here in California.

      Normally Keaton hated it when Durante talked a mile a minute. It was one of the things he hated about their films, the nose never stopped talking. But this time, he was thankful that the man was by his side as the Great Schnoz took over the conversation.

      Look, we don’t know your name, but you know ours. We would love to talk all day about Posty and New York and Pinkerton, but we got a film to make. And you got official business to clear up. If you need us, you leave word at the gate and we will hear it quickly.

      With that, Durante turned to Keaton and went on, We got to get back to the soundstage and finish the number with the piano or the director will crush our nuts. Turning back to the tall man, he

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1