The Blue Jungle (4)
A noir novella in 10 chapters. "I think he'll talk to me."
Welcome to THE BLUE JUNGLE, a noir novella by Jamie Dibs.
Naomi is a struggling reporter in LA. Gangsters kidnap her because their boss thinks only Naomi knows what happened to his daughter.
He may be right: Naomi covers the porn industry, where all secrets lead to the king of sleaze, Bobby Feathers.
Paid subscribers get access to the audio of the author’s audio version of THE BLUE JUNGLE (released as a separate post). Plus access to all serials on Dark & Stormy, including GAIJIN COWGIRL and STAR FALL PEOPLE.
And now…
THE BLUE JUNGLE: CHAPTER FOUR
NAOMI
Val was nice enough to leave a note. But it didn’t undo the sensation of Naomi’s insides cratering. The abduction had cost her two hours, and the author had already vamoosed for the airport. The only consolation was that Val wouldn’t witness Naomi looking such a mess, Okada’s threats still vibrating in her veins.
She wandered out of the hotel in a daze. The weight of despair was suffocating.
Everything had been a stupid mistake. Stupid Naomi. Stupid to blow all of Risa’s hard-earned cash thinking she could make it as a TV reporter in Tokyo. Stupid to let Risa take over again when money got tight. Stupid to think when she arrived in America she could just get a job without a visa. She had been down to her last thousand bucks when she saw the ad for an intern in the ‘entertainment media’; during the interview, Stu had promised to stump up for a work visa if she worked out. It would be a good experience, Naomi had told herself: learn a beat, cover an industry.
As industries went, she had picked a doozy.
And now, instead of reinventing herself in America, she was getting sucked back into a life she despised.
She walked out of Val’s hotel in a daze. She blinked in the golden lie of California sunlight.
It had been six weeks since she had seen Eriko, picking her up out of the sand. She could try Obi-wan, see if he knew anything…or Director Taro. But then again, Sumo and Bug Eyes would have probably covered those tracks already. Boss Okada wouldn’t have risked coming to her unless he had run out of options. He didn’t know how to find Eriko in America. Did stupid Naomi?
The obvious place to begin was the studios. Naomi knew which one to try first. But she couldn’t bear the thought of it. Not in her present state. She didn’t have the strength.
As she drove her rustbucket Sentra out of the placid hills of West Hollywood, she decided what this job required was old-fashioned calling around. Time to be a reporter. Cover the field.
She returned to the X-tra office and was secretly relieved to see Meredith wasn’t in. Naomi was torn between wanting the company of an ally and the need for privacy to place her clandestine phone calls.
“Jesus, Naomi, what happened to you?” Stu asked.
“Nothing.”
“Save the late nights for the weekends. You got the Most-Influential profiles filed yet?”
“I’m working on it, Stu.”
“Deadline’s tomorrow. Don’t embarrass me, Naomi.”
He disappeared into his office and she let out a long exhalation. The other people in the office ignored her as usual. She found the Yellow Pages that rested beneath the desk of the receptionist, who was absent as usual on one of her cigarette breaks. Back at her station, Naomi opened the tome and despaired.
The entry under ‘shelters’ alone ran for a finger’s jamb of pages. Addresses and phone numbers cataloguing ruination and desperation made for an exhaustive guide to the City of Angels.
She looked up the numbers for hospitals and police stations, as well as government social services, and decided at this rate, she’d find Eriko some time before man walked on Mars.
For an hour, she made calls. An hour of leaving messages with grumpy people who didn’t care. An hour of spelling ‘Tamaki’ and ‘Okada’ and ‘Eriko’. An hour of waiting on hold.
This wasn’t going to work.
Which left only one option.
That night six weeks ago, Naomi had no choice but to let Eriko crash at her apartment. She didn’t have a spare couch or bed at the cramped pad she shared with Barbara – the only sofa was on Babs’ side of the curtain. Her roommate had been out that evening, tending bar on Sunset, but would stumble home at some evil hour. The best bet was looking like sharing Naomi’s bed. No way would she let Eriko under the sheets in such a filthy state…
She rolled Eriko into the bathroom and sat her on the toilet. Naomi didn’t know what to do. She was a mess herself. She stepped out and stripped down to her underwear. Then she went back into the bathroom and ran the shower. “Come on, let’s get you clean.”
“Okay, Sato.”
Well, that was progress: a coherent, if short, sentence.
Naomi removed the rollerblades from Eriko’s feet. “You do the rest.”
Eriko mumbled something and just sat there.
“Fine, at least get your hands up.” Naomi took the edge of Eriko’s sweater and hoisted it along the girl’s thin waist, with just a hint of plump, and over her full breasts. The sweater got stuck around Eriko’s head and there was a brief, inelegant struggle.
“Help,” Eriko pleaded. As Naomi untangled the sweater from the girl’s arms, she felt Eriko’s knees press against the outside of her legs, drawing her in. She stopped breathing, not daring to think about what that meant, and tossed the sweater aside.
Eriko smiled up at her, not a drugged out foggy grin, but aware.
Naomi stepped back. “You’re dirty.”
Eriko stood up. She was Naomi’s height, but creamier, curvier, and she smiled like something out of a dream. “I know,” she said, reaching back to spring her bra free. Her nipples were hard little pink dots.
“Get in the shower,” Naomi said.
“I need your help.”
“No you don’t. Get in.” Naomi turned toward the bathroom door, but Eriko took Naomi’s hand and led it to her breast.
Naomi felt the nipple harden against her palm. Her breathing was shallow, her heart fluttering. That place her mind was desperately trying to ignore, down there…
“I need your help,” Eriko repeated as she stepped away and with what seemed like a shake of her hips sent her skirt falling to the floor.
Naomi followed her into the shower.
Afterwards, Babs hadn’t noticed the two of them twisted around each other in Naomi’s bed. Just as Naomi, cocooned in a satisfied sleep, failed to notice Eriko extract herself and take off, around sunup. She awoke alone, exhausted, disoriented, fulfilled, embarrassed. Feeling both complete and empty.
Leaving for work, Naomi found her pocketbook open on the shelf by the door. Missing item one: forty-six bucks in cash. Missing item two: Bobby Feathers’ business card, handed to Naomi just the day before, as he propositioned her in the middle of the interview.
That had been six weeks ago. Two days ago, cornering Naomi at his villa, Bobby had referred to the Asian jailbait from Valentine’s Day. He must have been talking about the runaway: Eriko had taken a chance on the industry business card she had pinched from Naomi’s purse.
Naomi was going to pay Bobby Feathers a visit. But she didn’t want to brave the porn producer alone.
She looked up at a familiar commotion. Meredith threw her pocketbook and a notepad behind her cubicle. Anger painted her face. “Thanks for nothing,” she snarled.
“What?”
“What?” mimicked Meredith savagely. “You were supposed to cover the association meeting so I could get that Jenna Jamison interview?”
Naomi cringed. “I’m sorry. I’ve had…the worst…”
“After I gave up my time to go with you to that stupid press conference…hey, you okay?” She must have registered genuine distress on Naomi’s face, because she relented and passed Naomi a tissue, then the box. “Don’t let Stu catch you crying. We’ve got our reputations, you know.”
Naomi nodded as she blew her nose. “I’m sorry.”
“You said that already. What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, crazy bitch. You know you can tell me.”
“Maybe later. I’m such an idiot. I should have gone to that meeting. Were you able to get your Q-and-A?”
“No,” Meredith said, sagging into her chair. “Stu’s going to fire us both.”
“The most-influential list. How much is left?”
“Three profiles,” Meredith sighed.
“Who’s on your list?”
“Paul Thomas, Christine Heffner, and whatsisface, your boyfriend from Explicit.”
“Bobby Feathers?” Naomi felt the tightening return to her guts. “How much you got on him?”
“Just whatever crap I could get online, plus that interview from last week with Jenna’s publicist. Bitch wouldn’t give me anything new.”
Naomi screwed up her courage. “Well, I need to go see him. You want to come?”
“What do you mean, you need to see him?”
“To ask him about something. I think he’ll talk to me. To us, I mean. You want to go?”
“Go where? Explicit’s office? They won’t let us in.”
“To his home in the Valley,” Naomi said.
“They won’t let us in there either. They’d probably just call the cops.”
“I think he’ll talk to me.”
Meredith looked skeptical. “Since when are you on such buddy-buddy terms with Bobby Feathers? Last time I saw you, he was such a prick he made you cry. And look, you’re doing it again. Since when do you cry?”
“That’s why I want you to come with me. We might get something exclusive. So what do you say?”
Meredith’s eyes tracked Stu approaching from behind. “Our brave general’s at DefCon Three. Let’s bounce.”
Outside, Naomi unlocked the doors to the Sentra. “New phone?” Meredith asked, holding up the scractched silver Kyocera J-phone that Naomi had stupidly left in the coffee tray. It had a Japanese keyboard, numbers vying with Kana characters for space. There was only one number in its memory, to be dialed as soon as she located Eriko, Okada’s torpedos waiting on the other end.
Naomi grabbed it out of Meredith’s hand and stashed it in her jeans pocket. “Never mind.”
“Jeez, precious.”
Naomi blasted The Strokes to avoid having to talk. The trek to the canyons took them through lush warrens where rich people lived behind high walls, the entrances to their homes flanked by garbage bins, haunted by oily people scavenging for a free meal.
Bobby Feathers’ mansion gates glinted beautifully. Behind them peeked the top level of his compound: where the pool patio oversaw the other side of the ridge, an aerie overlooking half of greater Los Angeles, the most amazing performance space in the city and a wonderful target for a million telescopes – if the voyeurs only knew where to aim.
Naomi parked a few houses down from Bobby’s mansion. Meredith followed her on foot to the double gates, their bars decorated with a central shield emblem, steel polished black with an ornate ‘B.F.’ and a feather icon embossed in mother of pearl.
Naomi hit the buzzer.
“So you gonna tell me what this is about?” Meredith asked.
Naomi waited for the speaker to spit static and a gruff male voice said, “No solicitors.”
Naomi pushed the talk button. “We’re from X-tra News.”
“No visitors.”
Naomi said into the microphone, “Tell Mr. Feathers that we’re asking about Eriko Tamaki. If we don’t find her we’ll go to the police.”
Meredith mouthed, What the fuck? Naomi raised her palm – hold on. The intercom hissed for a long moment.
“Seriously, what is going on?” Meredith said.
The male voice commanded: “Wait.”
“You know that guy, Obi-wan?” Naomi asked her.
“The Japanese Jedi master? Never met the dude, but I know who he is.”
“He told me this starlet named Eriko Tamaki was visiting a few weeks ago and went missing. He asked me to see if anybody knew about it.”
“You came all the way over here to ask that?” Meredith slumped. “I could have finished half of those frickin’ write-ups by now.”
“He’ll talk to us and you’ll have a shot at an exclusive,” Naomi promised.
“What makes you think Feathers knows what happened to some Japanese girl?”
Naomi, brain doing acrobatics, improvised. “He’s looking into doing some U.S.-Japan tie-ups.”
“Jesus wept,” Meredith moaned.
The bodyguard appeared behind the gate. “Fuck you want,” he said. Naomi noticed Meredith smile, and then the bodyguard relaxed and smiled back.
“Hey Duke,” Meredith said.
“Merry! You don’t write, you don’t call.”
She shrugged. “You know me, Duke. Saving the world.”
He winked. “Come back more often, Merry, the world’ll take care of itself.” He noticed Naomi. “You, on the other hand...”
Naomi wouldn’t have guessed this particular combo, but then again, the porn world in L.A. was small enough. What Naomi really couldn’t understand was how Meredith, all spikes and ghoulishness, pulled it off; Duke must have had all kinds of women at his beck and call. Whatevs. “Eriko Tamaki came to see Bobby six weeks ago and now she’s disappeared. I can either ask him where she’s gone, or I can let the cops know he’s the last person she saw.”
Duke looked at Meredith with a help-me-out gesture. “Try putting this one on leash, hunh?”
“Just ask Bobby, please?” Naomi begged.
Meredith shrugged. “Would it kill ya, Duke? For old times’ sake?”
The bodyguard chortled. “Meredith Pepper, didn’t know you were so sentimental. Anyway, Bobby ain’t here. He’s travelling.”
“Travelling?” Naomi burst. “Great, that’s just great. Where the hell has he gone?”
“Business trip,” Duke said. “Didn’t say when he’d be back, didn’t say nothing about whatever it is you’re talking about.”
“Where’d he go?” Naomi asked. “He’s got a phone, right?”
“He’s in Thailand,” Duke said. “Some crazy timezone shit. I got strict instructions, no calls. B.F. doesn’t wanna be disturbed.”
“Business or pleasure?” Meredith asked.
“Well, if Pimples is there, then it’s definitely business,” Duke said. With his arms folded like that, Duke looked wider than the gate.
“Thanks, Dukie,” Meredith said.
Dukie?
“Tell you what, I’ll let Pimples know you two showed up, all right?”
“Bobby better call me tonight,” Naomi warned, “or I go to the police.”
“Jesus, you don’t quit, do you?” Duke said.
“Appreciate it, man.” Meredith took hold of Naomi’s arm. “We’ll be going now.”
“Come on back, Merry,” the bodyguard said, “and leave Chopsticks at home. Pool’s open.”
“Maybe I will,” Meredith said over her shoulder, leading Naomi back down the street.
Naomi was fuming. Angry at B.F. not being there. Angry she hadn’t bounced Eriko. Angry that people like Meredith and Duke seemed to have such an easy time getting along. Chopsticks. She burned rubber getting out of there.
“Girlfriend,” Meredith sighed, “you gotta tell me what is going on.”
“I’m trying to drive.”
“Naomi, yo, we’re like engaged in what in English we call a conversation.”
“Sorry, Meredith. I thought Bobby’d be around.”
“So who’s this Eriko Tamaki chick?”
Shit. Shit shit shit. “No one. I mean, she’s just a Japanese A.V. girl, but I made all that up.”
Meredith, open mouthed. “You made it – Jesus, watch where you’re going – you made it up?”
“Not the part about him doing some international stuff. But that Eriko chick, I, um, yeah. There were a bunch of Japanese girls in town a little while ago and I couldn’t think of another way to get B.F. to talk so I, uh…It was really stupid of me.”
“For real? Because you’re not stupid. I’m not smart, but I know you are.”
Naomi shook her head. “I wish.”
“Girlfriend you are smart. And we both know there’s something up with this Eriko that you aren’t telling me.”
“Nope,” Naomi said, trying to sound cheery. “Just a bad mistake.”
Meredith snapped, “You are so full of shit.”
Yeah, I know. Seeing red at herself, such dumb mistakes. Seeing red at everyone stuck in B.F.’s orbit. “So, you and Dukie,” Naomi said, trying to change the subject.
“Yeah, one time, me and Duke.”
She laugh-cried. “You amaze me, you really do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Naomi, seeing red at the world she was in: “Is there anyone in this town you haven’t fucked?”
“Is there anyone you have?”
“I guess not,” Naomi said, thinking Yeah, there is…there was, knowing she was blowing it with her only friend, her anger turning inward into shame. “Meredith…”
“Forget it.” Meredith kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the dashboard, toenails painted black, showing the outer edge of a galaxy of dark stars, tattooed just above her ankle. “Put some music on.”
It was a long hour back; Naomi was never so relieved to see the bland brown office building appear on the side of the interstate.
Naomi steered into the parking lot and sidled up to the entrance, with the engine running.
“Well, here we are,” she said.
“You’re not coming in?” Meredith asked.
“I can’t. I’ve got some stuff to do.”
“Whatever.” Meredith slammed the passenger door shut behind her and made for the building.
Naomi rolled down her window. “Sorry to have wasted your time,” she called.
Meredith popped the bird and went inside.
Naomi tried to ignore the sinking sensation in her belly. Stupid blabbermouth loser. She pulled onto the highway.
Five minutes out she spotted a Taco Bell, Humvees and pick-ups in the parking lot. She slotted between two SUVs, as if in hiding, and flipped open her notebook, to the liner where she kept important numbers and addresses. Checked her watch: should still be just enough time for an office to remain open. She flipped open her Nokia.
“Explicit.”
She asked for Feathers’ office. A momentary electronic clucking, and then a female voice answered.
Naomi all fake cheer: “Hi! I’m trying to track down Bobby in Bangkok. I’m part of the Japan team.”
“Who’s this?”
“Risa. From Silk On Demand in Tokyo. We’re supposed to meet him in Bangkok and my office lost the email with his address.” She did a quick mental calculation. “My rep’s supposed to meet him for lunch, and it’s breakfast time over there already.”
“Hang on a sec,” and Naomi wasn’t sure to rejoice or if the secretary was about to look at her boss’s schedule and realize something was amiss. The idea of Feathers leading a remotely professional or corporate life was bizarre – as was the idea of anyone willing to be his secretary – but he did have a hundred-million-dollar company to run.
“What did you say your name was again?”
Her heart sank. Dangerous question. “Risa,” she stumbled, groping for a name… “Nakamura. Silk on Demand.” The secretary asked for the spelling.
“Okay, he’s staying at the Grand Hyatt.”
“Thank you…and are the others too? You know, the Asian talent, the Japanese girl, Eriko.”
“You need them too?”
Duke had mentioned Pimples was along. “I should follow up with James Exeter,” Naomi said, using Pimples’ real name. “Where do I find him?”
“He and the others are at…hang on, where’d I put that…okay, he’s at a different hotel, the Ambassador. Need the number?”
“That would be great, thanks.”
She wrote down the phone number and was about to chase info on Eriko when the secretary asked, “Who’s your rep in Bangkok, Miss Nakamura? I’m sending Mr. Feathers a reminder right now.”
Uh-oh. “Don’t bother, they don’t speak English.” She hung up, still feeling like a heel for jerking Meredith around, but also feeling a sense of achievement. Like maybe this was how real reporters felt when they had finally uncovered a scoop.
If you’re enjoying this story, please:
Consider going paid to get all of Jamie Dibs’s novels here at Dark & Stormy.
Leave a comment!
Share this! There’s nothing quite like THE BLUE JUNGLE on Substack.
Paid subscribers also get to listen to the audio version, released separately.