26-30

Chapter 26: High-End PR

---

“Your large Coke,” said the server at the counter, placing the largest cup of Coke on the counter.

Amanda picked up the Coke, removed the lid, and took a sip.

Right behind her, Sasha also stepped up to the counter. "I’d like a Coke, the largest size, no ice, please."

Amanda quickly walked down the aisle toward her boss, blending in like any other passerby. Hawk, hearing the sound of high heels, slightly shifted his gaze and took a glance.

“$10,000!” Caroline said with a red-lipped smile, her high bid catching Hawk’s attention. At that moment, Amanda approached. She glanced sideways at Hawk’s laptop, quickly identifying where the hard drive was located thanks to her knowledge of electronics.

On the other side, Sasha made a loop and approached from the opposite direction. The moment Amanda made her move, Sasha would grab the camera bag. This rookie had clearly made a rookie mistake, bringing both the camera and the laptop.

In PR, it’s not just about verbal sparring and media manipulation—sometimes it’s about making sure there’s no evidence left behind. Solve the person or object causing the problem, and the problem itself disappears.

Amanda adjusted her pace and neared Hawk’s table, raising her Coke as if to take another sip. But she seemed to step on something, slipping, and she started to fall toward Hawk, the Coke cup about to spill.

A large hand suddenly reached out, grabbing Amanda’s arm. Her arm was knocked aside, and the full cup of Coke spilled everywhere.

Most of it landed on Caroline’s face and chest, soaking her hair and turning her shirt transparent, revealing a hint of black beneath and outlining her curves.

Hawk, with one hand having pushed Amanda’s arm, quickly moved his other hand to remove his laptop. Hearing footsteps behind him, he suddenly turned and smiled at Sasha from a few meters away.

Though the smile seemed warm, it made Sasha shiver, as if he might pull out a gun and shoot at any moment. She stopped in her tracks, too afraid to take another step.

Amanda, seeing her boss covered in Coke, stammered, “I’m... I’m sorry…”

Hawk packed away his laptop and slung his camera bag over his shoulder.

“You need to compensate me for my loss!” Caroline wiped Coke off her face and placed her drenched Hermès bag on the table, pointing to the Chanel logo on her chest. “This alone costs more than you could ever repay!”

Still looking disheveled, she pulled out her phone, not forgetting her role: “I’m calling the police…”

“Go ahead,” Hawk interrupted, glancing at the two women with their Cokes. “The media and public would definitely be interested in the relationship between you two. I’m sure the LAPD will figure it out.”

Caroline slowly stood up, Coke continuing to drip down her body and clothes.

“Call the police if you want,” Hawk said as he headed for the exit with his bag.

Once he left the restaurant, Amanda quickly grabbed some napkins to wipe the Coke off Caroline.

Caroline waved her hand, “Let’s go.”

Sasha and Amanda followed her, as onlookers whispered and pointed.

Outside, by the car, Caroline pulled out a towel to clean the mess off her head. She also retrieved a brand-new Chanel jacket and changed inside the car.

Sasha asked, “What’s our next move?”

“We can’t keep a lid on this. I have a feeling that jerk isn’t just going to take the money and walk away,” Caroline said, buttoning up her jacket. “We’ll proceed in two ways: first, put pressure on the media and have the client pay up to buy back the photos. Second, prepare for the fallout if this leaks, and figure out how to minimize the damage.”

She concluded, “We messed up this time. We underestimated him—he’s no rookie.”

Sasha quickly apologized, “I’m sorry.”

Caroline wasn’t too upset. PR was always about dealing with messes, some so bad they seemed beyond fixing. It was part of the job.

She clapped her hands, “Let’s get to work.”

Sasha and Amanda split up to make calls, contacting the media and the parties involved.

Caroline opened her Hermès bag, its lining soaked with Coke. The tiny recorder inside was ruined, and the Sony Ericsson phone was also dead. The losses were huge.

As for her own mess, she didn’t need to look to know.

Cursing under her breath, she grabbed her spare phone from the car and called James.

“You’re something else. We agreed on ten minutes, but it took you less than five to wreck my deal!” James was furious. “Now the other side refuses to work with me. You need to compensate me!”

Caroline snapped back, “Compensate you how? Want me to spread my legs? I promise you’ll be left with two fewer balls!”

“Just remember to keep feeding me inside information.” James gave in and hung up.

---

Meanwhile, Hawk got into his car, safely stowing the camera bag and laptop. He then took out a storage drive from the glove compartment and glanced at it.

With news like this, you don’t feel secure unless you make multiple copies and store them in different places.

James called at that moment.

Hawk answered, “Sorry, we agreed on five minutes, and that time has passed. I’ve got another appointment with a different paper.”

In a news story of this caliber, it was very much a seller’s market. James quickly responded, “$5,000. I’ll take the story.”

“I’ve got another meeting. I’ll call you back,” Hawk said, not closing the door entirely on the deal.

At the agreed location, given what had just happened, he didn’t go into the café but had the other party meet him in his car.

Two minutes later, Jerry, a bearded man from National Enquirer, got in.

After brief introductions, Hawk turned the laptop toward him to show the footage he’d captured.

“Very clear, very straightforward,” Jerry complimented.

Hawk got straight to the point, “An Oscar-nominated actor and the lead actress from a hit TV show, an Emmy nominee. The man has a wife, the woman a husband. It’s juicy.”

Jerry saw the value immediately. Just the topless shots of them together would drive tomorrow’s paper sales through the roof.

After a moment of thought, Jerry said, “$5,000.”

Hawk closed the laptop, “Don’t joke with me. You can underestimate me, but not the value of this story. This could cause a national sensation.”

Jerry asked, “How much do you want?”

Hawk, aiming high, responded, “$15,000.”

“If these were top-tier Hollywood stars, I’d easily offer $20,000. But Downey’s a second-tier actor at best, already plagued by scandals, and one more won’t shock anyone. Sarah Parker is big right now, but don’t forget, she’s just a TV star,” Jerry countered.

Hawk had another selling point in mind. “You may not know this, but Downey’s latest film, The Singing Detective, is produced by Sarah Parker’s husband, Broderick. And Sex and the City? I don’t need to tell you how big that show is—Sarah was nominated for an Emmy last year.”

He added, “And by the way, Downey’s eyeing The Phantom, a project where Broderick is also a producer. The chain reaction from this…”

The weight of the photos increased in Jerry’s mind, and he quickly called his most well-informed contact at the paper to verify the details. He soon got confirmation.

National Enquirer was one of the largest tabloids in North America, with a vast readership. If the story was worth it, they could easily pay up.

Jerry put away his phone and held up one finger. “$10,000, for an exclusive deal.”

“Deal,” Hawk agreed, adding one condition. “This news has to be published, no PR cover-ups.”

Jerry assured him, “We buy stories to print them on the front page, not to bury them.”

---

Chapter 27 Which News Is Most Popular

---

Hawk signed the exclusive authorization agreement, Jerry the Bearded handed over the check, and Hawk handed over the photo copies. Both sides then parted ways.

West Coast Media Entertainment Studio had completed its first deal: revenue of exactly $10,000.

Hawk drove back to East Hollywood, parked on the side of the road, went home, locked the security door, checked the surveillance and alarm system, and grabbed a bottle of water, taking a few sips.

After spending half the night at the Viper Bar, without a moment's rest, he took out the check and placed it on the table, glancing at the numbers again.

Money gives a man courage, and Hawk was no exception. If you want to make it in Los Angeles, money has to keep rolling in.

Hawk first hired a hotel escort, then arranged for someone to deliver fireworks, not relying on charm, but on cold hard cash. The news would hit the press tomorrow.

In Hawk’s mind, Robert Downey Jr.’s acting career was bound to take a big hit. A druggie who also hooked up with a producer's wife would definitely face negative consequences.

Hawk didn’t aim to ruin Robert Downey Jr. entirely. He was always fair: an eye for an eye. Downey had pushed him to the brink, so Hawk figured Downey should fall off the same ledge.

As midnight approached, Hawk headed upstairs for a shower and sleep. His gun was within arm's reach, and his bedroom had a burglar-proof window that could be opened from the inside, allowing him to jump straight into the backyard if needed.

The next morning, Hawk's custom-made safe was delivered. While the workers unloaded it, Frank, an old man living in a trailer across the street, was nearby collecting cans and wandered over.

Frank asked, “You got a safe? What secrets are you planning to keep in there?”

Hawk responded directly, “That’s right, to store secrets.”

Frank shook the mesh bag full of cans, the clinking sound of aluminum coming from inside, and said shamelessly, “If you don’t want the cardboard boxes, give them to me.”

“Sure, I’ll give you all the recyclables from now on,” Hawk offered on one condition: “Keep an eye on the place when I’m not around.”

Frank nodded, “No problem. The folks hanging around this area all give me, Frank, some respect.”

Hawk was curious and asked, “You don’t seem like a gang member. Are you the leader of the beggars around here?” His eyes glanced at the cans in the bag. “This business seems pretty popular. How do you collect cans without getting roughed up?”

Frank raised his chin and said, “Because they don’t dare mess with me.”

Hawk became even more curious, “So why do you live in a trailer in the parking lot?”

Frank’s face was full of stories: “It’s complicated. You young folks wouldn’t understand.”

The workers finished unloading the safe, and Hawk ended his conversation with Frank. He directed the workers to place the safe in the corner of the living room. The safe was incredibly heavy and used an old-fashioned mechanical combination lock.

A technician gave Hawk a few instructions before leaving with the workers.

Hawk set up the safe and stuffed it with useless books, newspapers, and photos. In the media and business consulting industry, you often touch on a lot of competition. High-level business battles and PR work are no joke, so it's best to stay prepared.

He then installed a trigger switch he’d prepared in advance, connecting it to the safe’s power supply. If anyone managed to break into the safe, they’d be in for a shock—literally.

Just like how decent people don’t keep diaries, Hawk wasn’t about to store anything truly valuable in the safe.

After setting it up, Hawk looked out the window and saw Frank still waiting outside. He packed up the cardboard boxes and foam and handed them to Frank.

“I’ll buy you a beer later,” Frank said, carrying the boxes across the street back to his trailer.

Hawk then headed to the nearest newsstand to buy a copy of the National Enquirer. Before he got there, he noticed the stand owner had already hung the paper in the most prominent spot. The front-page photo of a man and woman passionately kissing took up almost half the page, catching the attention of passersby.

A few people were already buying the paper. Hawk stood by, observing for a moment.

Of the stacks of newspapers in front of the owner, the National Enquirer had the fewest copies left, apparently outselling the Los Angeles Times.

When no one was in front of him, Hawk bought a copy and casually asked, “Selling really well today?”

“The National Enquirer has big news today!” the owner said, clearly in a good mood, smiling. “What kind of news do people love the most? It’s not new policies from Washington or how much wealth some billionaire has gained, but juicy celebrity gossip.”

He continued, “That’s the stuff regular folks love to read. It’s easy to understand and you can discuss it with just about anyone.”

“You’ve got it figured out, makes sense,” Hawk agreed.

The owner, who had clearly seen it all, said, “I’ve been selling papers for 20 years. Seen too much.”

Hawk pulled out a business card and handed it to the owner, “If you come across any interesting people or stories, give me a call.”

The owner got the hint: “You a journalist?”

“Sort of. It’s part of the job,” Hawk said, taking the paper home to study how others wrote their articles. His studio’s future business would involve this kind of thing, too.

The headline read: “Robert Downey Jr. and Sarah Parker Caught in Hotel Tryst, Both Cheating on Their Spouses!”

The headline was short and to the point, but not as shocking as it could be. In Hawk’s mind, that over-the-top tabloid style wouldn’t appear for another few years, with faster development overseas.

Hawk figured that when the time was right, he could use that style.

...

At Full Speed PR, in the director’s office, senior partner and director Runi Chasen slammed the National Enquirer down on her desk with a loud bang. Sasha and Amanda instinctively shrank back.

Caroline Jones stretched her slender neck, standing quietly in the office.

Runi, now 40, glanced at Caroline’s youthful, attractive face, and felt a surge of anger. Thinking about their 15-year age difference made her even angrier. “You got the news first, went to handle it first, and still couldn’t deal with an independent freelance journalist?” she scolded.

Although Caroline wasn’t afraid of Runi, she remained silent.

Runi continued, “Both clients are furious. Robert Downey Jr. has already decided to terminate his contract with the company. Your failure has caused significant damage to the company’s reputation and business. The board is asking questions, and if it weren’t for me taking the heat, you’d both already be fired!”

Caroline didn’t try to shift blame. “It was my responsibility.”

“I’m not concerned about that or losing Downey as a client. I’ve had enough of that junkie’s messes anyway!” Runi took a deep breath and shifted her tone. “What infuriates me is how out of control this situation got!”

She turned to Caroline, “You let a man humiliate you like that. If it were me, I’d have climbed the Columbia Building and jumped off by now.”

Caroline quietly replied, “I underestimated him.”

Runi, having vented, felt a bit better and sat down. “Losing Downey doesn’t matter, but the company cannot afford to lose Sarah Parker. You need to find her and do whatever it takes to smooth things over. Even if you have to kiss her ass, keep her on board!”

Caroline felt uncomfortable but had no choice but to comply.

---

Chapter 28 The storm rises quickly and dissipates quickly

*Beverly Hills, North of Sunset Boulevard.*

In the vast mansion, Buddy Ackerman basked in the afternoon sun, put down his newspaper, and said, "I remember the company had a project involving Robert Downey Jr.?"

His daughter, Melissa Ackerman, replied from behind, "The production crew of The Singing Detective—an investment of tens of millions."

Buddy asked, "Will it have an impact?"

"The film is set to release in the second half of the year," Melissa said softly. "There's still about six months. Hollywood will soon have new scandals, and people will forget quickly. The negative impact won't be too bad by then."

Buddy, from the older generation, said, "An actor hooking up with the producer's wife is too bold—not a good thing."

Melissa added, "The company won't work with Downey again, and other producers will also be hesitant."

Buddy asked, "How's Bro's mood? Will it affect his work?"

"It shouldn't," Berak Bernan, an old friend of Bro Derek, replied from the side. "Bro is whipped—absolutely adores his star wife. As long as Sarah sincerely apologizes, Bro will cave..."

Buddy, well-versed in such matters, said, "Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses. A leader knows how to use those strengths; that's what makes a talent."

Melissa understood that her father was giving her advice. "I understand, Father."

Buddy waved her off. After she left, he turned to Berak and said, "The medical team suggests that the younger the blood packs, the better the results. Get the foundation to act on this and fully refresh the supply."

Berak was already prepared. "The foundation plans to launch an overseas charity program, targeting candidates from the Middle East, South Asia, and Southeast Asia."

Buddy nodded slightly, "Do it quickly."

---

*Sherman Oaks.*

A burgundy Bentley stopped in front of a hillside mansion. Sarah Parker hesitated, unable to enter the house.

She glanced at the passenger seat. "I never meant to be with Downey. I haven’t had feelings for him in a long time. It was just for fun. I never meant to hurt Bro or my family."

Caroline, her friend, said firmly, "You have two choices: sincerely apologize to Bro and ask for his forgiveness, or divorce him and let the whole town talk."

"No, I won't divorce!" Sarah couldn't bear it. Bro treated her too well, and finding someone like him again would be difficult. "I'll apologize to Bro. If he truly loves me, he’ll forgive me."

Caroline, usually quick with sarcastic remarks, was left momentarily speechless.

Sarah regained her confidence, started the car, and drove into the driveway.

Caroline fiddled with the pepper spray in her new Chanel bag, wondering if domestic violence might break out soon.

The sound of the car startled the man inside the house. Bro came to the door with a copy of The National Enquirer in his hand.

Sarah hesitated for two seconds after parking the car, but then stepped out, determined.

Bro walked up to her. "Honey, where have you been? I was so worried."

"I..." Sarah, an actress, began to cry. "I'm so sorry. I was confused."

Bro, known among his friends as being whipped, immediately wrapped her in a hug. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm here."

Caroline stood in shock, marveling at how forgiving this man was.

But Bro's next words left her completely floored. "Next time, invite me along. I don’t mind."

Sarah froze for a second, then processed his words. Suddenly, she found the idea appealing. It sounded... exciting.

After all, her fling with Downey was about the thrill.

The couple went inside to talk in private.

Caroline, left standing in the yard, calmed down quickly. After all, her clients were all Hollywood types. In this business, people and scandals were a dime a dozen.

Couples working together on sets was common. Affairs, open relationships, and even threesomes were hardly surprising.

As a producer, Bro could snap his fingers and have a crowd—men, women, or anything in between—ready to go.

Maybe they were both just looking for some excitement?

Caroline couldn’t quite understand.

Ten minutes later, Sarah came out and invited Caroline inside.

Bro said, "You're Sarah’s publicist. Do what you can to calm this storm."

"The key is your... both of your attitudes," Caroline said after a moment’s thought. "I’ll reach out to the media. The two of you should go out together, hand in hand, showing your commitment to your marriage and family. I’ll also arrange for an interview."

She looked at both of them. "Sarah, you’ll express your remorse, and Bro, you’ll show forgiveness. Then, we’ll release statements focusing on how you both value family and marriage. We can shift the public’s attention to Downey. Trust me, that drug-addled guy’s going to cause more trouble soon enough."

Sarah and Bro clasped hands tightly. "Alright, make it happen as soon as possible."

Caroline quickly left. The air in there felt suffocating.

She sensed that beyond the couple's peculiar tastes, there were complicated interests at play.

Hollywood—the land of twisted relationships.

---

That day, Hawk had been camped outside Robert Downey Jr.'s Brentwood home, mixed in with a crowd of media reporters.

They were all waiting for Bro Derek to show up and confront Downey.

Among them, some crafty reporters were discussing strategies. One of them said, "If Bro shows up, we need to provoke him with questions, get him to lose his temper, and hopefully start a fight with Downey."

Another chimed in, "A shootout would be even better."

Someone added, "One dead, one injured."

Laughter erupted. "That would make us rich!"

Hawk, though he agreed, stayed silent.

He had sold photos and was eager to see if Bro and Downey would tear each other apart.

But as the sun set, there was no sign of Bro.

Instead, a source from one of the studios mentioned, "There’s news about Downey."

Hawk asked, "What news?"

The man, eager to share the scoop, said loudly, "Sony and Warner, along with Ackerman Pictures, announced that Downey is no longer suitable for Phantom Men."

An insider added, "Downey hooked up with a producer’s wife—Hollywood’s blacklisting him."

Someone else quipped, "What producer wouldn’t be afraid? Cast Downey in your movie, and he might steal your wife."

Hawk, still new to LA, didn’t have the connections some of the veteran reporters did, and had no luck that day.

Most of the crowd left, including Hawk.

When he got home, Hawk turned on Channel 11, where the 6:30 entertainment news was just starting.

The host first reported on Robert Downey Jr. and Sarah Parker’s scandal, then played a video.

Bro Derek and Sarah Parker were spotted hand-in-hand at the Beverly Shopping Center, looking closer than ever.

They even gave an interview—Sarah tearfully apologized, and Bro generously forgave her, claiming she was his one true love.

Both promised to focus on their family and marriage moving forward.

Hawk thought to himself, So this is Hollywood love?

Chapter 29 The First Employee

---

The first deal after opening was a good start, and there was no conflict between making money and building connections.

Robert Downey Jr.'s career had taken a hit, but he was far from being completely disgraced.

Hawke hadn't made any progress in Brentwood; too many competitors were clogging up the area, making it impossible to get exclusives.

At the Wing Chun gym, he had developed a few sources, but the Tracy Gym was still a blank slate.

Not only did Downey train there, but it was also a top choice for other Hollywood stars and athletes.

Hawke hadn't been in L.A. long, and he lacked connections. After a moment of thought, he remembered Eric Eason, a director he'd met at the Sundance Film Festival, who had mentioned that he would be coming to L.A. to work. Hawke found Eric's number and gave him a call.

Eric was thrilled, “You’re in L.A. now?”

“There are more opportunities here,” Hawke said honestly. “So, I moved to L.A. to grow.”

Eric replied, “Got time? Let’s meet and chat.”

Hawke got straight to the point, “Actually, I was hoping you could help me with a little favor.”

They agreed to meet at Century City.

Twenty minutes later, Hawke arrived at Starbucks and waited a bit before Eric showed up, right on time. Compared to the Sundance Film Festival, this young director looked much more confident and full of energy.

Hawke ordered coffee and asked, “Seems like things are going well for you.”

Eric laughed easily, “Not too bad.” He looked Hawke up and down, “But you! You’ve changed so much. If you hadn’t approached me, I would’ve thought you were someone else entirely.”

Hawke grinned, “I’d like to change too—maybe into a super handsome guy with a star’s good looks. That way, I could live off my face.”

Eric joked, “It’s not just their faces they rely on, but also their butts and mouths.” Then he grew serious, “If you want to latch onto someone big, you’ve got to get on your knees and start talking.”

Hawke realized that Eric, this artist, was also something of a philosopher.

Their collaboration in Park City had given Eric great confidence in Hawke, so he asked, “Have you found work yet? You could come help me.”

“I’ve got work,” Hawke declined politely. “How’s progress on your end?”

Eric replied, “By mid-next month, The District Heights will fully hit the DVD and video market. The project’s made a profit, and Kathryn has agreed to finance my next project with a million dollars. I’ll be making a real feature film, and I’m writing the script now.”

Hawke didn’t know much about scriptwriting or filmmaking, so he simply asked, “Is the script done?”

Eric waved his hand, “Not that fast—it’ll take at least another six months.” His face fell a little, “So, I’ve got a long way to go yet…”

Sensing Eric’s frustration, Hawke consoled him, “Compared to George and the others, you’re pretty lucky. At least Kathryn’s a woman.”

That hit home, and Eric cheered up quickly, especially when he thought about his rival George Hanson.

Hawke continued, “I’ve just arrived in L.A., and I don’t know many people here yet. I’ve run into a small issue and was hoping you could help.”

Eric responded enthusiastically, “Of course, just tell me what you need.”

“Since the Sundance Film Festival, I’ve been keeping up a rigorous fitness routine, and you can see the results,” Hawke half-joked. “There’s this gym called Tracy’s in Westwood. I’ve heard the facilities are top-notch, and the trainers are excellent. I tend to gain weight easily, so I want to join. But it’s a membership gym, and you need a current member to refer you.”

Eric thought for a moment, “I’ve heard of that gym. It’s pretty famous in the industry. I think Kathryn mentioned it once. I’ll ask her for you.”

“Thanks,” Hawke said.

“No problem,” Eric suddenly thought of George and the Crystal Theater’s sudden power outage. He asked, “You’re not planning to pull any stunts at the gym, are you?”

Hawke flexed his muscles and joked, “Of course not. I’m just there to work out.”

Eric relaxed, “Alright, I’ll get back to you with some good news.”

They talked a bit more about Eric’s new project. Hawke, knowing his limits, listened without offering much input on the creative process.

At noon, Hawke treated Eric to lunch. Shortly afterward, he got a call from the convenience store owner in North Hollywood, saying Robert Downey Jr. had gone to the Wing Chun gym. Hawke immediately drove over.

Outside the store, the white female owner, Bree, was leisurely watching the Orlan Boxing Gym across the street. Inside, her mixed-race black employee, Edward, was busy restocking.

When she saw Hawke get out of his car, Bree waved him over and pointed across the street. “He’s been in there for a while now. His wife just showed up. I know his wife, Deborah—she was in the paper today.”

Hawke nodded slightly. He had read the news: Deborah had moved out of Brentwood with their child, separating from Downey.

Following the usual etiquette, Hawke pulled out $20 and handed it to Bree. “Thanks.”

Bree happily pocketed the money and went back inside.

Edward, who had seen the whole thing, grumbled to Bree, “I’m the one who spotted him!”

Bree snapped at him, “Get those cotton products into the warehouse! I’ll order you fried chicken and watermelon juice for lunch!”

“What am I, your slave? Working every day without pay?” Edward was really mad this time. He tore off his apron and threw it down. “I’m breaking up with you!”

As Hawke vaguely heard the argument from the store, Robert Downey Jr. and his wife Deborah came out of the gym, still arguing loudly. Deborah screamed at Downey, calling him a piece of trash and saying he wasn’t fit to be their child’s father.

Downey, seemingly guilty, got in his car and drove off. Deborah followed soon after.

Hawke lowered his camera just as Edward walked out of the store.

Behind him, Bree shouted from the doorway, “Leave me, and you’ll be living on the streets!”

Edward yelled back, “I’d rather be homeless than let you exploit me any longer. You’ve drained me dry!”

Hawke looked at the store curiously.

“Hey man, we meet again,” Edward flashed a wide grin, showing a row of white teeth. Pointing at the camera, he asked, “Did you get something good?”

Before Hawke could answer, Edward added, “See? Every time you run into me, you get lucky. I saw that front-page headline from last time. Looks like you’re gonna cash in again, huh?”

Hawke packed up his camera and casually replied, “Just making a living.”

Remembering the last time and the newspaper headline that followed, Edward blinked. “Man, you hiring? I’m good at this stuff. I can drive, use a camera, and never complain. Every boss I’ve worked for says I’m the best…”

Hawke smiled without saying much, motioning toward the store.

“No, no, this is different,” Edward quickly explained. “I felt bad for her, divorced with a kid and all, so I stuck around as her boyfriend. But she treats me like free labor—no, worse, like a slave! I’m worse off here than my ancestors were in the cotton fields.”

Hawke got straight to the point, “Why did you go after her, honestly?”

Edward stuffed his hands into his pockets, “Divorced with a kid, there’s gotta be child support money. I figured I could live off some of that.”

Hawke asked, “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

Edward scratched his head, “I came out of Compton and didn’t end up homeless because divorced single moms took me in. They get at least half the assets, plus child support, and most of them own homes. But they’re lonely and need a man to do the heavy lifting…”

Hawke found this pretty amusing. It was a unique survival skill. He asked, “Who taught you all this?”

Edward replied, “I figured it out myself.” He glanced back at the store. “But this time, I didn’t get anything out of it. I’m worked to the bone during the day, and at night… well, I’m just exhausted. I can’t take it anymore.”

Hawke was looking for someone to help out and take the lead on tough tasks, and Edward’s skin tone would be an asset at night. “Get in the car, and we’ll talk.”

He handed Edward the keys, letting him drive, and called Jack from the inquiry service to set up a meeting at their usual spot.

Edward, a local, knew the city well and drove quickly to the location. After waiting a short while, bearded Jack arrived.

Hawke sent Edward off and began negotiating, closing the deal for $200.

A fight between Downey and his wife wasn’t big news, but since it was part of a continuing headline, it was worth $200.

After Jack left, Edward returned. “Did you close the deal?”

Hawk nodded slightly and said seriously, "Now let's talk about you working for me. Show me your driver’s license or some other ID, and I’ll need your Social Security number too."

"You’ve gotta be kidding. We're taking this that seriously?" Edward said, frustrated, but handed over his driver’s license and gave his Social Security number.

Hawk took a photo of the license and jotted down the Social Security number. "There’s a one-month probation period," he explained. "You'll get California's minimum wage, and the hours aren’t fixed. I’ll provide food during work hours, and your phone needs to be on 24/7 so I can reach you anytime."

Edward was losing it. "Man, back in the day, my ancestors had it better on the plantations!"

Hawk shrugged. "Take it or leave it. If you don't want the job, you're free to go." He added, painting a big picture, "My studio's just getting started. If we make it, you'll be a founding partner."

Edward was about to refuse but then remembered the fireworks from that night and said, "If it doesn’t work out, I’ll leave whenever I want."

Hawk replied, "You're jumping the gun, buddy. To get this job, you’ll need to pass my test first."

Hawk didn’t believe in shady practices like making employees pay to work or forcing them to loan money to the company. But to become part of West Coast Entertainment Studio, you had to prove yourself.

You had to build some skin in the game.

Chapter 30: The Test

As night fell, a black Mondeo roared down the streets, its 3.6-liter V6 engine bursting with power.

Hawk hung up the phone and said to Edward Connor, who was driving, "Head to Linton Café."

Edward turned the wheel and asked, "Another celebrity causing a scene?"

Hawk replied, "We’re going to help a beautiful lady in distress."

He had just received a call from Jacqueline, who had some important news to share, and a face-to-face meeting was necessary.

"Your sweetheart?" Edward’s loose tongue couldn’t help but wag, "Wait, no way—someone as old-fashioned as you having a girl? Hey, boss, are you the kind of guy who only does it with the lights off and knows just two positions, back and forth..."

Hawk caught the disrespect and snapped, "Shut up, or I’ll dock your pay!"

Edward quickly zipped it, not daring to mock his boss any further.

As the Mondeo neared the road leading to the café, Hawk had Edward park early and gave him Jacqueline’s number, instructing him to meet her first and bring her over.

Edward was puzzled, "Why not just go directly?"

Hawk was cautious, suspecting someone might be using Jacqueline as bait, though his official explanation was different: "The journalism law states that media professionals must protect their sources and cannot disclose them. It’s a basic principle of press freedom."

Speaking earnestly, he added, "We need to protect our informants. You’re a new face; no one will suspect anything when they see you meet."

Edward wasn’t exactly cut out for this kind of thing, but having seen snitches brutally punished in the Compton gangs, he replied, "Got it."

Hawk was worried that Donnie, the druggie, might get high and start making wild connections between the elevator and Jacqueline.

Edward got out and headed for the café.

Hawk stayed behind, observing from a distance.

A few minutes later, Edward emerged with Jacqueline.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Once Jacqueline was in the car, Hawk greeted her.

Jacqueline immediately noticed, "You’re even more inconspicuous than last time."

Hawk thought to himself, You sure know how to compliment someone.

Edward, noticing her heavy makeup and sexy appearance, curiously asked, "Beautiful lady, have you ever been divorced or have a kid?"

Jacqueline shook her head, "No, I’m only 22."

Edward shrugged, losing interest.

Hawk got straight to the point, "You said you had a major news lead?"

Jacqueline was furious, "Some little slut stole my most important client and even called to gloat about it!"

Hawk asked the crucial question, "Who’s the client?"

"Eddie. Eddie Murphy!" Jacqueline dropped the name.

Hawk found it familiar and glanced at Edward.

Edward mentally rolled his eyes at his boss’s lack of pop culture knowledge but said, "African-American comedian, starred in Beverly Hills Cop and The Nutty Professor, and last year’s hit Shrek—he voiced the dumb donkey."

"Every time Eddie contacts his agent, he comes through me," Jacqueline continued with the crux of the story, "But this time, Eddie went off with that little slut. And that tramp even called me to rub it in, saying I’m too old..."

Women’s relationships are always complicated. Jacqueline was gritting her teeth, "That tramp came to L.A., and I’ve been helping her get familiar with the scene, and she repays me by stealing my most important client!"

Edward asked, "Isn’t it possible that Eddie Murphy just got bored and wanted someone new..."

Hawk shot him a glare. That possibility didn’t matter; what mattered was that this lead was valuable. He immediately asked, "Where are they most likely to be?"

Edward, for once, knew to keep his mouth shut.

Jacqueline answered, "Hobart Hill Park. There’s a palm grove there. Eddie never takes me to hotels or apartments; he likes setting up a tent in the wild. If no one’s around, he’ll even play outside the tent."

Hawk followed up, "What kind of tent does he usually use?"

Jacqueline thought for a moment and said, "Recently, he’s been using an orange-red tent with a painting of the Brooklyn Bridge on it. He says it’s a symbol of his hometown."

Hawk asked, "Does he have bodyguards?"

Jacqueline thought carefully, "I’ve never seen any."

Hawk nodded and held out his hand, "Give me your phone."

"What for?" Jacqueline asked.

"Delete the call logs, and my number too. Erase it from your phone, keep it in your head." Hawk saw potential in her as a long-term source and gave specific instructions, "Remember, we didn’t talk today. Go back to work, call your agent, and blow off some steam by cursing out that little ungrateful brat. Let out all your anger..."

As Jacqueline followed Hawk’s instructions on her phone, she asked, "Why?"

Hawk replied, "There’s a saying where I come from: 'A biting dog doesn’t bark.'"

Jacqueline understood. She didn’t even ask for money this time and hurried back. All she wanted was revenge on that brat.

Hawk called for Edward and they headed out, driving straight to Hobert Hill Park. It was one of LA’s popular camping spots, though fewer people camped in March due to the cooler nights.

Entering the park, Edward drove along the road. At a fork, Hawk told him to stop and checked the park’s map. He got back in and pointed left, "This way."

Before long, they saw faint lights ahead. Hawk instructed Edward to stop the car. He pulled out black clothes, a hood, and gloves for Edward to put on, and then fitted a flash to the camera.

Edward, now wearing the black hood, said, "I feel like a robber... wait, this is exactly why I left Compton, so I wouldn’t be a robber!"

Hawk ignored his babbling, "Your first test is here. The night is your stage—use your natural advantage."

Edward joked, "Boss, can I report you for racism?"

Hawk shrugged, "Do what you want." He pulled out a knife and slipped it into a sheath at his waist. "We’re on the clock."

Edward licked his lips nervously and followed Hawk out of the car.

"Keep your mouth shut. No one will notice you easily." Hawk, already dressed in black, also donned a hat and gloves.

Edward couldn’t speak, so he just ran after Hawk. They moved through the night, creeping closer to the lights. On one side of the light was a camping tent. Its color wasn’t clear under the light, but the Brooklyn Bridge’s pattern was glowing.

The surrounding area was dark, the perfect time to act.

Hawk crouched behind some bushes, watching for a while. "This is the place."

Edward seized the moment to speak, "We wait? Are we going to camp out here and snap photos when they come out? We won’t be here all night, will we?"

"Wait? Wait here feeding mosquitoes?" Hawk was never one to passively wait. "News is always dug up. It doesn’t just fall into your lap. You’re going in."

Edward pointed to himself, "Me? Boss, I’m a newbie. Can I handle this?"

"Hell, everyone who made it out of Compton’s trash heap turned into a hero, right?" Hawk pumped him up, then handed over the knife. "Sneak around, avoid the light, don’t let your shadow fall on the tent. If the zipper doesn’t open, use the knife to cut it and take the photos."

Edward felt like he was on a pirate ship but was also pumped by the challenge. He took the camera and knife.

Hawk patted his shoulder, "Go on."

Edward hung the camera around his neck but paused, "Boss, what about you?"

"I’ll be here to back you up. Don’t worry, if you mess up, I’ll save you."

Most Hollywood stars had a crew around them, especially the Black ones, though Jacqueline said she hadn’t noticed any bodyguards. Still, Hawk was prepared for both outcomes.

"You sure you won’t abandon me?" Edward still had doubts.

Hawk pointed to the camera, "This thing costs a few grand. You think I’d leave it?"

Edward was reassured and quietly moved forward. His dark silhouette was barely visible in the night.

Following Hawk’s instructions, Edward avoided the light so his shadow wouldn’t fall on the tent. He approached the tent from the back.

From inside, strange sounds emerged.

With his experience, Edward instantly recognized that people were getting busy inside.

Perfect timing. Gripping the knife, he approached the back and stabbed it into the tent, sliding it down to cut an opening.

Biting the knife, Edward held up the camera, poked the lens through the slit, and started snapping pictures like mad.

The flash went off, and Eddie Murphy shouted, "Who’s there? What the hell are you doing? Stop!"

Suddenly, blinding car lights flashed on in the darkness.

Two Black men—one heavy, one thin—had been dozing off in a black Cherokee nearby. Eddie Murphy’s shouts woke them, and they immediately turned on the car lights and rushed out.

Edward, tense from his first job like this, couldn’t even remember how many times he pressed the shutter. He held the camera tight and bolted.

Eddie Murphy stumbled out of the tent, yelling, "Stop him! Get that camera! The camera!"

The woman inside was still dazed.

As Edward ran into trouble, Hawk stashed away his phone, pulled down his hood, tightened his gloves, and sprinted toward the chaos.

He crouched low and moved fast. With a thud, he slammed into the hefty Black man, knocking him against a palm tree. The man let out a pained cry.

Before he could get up, Hawk kicked him in the gut, folding him up like a cooked shrimp, unable to rise again.

Hawk dashed toward the second man.

The thin guy pulled out a taser, aiming at the fleeing Edward.

Hawk tackled him, snatched the taser, and threw it aside. Then he punched the man and pinned him to the ground with a knee to his neck. Adopting an East Coast accent, he said, "All that for what? You think a month’s pay is worth dying for?"

The guy, who had been struggling, stopped moving under Hawk’s weight and words.

Hawk stood up, dashed behind a thick palm tree, and disappeared into the darkness.