Chapter 21 In case of indecision, sacrifice the star first

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*West Hollywood, Los Angeles Museum of Art.*

A charity art auction had just ended. Melissa Ackerman, dressed to the nines, left with a smile. She was Buddy Ackerman's favorite daughter and the CEO of Ackerman Pictures.

Robert Downey Jr. hurried from behind, catching up to Melissa, and softly asked, “That project, The Phantom, there’s a role that would be perfect for me…”

“That project is being led by Sony and Warner. I’m only involved in minor co-investment,” Melissa interrupted, stopping and turning to look at him. “Are you really off the drugs?”

Downey swore confidently, “I swear!”

Melissa’s eyes turned icy. “If your addiction costs the company any money, I’ll make sure you pay for it.”

Downey instinctively took a step back, too afraid to say more.

Melissa turned away and walked off gracefully.

Downey stood outside the museum for a few minutes before getting into his car. Remembering Melissa’s words and cold stare, his nerves were rattled. He quickly pulled out a small plastic bag and took a hit to calm himself down.

Feeling steadier, he drove off to Viper Room on Sunset Boulevard—his night was just getting started.

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*Meanwhile, Melissa waited a moment as Barak Bernan got into the Rolls-Royce Phantom.*

The engine started, and the soundproof divider went up.

Melissa asked directly, “It's been so long, and still no sign of him?”

“The snowstorm that day covered too many tracks,” Barak said, repeating his earlier report. “The local police can’t keep pouring resources into one case. You know their homicide solve rates—it’s been shelved.”

That wasn’t what Melissa wanted to hear.

Barak continued, “We expanded the search area and found some traces near the small northern town of Highland. A supermarket owner mentioned seeing someone like him, but we haven’t found his car or any sign of him at local hotels. The trail went cold near Highland.”

“That’s it?” Melissa’s voice remained calm.

“I’ve hired Pinkerton Detective Agency under the guise of an overseas foundation to keep investigating,” Barak explained.

“Find him quietly and take control,” Melissa instructed.

Barak wanted to ask why but wisely kept silent.

Melissa thought of her father and knew she might need the same blood supply, just in case.

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*East Hollywood, Fountain Avenue.*

A second-hand Ford Mondeo pulled up in front of a house. Hawk got out, carrying a camera bag, dinner in one hand, and newspapers in the other.

By the trash cans, a chubby old man was rummaging through bottles. Seeing Hawk’s pile of papers, he said, “Hey, buddy, I’ll take care of those old papers for you.”

Hawk recognized the guy who had flipped him off earlier. He wanted to return the gesture but couldn’t with both hands full.

“I’ll flip it for you!” Frank said, sticking up his own middle finger, then shoving it in his mouth, moving it around, and licking his blackened lips. “Feel better? Now can I have them?”

Hawk, impressed by his brazenness, replied, “Not now, maybe tomorrow.”

“Promise?” Frank wiped the grime off his lips and waddled towards the park across the street.

Hawk entered his house, making sure to peek through the window.

The old man was heading towards a trailer, where it seemed he lived.

After dinner, Hawk scoured the internet for news on Downey, jotting down locations where he had appeared. He also flipped through gossip tabloids, pulling out any stories related to Downey and noting down the locations on the same paper.

After tallying the most frequent spots, four names came up: Brentwood, Tracy Gym, Viper Room, and the Eric Ohlong Martial Arts Studio.

Hawk had already been to the first two today with no luck.

The Viper Room was on Sunset Boulevard. Owned by Johnny Depp, it was a favorite nightclub for entertainment and sports stars alike.

As for the martial arts studio, Hawk typed the names “Downey” and “Eric Ohlong” into Google and found a blog post.

In it, someone claiming to be Eric’s student mentioned that Robert Downey Jr. wanted to learn Wing Chun from Eric Ohlong.

Hawk vaguely remembered from online rumors in his past life that Downey had indeed trained in Wing Chun.

In the related section of the blog, Hawk found another piece on Downey titled “Downey’s Love Life.”

Curious, he clicked on it and saw a name: Sarah Parker!

This woman had a long romantic history with Downey before she married Bro Derek.

Hawk shook his head, but considering how messy Hollywood was, he wasn’t surprised.

Deciding on tomorrow’s plan, Hawk burned the paper with the locations he had written down.

He carefully put the newspapers back, paying particular attention to The National Enquirer, The Hollywood Reporter, Us Weekly, and The Globe, the biggest-selling gossip tabloids.

Each of them listed a news hotline and submission numbers for tips.

Hawk’s camera and camcorder weren’t just for Downey; they were also a way to make money.

It’s a well-known fact that when a scandal breaks, the first thing to do is sacrifice a celebrity to shift the focus.

For Hawk, targeting celebrities was perfect—they had a large audience, massive influence, good payouts, and little risk. Plus, it wouldn’t interfere with his pursuit of Downey.

He saved the contacts from all four tabloids into his phone.

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*The next morning, Hawk got up early, went for a jog in the park across the street, and grabbed breakfast.*

On his way back, he noticed the old man from yesterday sitting by the road, hat out, begging.

Occasionally, a passerby would drop some change into it.

Hawk ate his breakfast, packed his gear, and took a stack of unused papers to the old man.

Frank picked up the papers and said, “Thanks.”

Hawk didn’t feel like chatting, nodded, and walked off.

Frank rifled through the papers, then glanced at Hawk’s bag. “Reporter? Freelance? Or just starting out?”

Hawk paused, looking back at the old man.

Frank, eager to show off, said, “You just moved here, got a camera bag, and bought a bunch of gossip rags. Easy to figure out.” He chuckled, “A lot of folks in L.A. do this. Most of them crash and burn.”

Hawk thought for a moment and asked, “Got any advice?”

Frank waved the papers, perhaps out of gratitude for their value. “Land a big story, sell it to Channel 11. Fox News bought them out—they’ll pay top dollar.”

Hawk made a mental note and drove off.

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Soon, Hawk’s Mondeo pulled up on Victory Boulevard in North Hollywood.**

Nearby, a sign for the Eric Ohlong Martial Arts Studio was in both Chinese and English.

Hawk entered the studio and was immediately greeted by a staff member.

Upon hearing he wanted to learn Wing Chun, the staff member led him to an exhibition room, showcasing celebrity photos on the walls, all the while subtly pitching their classes.

In the gallery, Hawk saw pictures of Bruce Lee and Ip Man, as well as Eric with his mentor, Zhang Zhuoqing.

However, there were only a handful of Hollywood stars.

The studio hadn’t really made a name for itself yet.

Hawk took a price list and private class schedule, then left the studio.

No way was he actually going to take lessons—the fees were higher than Tracy Gym’s.

Standing on the sidewalk, Hawk looked around, crossed the street, and entered the convenience store opposite the studio.

Behind the counter was a white woman in her thirties, and nearby, a mixed-race man was stocking shelves.

Hawk noticed some Chinese ingredients on the shelves and grabbed a few.

At that moment, the man came out from the storeroom with a box.

The woman quickly rushed over, lowering her voice. “Damn it, Edward, don’t you have any sense? These are for a friend, not for sale.”

The man retorted, “Why did you put them in the storeroom if they’re not for sale? So who’s at fault here?”

The woman snapped, “Are you thinking with your brain or somewhere else? Or did you blow all your brains out last night? Take them back.”

The man grudgingly took the box back to the storeroom.

Hawk noticed they were fireworks.

In California, selling and using fireworks without a permit is illegal. But of course, plenty of people ignore that law.

Pretending he hadn’t seen anything, Hawk paid for his items and handed the woman a business card. “I’m a reporter. If you see any celebrities at the studio across the street, give me a call. There’s a cash reward.”

The woman took the card and put it on the counter, then mimicked him, handing Hawk the store’s business card and a flyer. “We do delivery for orders over $25. But tips and delivery fees are extra.”

The man grumbled, “I’m your boyfriend, not your employee!”

Hawk stuffed the card and flyer into his pocket and left to hand out more cards elsewhere.

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