[Chapter 104: Scandal]
After being checked over, Hawke went to pay; the clinic was accustomed to such business and immediately quoted $2,000 for treatment fees.
Edward was annoyed: "Are you robbing us?"
Hawke intervened, taking out cash to pay the chubby woman at the front desk.
On their way back, Edward commented, "In Compton, they'd charge at most $500."
"Can they cure him?" Hawke inquired.
Edward answered, "Depends on whether God favors him."
The two returned to the diagnosis room and could see through the glass door that a nurse was administering IV fluids to Campos.
Hawke waited in the hallway, continuing to contemplate the previous two undertakings.
He still had some ideas regarding Allison but nothing for Josh yet.
He had dug his own pit, making it difficult to fill.
Noticing Hawke was lost in thought, Edward decided to remain silent, waiting patiently.
Only faced with situations involving Nicole or Deborah would his thoughts frantically race; foreverything else? Not so much.
For instance, his last suggestion for Josh Hartnett to streetwalk in Compton had been dismissed by Miss Baa's mocking laughter.
Others may have seen that as a joke, but Edward meant every word seriously.
...
The clinic provided catering services, so Edward returned with a couple of snacks and drinks.
A while later, the nurse returned, announcing Campos was improving and was awake.
Edward grabbed a couple of snacks and beverages to enter again.
A moment later, he re-emerged and told Hawke, "Boss, that butterfly wants to see you."
Hawke opened the door to the examination room, leaving Edward stationed outside.
As Campos drank some water, he recognized Hawke, "It's you."
Hawke pulled a chair beside him and asked, "Feeling better?"
Edward sat beside the door, stating, "This is my boss, Hawke Osment, the founder of West Coast Media Entertainment Studio."
"Why did you save me?" Campos inquired, sheltering his wariness.
Hawke quickly fabricated a reason, "It's simple; last time we met, you offered me a warning, thereby avoiding certain troubles. For that, I made some friends keep an eye out for you."
Campos realized, "Those nice Black folks who look out for me are with you?" He instinctively touched his backside, "I thought they were coming to get me."
Edward was displeased, "Hey buddy, they may look scary, but they have good hearts, and they detest faggots."
Campos ignored the unpleasant topic and asked Hawke, "Has the Mule Gang been after you?"
Hawke evaded, "With you lacking legal status, you need to stay put and nurse your wounds; don't run around."
After glancing at the bandage on Campos's leg, he fell silent for a moment and asked directly, "What do you want from me?"
Hawke turned his gaze to Campos's right hand, "Who are you?"
Campos thought for a moment.
Edward couldn't help but shake his head, "With how we're treating you, let alone these Black street homeless folks, if we alerted immigration, do you think it'd be dire?"
He then added, "We're footing the $2,000 bill! Do you grasp what that means? With $2,000, we could hire street trash to take out ten of you!"
Campos took a deep breath, slowly answering, "I'm a Mexican, a narcotics officer; I used to take my work seriously, wanting to do something for my hometown."
Hawke had a hunch about that; in Mexico, decent narcotics officers are weary of taking their job seriously; if they do, problems ensue.
Sure enough, Campos continued, "By sheer chance, I intercepted a vehicle with large quantities of product; I even caught two dealers on the spot. I initially believed this was the best breakthrough to take down the local biggest trafficking organization, then reported my findings to my captain."
Edward jumped in, "You were sold out."
"Exactly; the captain I deemed righteous -- most of the bureau was full of their people," Campos lamented, his face contorted in agony. "We were sold out, and my comrades got killed in plain view -- those who came after me were my colleagues!"
He seemed to have lost his resolve: "Fortunately, I was trained well, fighting to escape, though I'll never shake off what those comrades said."
Without prompting, Campos continued, "They told me the reason I became a narcotics officer in Mexico was just to facilitate their bribery, or to switch sides and become a trafficker myself."
Hawke stated, "Your experience could be adapted into a Hollywood film."
Campos mustered a faint smile, "Subsequently, I became a fugitive after killing several comrades; I had to escape, blending into the waves of refugees coming from South America, wandering through Tijuana into California and ending up in Los Angeles."
Hawke directly asked, "What's your full name? Which city do you hail from?"
Reaching this point, Campos plainly stated, "Joaquin Garcia Rodriguez, from St. Louis City. I took the name Campos because I like butterflies, so you can call me Campos from now on."
"First, take care of yourself and heal up," Hawke noted down his name and city, saying, "We'll talk about the rest once you're well again."
Campos thanked him.
Hawke prepared to leave: "Leave some cash and a phone for him. If anything comes up, he can call."
Edward took out a gold-trimmed Motorola but quickly tucked it back in his pocket, pulling out a battered Nokia, placing it beside Campos.
Hawke left some cash, then went outside with Edward to the van.
Edward went to see the two Black guys.
...
Hawke made his way downtown, searching for a public phone without surveillance. He donned a pair of gloves and dialed a number in Mexico.
The other end picked up quickly, but there was silence.
Hawke spoke with a thick Hollywood accent, "This is Phil Delno; I contacted you before."
The person on the other end laughed, "I remember you; you sent a big fat sheep my way."
The big fat sheep he referred to was Cole, Robert Downey Jr.'s companion.
Hawke said, "Help me look into someone named Joaquin Garcia Rodriguez from St. Louis."
The guy sounded surprised. "A wanted man from St. Louis? No problem, considering that fat sheep you sent last time, I'll send someone to check it out, call back in an hour."
...
Hawke confirmed and drove off from there, doing a huge loop around downtown Los Angeles.
Here, heaven and hell intertwining was the norm. The area surrounding City Hall was one of Los Angeles's most vibrant CBD locations, while just a few streets away lay neighborhoods brimming with homeless people.
Farther south, there was the infamous Compton.
Hawke arrived in North Hollywood and found another public pay phone. After a brief wait, he redialed the number.
The person on the other end greeted him, "I found him; he does exist, but the situation isn't quite what the warrant states..."
Hawke listened carefully. The details were mostly consistent with what Campos had told him.
Before Hawke could hang up, the guy said, "Hey man, next time you have a fat sheep, don't forget to send it over."
Hawke hung up without responding.
That kind of sheep was hard to come by.
...
When he returned to the studio and hadn't even exited the car, his phone rang again.
It was Josh Hartnett, who hastily asked, "Hawke, have you thought of a plan?"
Hawke sighed, "Stay calm; I'll get in touch with you once I have a solution."
Josh replied, "I understand but it's urgent, my situation is really dire. Will just submitted audition applications to two other productions, and they've just been rejected."
Hawke said, "I'll think of something and call you back. If I haven't by the end of two days, I'll let you know."
Josh pressed, "You can do it; I know you can." He added, "Will is delivering documents to you."
Hawke ended the call, thinking to himself that he wasn't as confident as Josh seemed to be.
...
Back in the studio, he found Josh's agent Will waiting outside with a briefcase.
Hawke invited him into the studio.
Will placed the documents on the table and said, "Everything I could gather in the short term is right here."
"You tell Josh to be patient; getting too anxious can lead to mistakes," Hawke said, opening the bag to take a look. "A background check is essential; we need to ensure we can formulate targeted strategies instead of making one mistake after another."
Rushing into a relationship with a Black girlfriend had only added more pressure on Josh; Will remarked, "We're waiting for good news from you. If you can't find a solution, please let us know quickly."
Hawke shook his hand, "I'll give you a clear answer within three days, whether it's good or bad."
"Okay, I'll take my leave now," Will said before departing from West Coast Studio.
Hawke walked him out.
...
Before the door even closed, Frank came in, holding an ashtray.
Hawke casually dropped a dime in for him.
Frank headed straight for the fridge.
Once he grabbed something to eat and drink, Hawke asked, "You've had such a glorious past, you've got connections in Mexico, right?"
Seeing Hawke offer him an opportunity to boast, the king of bragging replied quickly, "Of course! I've been with more Mexican actresses than you've met Mexican women. Do you know Salma Hayek? She was the last Mexican star I was with; I almost suffocated to death because of her boobs."
Hawke set a trap for Frank to brag about himself, saying, "Since you know so many people, can you find out about someone for me?"
Frank, now in a bind due to his own bragging, had to admit, "Who do you want me to look into? Just don't drag me into your mess."
"A wanted fugitive from the St. Louis Police Department named Joaquin Garcia Rodriguez." Hawke had specific ideas in mind, hoping to verify Campos's identity, "Find out why he's wanted, the real reason, and a picture would be great."
With self-inflicted pride weighing heavy, Frank reluctantly promised, "Let me make a call first. It shouldn't be a problem, but the photo might take a little longer to arrive from Mexico."
"Thanks," Hawke said, knowing that he let Frank take food and drinks from the fridge because it served a purpose.
When it came time to pull someone down, he wouldn't hesitate.
...
In Malibu, a beach villa area.
West Voice Records rented a well-shielded beach house for filming a music video for one of its artists.
At the top of the steps leading down to the front lawn, Joanna sat under a sun umbrella, watching Allison and a group of young men and women rehearsing their dance routine.
With electronic music playing, Allison, in a bikini, slinked her body like a snake. Her suggestive dance movements, combined with her sexy figure, provoked all sorts of wild imagination.
The choreographer occasionally halted the dancers to demonstrate, teaching Allison how to make the routine more alluring.
The blend of electronic beats and seductive dance was always a perfect combination.
With Allison's sultry moves, it was even more enticing.
The only regret Joanna had was that Allison couldn't write her own songs, meaning they had to buy all her material from outside sources, which were difficult to secure.
A young manager, Scott, walked over and took a seat beside Joanna. He glanced at the practice scene and said, "Jo, you need to keep a tight leash on Allison these days; don't let her go wild. We're at a crucial moment."
Joanna replied, "I'm watching her twenty-four-seven. Other than our home in Beverly Hills, the recording studio, and here, I'm not letting her go anywhere."
"That's best," Scott noted, puzzled as to why a just-turned-adult girl would have such big cravings.
Joanna worried and asked, "How's the communication going with West Voice Records? Can they invest more resources in Allison?"
Scott told the truth, "This company was only founded in '97, and its capabilities are limited."
"I know," Joanna acknowledged. "That's why Allison, who was rejected by Universal, Sony, and Warner Brothers, ended up being signed by West Voice Records."
If given a choice, she would prefer a major label.
Scott then added, "But there's good news; I heard from the company founder, Roger, that Bad Boy Records is interested in West Voice Records and may acquire it."
He queried, "You should know this label; many of its artists have a similar background to you and Allison."
Joanna confirmed, "Is it Diddy's Bad Boy Records?"
"Yes, that's the one," Scott said simply. "It may not compare to Universal, Sony, and Warner Brothers, but Bad Boy has significant power, especially since Diddy himself has an expansive network. Artists like Puff Daddy, Lil' Kim, and Mary J. Blige have all thrived under him."
Joanna was well aware of these artists and remarked, "They're all Black." She thought it was a good thing, saying, "Hopefully, this acquisition will go smoothly."
Scott added, "Roger, the founder and major shareholder of West Voice Records, thinks the same."
After several days, Joanna finally heard some good news. "Can you find a way to connect with Diddy? Let's get ahead of the game."
Scott thought it over and replied, "I'll give it a try."
...
On the lawn, two early promotional staff from West Voice Records arrived, setting up cameras to take some pre-promotion photos.
Fergie snapped a few dance shots and called in an assistant to upload them into the house's computer for processing.
The assistant admired, "She has an amazing body."
Fergie moved her mouse, selecting suitable photos and said, "Maybe mixed-race people have an innate advantage."
After finalizing the images, they proceeded to another round of selection.
As Fergie typed on the keyboard, she stated, "Let's publish these by combining photos from Allison's child star days with current ones, posting them on entertainment websites and pop music forums. Be sure to indicate that the little girl from back then has evolved into a sexy beauty now."
The assistant, who had a close relationship with her, couldn't help but add, "The kind that likes to mess around."
"Let's not bring that up in public," Fergie reminded her assistant, "You publish online, and I'll send emails and call media outlets, trying to get Allison's photos and stories in the news."
The assistant got to work but didn't forget to mention, "It's tough without any money."
Fergie knew this, saying, "Our budget is tight, so we need to invest focus on promotion at this stage."
The assistant first posted on a pop music forum, uploading two sets of photos while introducing Allison's upcoming album release.
Next, they switched to another entertainment website.
Fergie was busy making calls.
While browsing Yahoo Entertainment, the assistant suddenly found a headline.
...
"Pop Star Allison Faith Falls from Grace, Scandalous Photos Surface!"
She quickly clicked it open, and the page displayed several shocking images with minimal text.
Most of these images were close-ups of Allison's face or full-body shots.
Allison was seen kneeling on the ground, her face smeared with semen.
While that could still be explained, other photos showed Allison with a dick.
Yet none of the photos showed the owner of the dick.
The assistant's voice trembled, "Fergie, Fergie! You need to come see this, now!"
Fergie hastily hung up the phone and hurried to the computer. The moment she saw the photos, she was dumbfounded.
"Which site is this from?" Fergie hoped it was a small forum that could delete posts quickly...
The assistant pointed to the logo on the webpage, "Yahoo Entertainment."
"Oh no." Fergie quickly pulled out her phone to contact Yahoo.
The response from the other side was clear; the news had already been published and could not be taken down.
While still on the phone, the assistant checked other entertainment websites and exclaimed, "It's on blogs too; a lot of big bloggers have re-shared the Yahoo Entertainment news."
Fergie knew she couldn't suppress it herself, immediately calling her boss Roger.
Roger said he would come right over.
...
Fergie rushed out and called for Joanna and Scott, "You two, come over here!"
The two followed Fergie to the computer.
Seeing the images nearly made Joanna faint; she quickly grabbed the table for support.
Scott was taken aback too, asking, "Jo, are you sure it's Allison?"
Joanna, weakly responding, confirmed, "Yes, indeed."
Scott, a capable agent, asked Fergie, "Are those photos fabricated?"
"I assure you, they are not," the assistant replied.
Scott pressed, "Have you contacted the website? Can they take it down quickly?"
"It's too late," Fergie answered. "By the time we discovered the news, it had already been re-shared by multiple websites and bloggers; it's already out there."
She added, "I've alerted my boss, Roger."
Scott, not being a public relations manager, turned to Joanna and asked, "Where's your publicist? Get her over here fast; if this isn't handled properly, Allison won't just have trouble releasing her album -- she'll become a laughingstock across the nation."
Joanna, unable to stand any longer, plopped down onto a nearby couch, suddenly thinking of Dwayne Johnson, shouting, "Hawke! Get Hawke Osment here, fast!"
*****
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