Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Cal dialing on his cell, probably calling the cops for the second time that day. (Hanging out with me lately, he’d be smart to put them on speed dial.)

Unfortunately, Alexis saw it, too. Her eyes cut to the door—still being guarded by Cal—and then to the bedroom, her body making a split second decision as she bolted toward the bedroom door.

I lunged after her, one quick step behind. Unfortunately, her legs were a hell of a lot longer than mine, and the door slammed in my face.

“I’ll go around back,” I heard Cal yell, throwing the front door open.

I jiggled the bedroom doorknob, but no luck. She’d clearly locked it from the inside. My eyes darted wildly around the apartment for anything I could use to break the thing down. Lamp, CDs, old copies of Variety. Damn.

Then I spied it. A Golden Globe award from 1983 sitting on the bookshelf.

I grabbed it, testing the weight in my hand. Stars weren’t kidding in their acceptance speeches. The thing was hefty.

I lunged for the door again, raising the Golden Globe up over my head, and brought it down as hard as I could on the cheap renter’s doorknob. The force knocked it sideways.

I heard shouting from the other side of the door. Cal’s voice outside, Alexis screaming back, “Leave me alone! I’m a celebrity!”

I lifted the award for another go, slamming it down on the dented knob, knocking the brass thing to the ground with a clang. The lock fell away on the other side, and I easily pushed the door open, still brandishing the Golden Globe as a weapon.

“Freeze!” I yelled, suddenly feeling very Law & Order.

Though it turned out Alexis didn’t have much choice. She had the screen off her bedroom window, one leg thrown over the sill, her pleather skirt around her waist, and her fishnets caught on the latch, capturing her halfway between Cal and me.

She was totally stuck.

And crying, “I want a lawyer. Get me Robert Shapiro. Get me Paris Hilton’s lawyer. I’m too famous to go to jail!”

Chapter Seventeen

Three cups of coffee, two statements to the cops and four hours later, we were finally released from the police station for the second time that day. I swear the detective in charge was starting to look at me funny. Like I had some golden touch or something, but in reverse; whatever I touched eventually ended up in a homicide.

By the time we pulled Cal’s Hummer back onto the freeway, it was five thirty. Prime traffic time. And I only had half an hour to get my threatening column into the printer behind Felix’s back.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” I asked as we crawled up the 101.