Bye Bye Baby Doll

Bartender Viggo Rosemenko dabs club soda on the sleeve of his peasant shirt, hoping to clean a tomato juice stain. “The Three Stooges are back again? That’s four times this week. Why don’t you just give them punch cards? It’s two thirty. When are they gonna leave?”

Remy Royce, the owner of the Last Call Lounge, shakes his head, replying, “You don’t tell Baby Doll Crosetti when to leave.”

“With a name like Baby Doll, somebody should be rockin’ him to sleep,” Viggo replies.

“You tell him that, and he’ll put you to sleep for good.”

“And that boorish Funk lives up to his name.”

“Yeah. But Gardiner Blankenship’s the one you need to watch. He’s even more connected than Baby Doll.”

Viggo tries to steady his hand as he pours out three hefty glasses of Chevas Regal.

Tall, with thick wavy hair, leading man looks, and clear, piercing blue eyes, twenty-eight-year-old Carmine “Baby Doll” Crosetti could have carved out a career as an actor. People mistakenly think his good looks equate to good behavior, but the so-called agent is an unrepentant hoodlum with underworld connections who enjoys doling vicious beatings, especially to anyone who dares to criticize his attachment to the miniature doll he carries with him.

Crosetti’s frequent drinking buddy, sixty-six-year-old actor Travis Funk, is a disagreeable bear of a man completely lacking in basic social graces. In his former life as a stuntman, Funk broke the neck of a leopard that had scratched him. Lately, paralyzing headaches have been making him even more short-tempered.

Balding, bookish-looking fifty-four-year-old Gardiner Blankenship helmed two Oscar-nominated films a dozen years ago. He’s been living off their fumes ever since. There are rumors that Crosetti launders his drug money by financing Blankenship’s movies.

Roric “Rowdy” Reynolds staggers in, steadying himself against the bar.

Once an A-list comedian, Rowdy’s brand of racy and sexist humor has gone out of style, leaving him scrambling for cameos in low-budget films. Hawk-nosed and hardly handsome with a mawkish toupee, the forty-four-year-old is known for his sharp tongue and confrontational nature.

“I thought you took the pledge,” Funk bellows.

Rowdy squints. “Well, if it isn’t the bear who ate Hollywood. Defile any teenagers lately, Funky? For your information, I was sober for nearly two months. All the bars in town complained they were going bankrupt. But now, I’ve got a reason to celebrate.”

“Used to be opening up your eyes was a good enough reason for you to get loaded,” Funk replies.

“You should talk, Funky. Are you bragging to your boys about how many times you beat your wife today? And everybody knows that if you put the ages of your three wives together, they’re still not as old as you.”

Funk’s chubby features pull together into a frown. “They had all reached the age of consent when we wed.”

“Yeah, if they were living in the backwoods of Tennessee.”

Crosetti pulls out the miniature cupie doll he carries with him, stroking its hair to try and calm down.

“That’s enough, Rowdy,” Blakenship says. “Go home. Rest up for whatever Grade Z picture you’re billed fourth in.”

“I can’t get a good job because you got me blackballed,” Rowdy counters. “And you should talk. You haven’t had a hit since John Travolta had hair.”

“Keep yakking, and you won’t get hired as a garbage man in this town.”

Rowdy cackles, throwing a punch that draws blood from Blankenship’s nose. His second punch clips Blakenship’s chin, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Crosetti steps between the two men, pushing Rowdy away. Rowdy falls backward, his head bouncing loudly off the floor.

He climbs to his feet, swaying drunkenly.

Crosetti rubs the doll’s blonde hair.

“C’mon, Baby Doll, let’s get it on. I’ll make you flatter than a Jimmy Dean breakfast sausage. Look at you, a bully playing with dolls. Speaking of dolls, did you know I had a steamy affair with your girlfriend, Ava the A-Bomb?”

Taking a deep breath, Crosetti strokes the doll’s hair.

“And now I’m married to Funky’s ex, Ellen, so I got the best of both of you Neanderthals. And you’re going to love this Funk, Ellen’s pregnant.”

“Shut your pie hole, has been,” Crosetti warns.

“Says the bag man who plays with dolls.”

“OUTSIDE! NOW!” Crosetti shouts.

Blankenship remains at the bar, ignoring imminent trouble. Funk sneaks out ahead of Rowdy and Crosetti. He jumps Rowdy when he walks through the door, holding him for Crosetti, who alternates punching Rowdy in the face and stomach.

Funk releases Rowdy, who sinks to the sidewalk. Funk and Crosetti laugh gleefully as they kick Rowdy in the head and ribs, leaving him unconscious in a pool of blood.

Blankenship, Remy, and Viggo peer around the door.

“Call the Fixer,” Blankenship says.

Faron Falkner takes charge of the scene. Tight-lipped, with a dark-laser-like stare and a flair for expensive suits, Faron resembles an inscrutable accountant conducting an audit. If Faron has one weakness, it's his heart murmurs. Some people say he shouldn’t worry about them because he has no heart. Faron thinks his heart is ready to burst from the weight it carries.

Twenty years ago, seventeen-year-old Faron lived a mundane existence as a crew member on Gardiner Blankenship’s yacht. Then, he witnessed Blankenship tossing his wife, Mamie, overboard. His silence and statement to the police claiming Mamie must have fallen overboard launched his career as Hollywood’s most reliable fixer.

“I told him to shut his trap,” Crosetti says, puffing on a cigarette.

“I need you to heed your own advice, Carmine, capisce? Let me handle this.”

Faron kneels over Rowdy, his heart fluttering. “What did you hit him with, a bus?”

“It was just a few love taps,” Funk insists.

Faron looks at Crosetti, who is fiddling with his hands.

“Brass knuckles?”

“Hey, you never know when you’re gonna need ‘em,” Crosetti replies, tossing the cigarette. “Case in point.”

Faron’s calculating stare focuses on Viggo’s peasant shirt.

“I know I can count on everyone’s silence except yours. I can make you a rich, legal U.S. citizen and convince Carmine you’re not a liability.”

“I’ll take my money in rubles. I’m on the next plane back to Vladivostok.”

Faron pulls Gardiner Blankenship aside. “Is Funk working on anything right now?”

“We just finished the overdubs for his next film.”

“He looks tired,” Faron says pointedly. “Maybe he and his new wife could use a month-long second honeymoon in Europe.”

“And Carmine?”

“He’s got family in New York, doesn’t he?”

Blakenship nods. “I swear, Faron, you’ve got ice water in your veins. How do you sleep at night?”

“On top of a fluffy pillow stuffed with this town’s dirty laundry.”

Blankenship pats Faron on the back. “Where are you taking Rowdy?”

“Home.”

“His wife won’t be able to take care of him. She’s barely twenty-one and pregnant.”

“Neal Pumice should be here any minute now.”

“Is Pumice really a doctor, Faron?”

“He was.”

 “I’m not sure I want to know what cost him his license… You can pick up your bonus tomorrow,” Blankenship says.

Giving Crosetti and Funk disdainful looks, Faron says, “You two should get back to your drinks.”

Faron leans down, patting Rowdy on his cheek. Groaning, Rowdy comes around.

“Falkner… What are you doing here?”

“That’s a question you should be answering.”

“…I’m gonna be a dad…”

“Then start acting like one.”

A black SUV pulls up to the curb. Faron helps Rowdy to his feet and stuffs him in the back seat.

“If anyone asks, three teenagers mugged you. Understand?”

The SUV speeds off.

Faron looks down at the sidewalk. “…Have to tell Remy to wash the blood off.”

Looking curiously at a cigarette butt, he picks it up, putting it in his pocket.

When Faron arrives at the Reynolds’s house, the first thing he hears is Rowdy’s wife, Ellen, screaming. Ellen, the former star of her own Nickelodeon series, was forced to leave the show in her fifth month of pregnancy when props could no longer conceal her condition.

Ava “The A-Bomb” Aveoli, a wisecracking, sexy, peroxide blonde comedian known for her successful films with the Matz Brothers, cooly stares Faron down. Discovered by Gardiner Blankenship in a photocopy shop in Mashpee, Massachusetts, the former Hildegard Gumm was given diction, dance, and voice lessons, a new name, and was dubbed “The A-Bomb” to promote her beauty. The twenty-six-year-old’s weakness for dangerous men has made her life fodder for social media slurs, but her independence, toughness, and bad experiences have turned her into a valuable den mother for naïve rising stars like Ellen.

“I should have known you’d show up,” she says. “This cover-up has your hands all over it.”

“Don’t judge me, Ava. Your hotheaded boyfriend is one of the brutes responsible for this mess. How’s Rowdy?”

“See for yourself,” Ava replies, leading him to Rowdy’s bedroom.

Ellen is pacing across the thick carpet, his girlish features glazed with tears.

Faron hugs Ellen. “I need you to be quiet about this. Let Doc Pumice do his job. You need to get some rest for you and your baby's sake.”

“Rowdy needs to be in a hospital, Faron, not in the hands of a witch doctor who euthanizes horses,” Ava says.

Neal waves Faron toward the door.

“She’s right. He’s in and out of consciousness, and that’s a bad sign. I think his brain is swelling. He’s also got three broken ribs and a busted jaw. I want to take him to Hollywood Presbyterian.”

“No. We can’t let this become news unless you’re prepared to explain to Baby Doll why his name is in the headlines.”

Faron is awakened by Ellen’s scream while sleeping on the Reynolds's couch.

Ava exits Rowdy’s bedroom. “Rowdy went into convulsions. He’s gone, and you’re responsible.”

Gardiner Blakenship presses the remote, turning on the television.

Standing in front of Rowdy’s house, reporter Jackson Timber looks grimly into the camera.

“…Rowdy Reynolds had recently announced that his wife, actress Ellen Bird, was pregnant with their first child. And Reynolds’s stalled career was looking up. He was up for the lead in a series of science fiction movies. The Reynolds’s bright future was extinguished when Rowdy passed away this morning. Los Angeles County Coroner Berry Quick reported that Reynolds died from a massive stroke.”

Blakenship hands Faron an envelope.

“There’s a little extra in there for that positive spin you fed the press. Nice touch, adding that Rowdy was up for a role that doesn’t exist. You made the industry look like we cared for the drunken shmuck. Where’s the wife?”

“She’s staying with Ava Aveoli.”

“That’s like a fox guarding the hen house.”

“Ellen needs to be someplace where the press won’t hassle her,” Faron replies.

“In the meantime, you’ll go through Rowdy’s house for any incriminating papers and mementos, right?” Blakenship asks.

“I’ll make it look like a burglary.”

Faron continues to quietly squelch scandals for the next four years, but Travis Funk remains a thorn in his side.

Faron enters Ava Aveoli’s trailer, sitting next to her as she gazes at her reflection in her vanity mirror. He can barely look at Ava’s swollen lower lip and cheek.

“Crosetti’s a hood. You shouldn’t have married him.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to play Punch and Judy with my face. My looks are how I make my money.”

“That’s why he did it.”

“I told him if he keeps this up, I’m going public,” Ava sneers.

“Don’t wave a red flag in front of a bull, Ava.”

“I’m not afraid of Carmine. I can protect myself. The dumb cluck’s still too much in love with me to hurt me.”

“Then you’re not seeing what I am in the mirror,” Faron says.

“I’ve got it lucky compared to the girls who married Travis Funk. Did you hear what that ape did to his latest wife? She told him she was pregnant. He didn’t want to be a daddy at his age, so he drugged her tea. When she woke up in the hospital, she was told she’d lost the baby.”

“Funk has played so many villains he’s become one. What’s he like to work with these days?”

“His behavior on the set of ‘The Bad Man’ has been terrible. That nimrod stepped on my foot in every one of our scenes. The director yelled at me for ruining the takes until he realized what was happening. Then Funk started pinching me. I told him I'd break his hand if he did it again. He winked at me and laughed. I don’t ever want to work with that beast again.”

“You won’t.”

Faron visits the set of “The Bad Man.” Standing in the shadows, Faron studies Funk’s behavior.

Funk’s co-star, Rhys Turang, approaches him before their fight scene.

“You can throw the first punch,” Turang offers.

“Thanks, pal,” Funk replies, hitting Turang on the jaw.

Incensed, Turang retaliates with a hard blow to Funk’s temple, yelling, “We’re not even rolling yet!”

The two men trade punches. Funk gets the better of his smaller co-star, knocking him down.

Standing over Turang, Funk lets out a primal scream, kicking him in the side.

It takes six men to pull Funk away. They sit him in his chair and walk away, treating him like a pariah.

Faron approaches Funk, his voice calm and measured. “You know, Travis, you’re not as popular as you were a few years ago. Everyone on the set loves Rhys. It would be unfortunate if some lighting equipment ‘accidentally’ fell on your head.”

“Something’s wrong with me, Falkner. I’m wrapped too tight. My mind’s always racing.”

“If it’s drugs or alcohol, I can get you help. But you have to be willing to help yourself.”

Funk offers his hand to Faron. He notices it’s shaking.

Faron stands next to Ava’s bed, barely able to look at her corpse.

Ava’s meticulous blonde locks are scrambled and awry. Coagulated blood mars her battered features. Her gold-trimmed dress is shredded, but she still wears a half million dollars in diamond jewelry.

“I was talking to her just yesterday. She said she could protect herself,” Faron says forlornly.

Coroner Berry Quick brushes back his grey locks. “Where’s Crosetti?”

“I suggested he spend the day being seen in Vegas. What’s the verdict?”

“The public one or the real one?”

“Give me both.”

“He beat the living whey out of her. She’s got broken teeth, four broken ribs, a fractured jaw, and he crushed her nose. But the A-bomb went off before she died. She scratched the hell out of Crosetti.”

“His skin samples come to me.”

“You’ve called her your friend in the past,” Quick says. “Crosetti brutalized her, and you want to cover it up?”

“I don’t want to. I have to. And stop acting sanctimonious. You’re too old to do time for falsifying records.”

Quick smacks his lips. “Officially, I’m willing to say Ava Aveoli died of an overdose, but it’s well-known she hated needles. They even did a skit about it on Saturday Night Live. Besides, she’d have to have been a contortionist to shoot herself up where Crosetti stuck her with the needle. You’ll have a real problem when her mother gets here from Mashpee and wants to view her body.”

“Release it to her husband.”

“But Crosetti’s the reason she’s like this.”

“I’ll go to Vegas and see to it that he approves having her cremated immediately,” Faron says.

As Faron exits through the back door, Muffin Mifflin, a Hollywood Reporter feature editor, appears from behind the bushes.

“Tsk…Tsk…, Muffin. I always thought you were above ambushing people.”

“Then you don’t know me,” she replies, sticking her phone recorder in his face.

“Any comment on the A-Bomb’s death?”

“Ava Aveoli wasn’t just the A-Bomb. She was warmhearted and willful, a blessing from Mashpee, Massachusetts, who liked to laugh and love and wanted to be loved.”

Faron sits in Dino’s Diner two days later, pretending to read the Hollywood Reporter.

Muffin Mifflin sits down across from him in the booth.

“Nice touch,” she says, noticing the paper. “I’m surprised you’d pick Dino’s instead of some swanky restaurant to hide in.”

“I like Dino’s feta cheese omelets.”

“The walls are closing in, Faron. You covered up Ava Aveoli’s death and provided Baby Doll with an alibi, but you missed the letters and tapes she sent home to her mom in Mashpee.”

“I didn’t know about them. And who writes letters anymore?” Faron laments.

“Thanks to Aveoli’s letters and tapes, Gardiner Blankenship is facing charges that he condoned sexual harassment, fed women amphetamines to lose weight, and laundered Crosetti’s drug money.”

“I’m not going down with him.”

Faron’s phone pings. He feels his chest tighten as he reads the text from Blankenship.

“Must be some message. You just went pale,” Muffin comments.

“Tarvis Funk just had a cerebral brain hemorrhage. He’s dead.”

“Like I said, the walls are closing in, Faron.”

Faron drops a baggy in front of her.

“Cigarette butts? Gross.”

“Have them tested. Ava and Rowdy Reynolds deserve as much.”

Faron checks his plane tickets to Rome. He feels a tingle in his right arm, shaking the uncomfortable feeling away. Waiting for his limousine to arrive, he turns on the television, watching the news.

Dour-looking reporter Jack Timber says, “The bullet-riddled corpse of reputed gangster Carmine Baby Doll Crosetti was discovered in a dumpster outside the Mirage Hotel in Las Vegas. Police believe Crosetti died the day after his wife Ava ‘the A-bomb” Aveoli overdosed ...”

“Bye-bye, Baby Doll,” Faron says, stuffing a miniature doll in his suitcase.

“…In related news…Former bartender Viggo Rosemenko, who recently returned to the U.S., has signed a deal to write a tell-all book entitled: “I Served the Mob – Boozing With Baby Doll.”

Faron laughs as the pain shoots up his arm and into his chest.

He lays across the bed, closing his eyes.

“Guess this is one problem the Fixer can’t fix.”