There was only one man in Hollywood that could save me from this fuckery. And that man was Dan Gillespie.
In the years since Lavtiavia, or whatever that dump of country was called, Dan holed himself up in his office in West Hollywood. He had become an infamous recluse. No one saw him. Not even his clients. But Pablo and me were out of options. So on one sunny Thursday afternoon, we paid him a visit.
“Dan I know you’re in there,” I shouted through the boarded up door. “You can stop hiding! I’m not here to kill you like I did to your client. You know the one.”
Moments later, Dan slid a shotgun through a small opening. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years,” Dan said. “I knew that you and Pablo would come here to finish the job.”
Pablo and me raised our hands. “Dan,” I pleaded, “I have no beef with you. Kev was trying to kill ME and I had to do what was necessary. Now please, put away your shotgun. We’re only here to talk business.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because you’re the most powerful attorney in Hollywood for Christsake! If you were to end up dead, everyone in town would know it was me! I wouldn’t show up here if I didn’t have a good reason!”
After a few moments of silence, Dan pulled back in his shotgun and closed the opening. We could hear him inside fumbling away at the locks. “And what reason would that be?” he asked when he finally opened the door.
Pablo and I were shocked. What was once a proud man had withered away into a puny hermit. “Dan,” I said with some concern, “I need you. This town needs you. Whatever happened in Eastern Europe is over as far as I’m concerned. You are the greatest lawyer this town has ever seen! I just want you take my case.”
Dan invited the two of us in. His office was covered with newspaper clippings of my face. “Sorry about the decor gentleman,” he said, “I don’t have many visitors.”
“It’s quite alright,” Pablo explained as he laid his briefcase on the dusty table. “I have some legal documents I want you to look over. Trainwreck Productions is threatening to sue James if he walks away from the latest production.”
Dan put on his readers and perused through the papers. “I see,” he said, “and you didn’t look through the contract before you had your client sign it, Mr. Dunbar?”
Pablo shrugged. “I had my law degree bought and paid for. I’ve never stepped foot in a classroom.”
Dan shook his head and removed his glasses. “Gentlemen, this contract is pretty ironclad,” he explained. “And Mr. Pietermeister, I advise you to fire your agent and hire one that actually understands legal terminology.”
“Nevermind that,” I replied. “Can you get me out of this contract?”
Dan rubbed his chin as he started getting his wheels turning. “Probably not,” he said, “BUT, there is a clause in these contracts that us lawyers call corporatum morten which states that if there is turnover from studio leadership then all contracts overseen by them suddenly become null and void.”
“For fuck’s sake Dan, English please!” I begged.
“In other words, get rid of Jimmy Greco and you get rid of this contract.”
TO BE CONTINUED…




