Read Online My Gun Has Bullets by Lee Goldberg - Free Book Online
Authors: Lee Goldberg
Tags: Mystery
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handed it to Sabrina. "Here, the shirt off my back."
Sabrina laughed. Charlie's actions were attracting looks from all over the commissary. "I can't."
"You wouldn't be the first woman to take it," Charlie said, his chest bared. "You can put it on later. Truth is, it belongs to the studio anyway. Which brings me to my point."
"This noble act of chivalry wasn't the point?"
Charlie stood up so she could see his stomach. He pointed to the scar. "This is how I became an actor."
She glanced at his body, her eyes pausing on the scar, and then she shrugged. "Don't take this personally, those are nice pecs, but you're not Arnold Schwarzenegger. I'm not even sure you're Don Adams."
She wanted to let more than her eyes wander his body, but she wasn't going to let him know that. Sabrina had writhed around with so many perfect bodies on screen, she found imperfection far more attractive. The fact he wasn't hard-bodied, and that he had a scar, only made him more desirable. That, and his surprising chivalry.
Charlie sat down, leaned toward her, and spoke in a low voice. "Esther Radcliffe shot me."
Sabrina just looked at him. "Excuse me?"
"I was on patrol, I pulled her over and she shot me," Charlie said. "They gave me My Gun Has Bullets in exchange for forgetting it ever happened."
Sabrina couldn't believe a person could stoop so low, to slander someone with such a ridiculous story. She couldn't begin to figure out what his motive might be, but she knew she had misjudged him. He was as bad as the others. She gathered up her things.
"I was beginning to think you were a nice guy," Sabrina said, getting up. "Thanks for setting me straight."
For once, he had told the truth about his gunshot wound and the woman wasn't buying it. And she had to believe him. Her life could depend on it. Charlie grabbed her by the wrist.
"Listen to me, Esther Radcliffe isn't going to share the screen with anyone, particularly not someone as beautiful as you," Charlie said. "Your life could be in grave danger."
She yanked her hand free and laughed at him. "Do you have any idea how stupid you sound? I can't believe you're that threatened by a successful old lady. It's pathetic."
And with that, she turned her back on him and stormed off. It wasn't until she was halfway to her trailer that she realized she still had his shirt.
Charlie remained in the commissary, shirtless and stunned, wondering where he went wrong.
"Actresses ..." he muttered to himself, then took a big bite out of his Hachis de Boeuf and tried to imagine what Esther Radcliffe would do next.
CHAPTER FIVE
T he Wallengren kitchen was known and beloved around the world. It was where the average problems of an average family were solved with equal doses of laughter and understandingâand the wacky hijinks of an acerbic stand-up comic reincarnated as an acerbic mutt.
The dog's name was Boo Boo, and it wasn't easy being a loud, smart-ass, fifty-year-old, cigar-chomping vaudeville comedian trapped in an extremely expressive, four-legged furball. We know this, because all of us could hear Boo Boo's thoughts, and they were absolutely hilarious.
That, as millions of people knew, was Boo Boo's Dilemma.
The real Boo Boo, unknown to the network executives, managers, producers, and publicists assembled on the set that afternoon, was almost as smart as the character he played.
He was certainly meaner.
He liked filet mignon for dinner in a silver dish. He liked being followed around by a staff pooper scooper. He liked his air-conditioned doghouse in a private compound on the Pinnacle Studios lot. And what he liked most of all, was human flesh. Particularly baby fat.
There lay the source of the many "creative differences" behind the constant turnover in Wallengren family members. Right now, for instance, Boo Boo wanted to take a big chomp out of Don DeBono's butt.
The only thing restraining Boo Boo was his owner, Lyle Spreen, and the little tranquilizer gun he carried in his pocket. Lyle
Sabrina laughed. Charlie's actions were attracting looks from all over the commissary. "I can't."
"You wouldn't be the first woman to take it," Charlie said, his chest bared. "You can put it on later. Truth is, it belongs to the studio anyway. Which brings me to my point."
"This noble act of chivalry wasn't the point?"
Charlie stood up so she could see his stomach. He pointed to the scar. "This is how I became an actor."
She glanced at his body, her eyes pausing on the scar, and then she shrugged. "Don't take this personally, those are nice pecs, but you're not Arnold Schwarzenegger. I'm not even sure you're Don Adams."
She wanted to let more than her eyes wander his body, but she wasn't going to let him know that. Sabrina had writhed around with so many perfect bodies on screen, she found imperfection far more attractive. The fact he wasn't hard-bodied, and that he had a scar, only made him more desirable. That, and his surprising chivalry.
Charlie sat down, leaned toward her, and spoke in a low voice. "Esther Radcliffe shot me."
Sabrina just looked at him. "Excuse me?"
"I was on patrol, I pulled her over and she shot me," Charlie said. "They gave me My Gun Has Bullets in exchange for forgetting it ever happened."
Sabrina couldn't believe a person could stoop so low, to slander someone with such a ridiculous story. She couldn't begin to figure out what his motive might be, but she knew she had misjudged him. He was as bad as the others. She gathered up her things.
"I was beginning to think you were a nice guy," Sabrina said, getting up. "Thanks for setting me straight."
For once, he had told the truth about his gunshot wound and the woman wasn't buying it. And she had to believe him. Her life could depend on it. Charlie grabbed her by the wrist.
"Listen to me, Esther Radcliffe isn't going to share the screen with anyone, particularly not someone as beautiful as you," Charlie said. "Your life could be in grave danger."
She yanked her hand free and laughed at him. "Do you have any idea how stupid you sound? I can't believe you're that threatened by a successful old lady. It's pathetic."
And with that, she turned her back on him and stormed off. It wasn't until she was halfway to her trailer that she realized she still had his shirt.
Charlie remained in the commissary, shirtless and stunned, wondering where he went wrong.
"Actresses ..." he muttered to himself, then took a big bite out of his Hachis de Boeuf and tried to imagine what Esther Radcliffe would do next.
CHAPTER FIVE
T he Wallengren kitchen was known and beloved around the world. It was where the average problems of an average family were solved with equal doses of laughter and understandingâand the wacky hijinks of an acerbic stand-up comic reincarnated as an acerbic mutt.
The dog's name was Boo Boo, and it wasn't easy being a loud, smart-ass, fifty-year-old, cigar-chomping vaudeville comedian trapped in an extremely expressive, four-legged furball. We know this, because all of us could hear Boo Boo's thoughts, and they were absolutely hilarious.
That, as millions of people knew, was Boo Boo's Dilemma.
The real Boo Boo, unknown to the network executives, managers, producers, and publicists assembled on the set that afternoon, was almost as smart as the character he played.
He was certainly meaner.
He liked filet mignon for dinner in a silver dish. He liked being followed around by a staff pooper scooper. He liked his air-conditioned doghouse in a private compound on the Pinnacle Studios lot. And what he liked most of all, was human flesh. Particularly baby fat.
There lay the source of the many "creative differences" behind the constant turnover in Wallengren family members. Right now, for instance, Boo Boo wanted to take a big chomp out of Don DeBono's butt.
The only thing restraining Boo Boo was his owner, Lyle Spreen, and the little tranquilizer gun he carried in his pocket. Lyle
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