Gary slipped his feet into the untied sneakers on the floor.

A quick scan of the room found a half of a pack of cigarettes on the night table, his jacket, car keys and his newly acquired but slightly used Makarov 9mm pistol.

He stood up, buckled his belt and slid the gun over his right hip bone into his pants. It was easier to drive this way than with the sights digging into your back. It was also more accessible.

He had made a mess. A mess of his life, a mess of his career and most pressing, a mess that would either get cleaned up or find him on the front page of the local rag as another child actor gone bad.

It would make a pretty interesting “True Hollywod Story”. It still might if he doesn’t move his ass.

The weatherman on the hotel TV was saying that temperatures in L.A. were going to reach 100 degrees today. That meant he only had a few hours to take care of the problem in the trunk… before it takes care of him.