The Flaming Motel
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"Move over John Grisham!" -- Debbi Mack, NY Times Bestselling Author of Identity Crisis and Least Wanted
Vengeance burns brightest at THE FLAMING MOTEL, the blistering sequel to FOLLOW THE MONEY.
When porn mogul Don Vargas is accidentally shot by police in his home during a Halloween costume party, Oliver Olson and his law partner, Mark Jendrek, are hired to sue the LAPD for wrongful death. But as they dig into the case, the circumstances surrounding the shooting become more and more bizarre.
Why does the key witness to the shooting hang himself in a warehouse?
Who made the anonymous noise disturbance call that led to the shooting?
Was the body that washed up on a Malibu beach connected somehow?
What secrets are embedded in a mid-70s porno shown at Vargas's wake?
And who are all these women in Don Vargas's life? The gorgeous trophy wife with no past. The ex-wife who helped build an empire only to be left behind when a younger model showed up. And the brilliant porn star ingénue who lived in the Vargas mansion under the tutelage of Vargas himself.
A hundred million dollar fortune is up for grabs and the more Ollie and Jendrek dig, the more mired they become in a web of sex, fraud, revenge, and the ever-present specter of murder. Was the Vargas shooting just the beginning? Or was it the end of something terrible hidden deep in everyone's past?
Before it's all over, Ollie and Jendrek learn a universal truth:
WHEN EVERYONE IS OUT TO SCREW EACH OTHER . . .
EVERYONE ENDS UP FUCKED.
for sure. But here’s what I do know.” I ran him through it. How I’d gone to the party, parked the car there, taken a taxi, and talked to the guard again this afternoon. “And he described the kid?” “The description matched.” Jendrek thought about it some more. He combed his fingers through his silver hair and scratched at his chin. Finally, he just stated the obvious. “So you think there’s some kind of setup?” “I don’t know what I think. It sure seems that way. But a setup for what?” “To kill
feminists are totally out of touch with reality. When you grow up like Tiffany and I did, you do what you have to do to get by.” “What did she tell you about how she grew up?” “Nothing, she didn’t have to. I could see it in her eyes. And she could see it in mine. We knew the score. We each knew where the other was coming from.” “And where was that?” “I don’t know about her, but I grew up in Reseda. She was from the Valley too, but I’m not sure what part. But when we looked at each other, it
said, shaking her head. “But this guy,” she pointed at the picture again. “This motherfucker I’m certain about.” Wilson scratched his head and looked around behind him, over his shoulder and back at us again. He seemed to be looking for something, perhaps the answer to the question what next? He combed his fingers through his cropped gray hair and said, “You’re absolutely sure? You’d testify to that?” “Absolutely,” Liz said. Wilson looked at me. “What about you?” “Yeah,” I said. “Definitely.”
the room into parts and each of us began going methodically through Tiffany Vargas’s things. Opening drawers and combing through the contents, looking behind the furniture, up against the wall, looking under things and inside them. “Try not to disturb anything too much,” Brianna said. “I don’t want her to know we’ve been here.” After five or ten minutes, Liz called me from back in the walk-in closet. She’d come across a stack of papers she wanted me to look through. I went in to check them out.
started with that seed money. And the two people who died in that fire, these two people.” I went over to the counter and gathered up the pictures, stuffing them back in the envelope and back in the box. “They had two kids. And now I’m pretty sure that Tiffany Vargas was one of them.” The stagnant air of the dressing room went cold as the four of us exchanged glances, searching one another’s faces for some sign of recognition, some symbolic gesture that might tell us everything was fine. But