The Wolf of Los Angeles

Chapter 27: What News Sells Best

After signing the exclusive rights agreement, Jerry handed Hawk a check, and Hawk delivered the photo copies. With the transaction complete, both went their separate ways.

The West Coast Media & Entertainment Studio had just completed its first deal, earning $10,000.

Driving back to East Hollywood, Hawk parked on the street, returned home, secured the door, and checked his surveillance system and alarms. He grabbed a bottle of water, taking a couple of sips as he sat down.

The night had been exhausting—starting with the Viper Room, running nonstop until now.

Hawk pulled out the check, setting it on the table, and glanced at the numbers again.

Money gives men courage, and Hawk was no exception. In Los Angeles, success meant constantly shelling out cash.

The hotel escort, the fireworks delivery—all had nothing to do with charm. It was all about cash power.

The scandal would hit the newsstands the next morning. Hawk anticipated that Robert Downey Jr.’s acting career might take a serious blow. A drug addict caught with a producer’s wife was bound to have repercussions.

But Hawk wasn’t out to destroy Downey entirely—just fair payback. If Downey had pushed him toward a literal leap of faith, Hawk figured a metaphorical one for Downey seemed only fair.

As midnight approached, Hawk showered and prepared for bed. He placed his gun within arm’s reach and ensured the bedroom’s security window could be opened quickly, providing an escape route to the backyard.

---

The next morning, Hawk’s custom-made safe arrived.

As workers unloaded it, Frank, the old man who lived in a trailer at the nearby parking lot, came over with his can-collecting net in hand, drawn by curiosity.

“You got yourself a safe?” Frank asked. “What’re you planning to stash in there? Secrets?”

“Exactly,” Hawk replied bluntly. “It’s for secrets.”

Frank rattled his bag of cans. “If you don’t need the cardboard, give it to me.”

“Deal,” Hawk agreed. “But keep an eye on my place when I’m not around.”

Frank nodded. “No problem. The street folks here give me plenty of respect.”

Curious, Hawk asked, “You don’t look like a gang member. Are you the leader of the local scavenger crew?”

Glancing at the cans in Frank’s bag, Hawk added, “This business must be popular. You’re out collecting freely, and no one bothers you?”

Frank raised his chin proudly. “That’s because no one dares mess with me.”

Hawk’s curiosity grew. “Why do you live in a trailer at the parking lot?”

Frank’s face brimmed with untold stories. “It’s complicated. You young folks wouldn’t get it.”

The workers finished unloading the safe, and Hawk ended the chat, directing them to position it in the corner of his living room.

The safe was heavy, equipped with an old-school mechanical lock.

After receiving instructions from the technician, Hawk set up the safe himself. To anyone looking, it now held nothing but old books, newspapers, and photographs.

Working in media consulting and entertainment often meant encountering fierce competition, shady corporate warfare, and high-stakes PR battles. Precautions were a necessity.

To that end, Hawk installed a trigger mechanism inside the custom safe and ran concealed wiring to an electrical source. If anyone tried cracking the safe, they’d experience an electrifying surprise.

As a "proper" professional, Hawk would never stash valuables in the safe. It was more decoy than vault.

After tidying up, Hawk noticed Frank still lingering outside. He brought out the cardboard and packing foam for him.

“Beer’s on me later,” Frank said, hugging the cardboard as he crossed the street back to his trailer.

Hawk headed to the nearest newsstand to grab a copy of National Enquirer.

Even from a distance, he could see the paper prominently displayed, with the front-page headline and nearly half-page photo showing the couple in a heated embrace. It was attracting plenty of attention from passersby.

Hawk waited as a few customers purchased their copies. The pile of National Enquirer papers was noticeably smaller than those of Los Angeles Times—a clear indicator of its popularity.

When it was his turn, Hawk bought a copy and casually asked the vendor, “Good sales today?”

“The National Enquirer has big news!” the vendor said with a grin. “What kind of stories sell best? Not Washington policies or how much wealth some billionaire gained—celebrity gossip, of course!”

The vendor added, “People love it, understand it, and can chat about it with anyone.”

“Good insight,” Hawk replied.

The vendor chuckled knowingly. “Twenty years of selling papers—I’ve seen it all.”

Hawk handed the vendor a business card. “If you come across anything interesting, give me a call.”

“You a journalist?” the vendor asked.

“Sort of. Part of my gig,” Hawk replied before heading home with the paper.

Back home, Hawk carefully read the article, noting how the story was written. After all, the studio’s future work would involve crafting similar pieces.

“Robert Downey Jr. and Sarah Parker caught in a hotel rendezvous—betraying their respective spouses!”

The headline was succinct but lacked the dramatic flair of clickbait that would dominate in a few years. Hawk thought about how “shocking” headlines had taken off elsewhere and pondered adapting the style when the time was right.

---

At Fullspeed PR’s office, Director Rooney Chasen slammed a copy of National Enquirer onto her desk with a loud bang.

Sasha and Amanda instinctively shrank back.

Caroline Jones stood quietly, her long neck upright.

Rooney, now 40, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anger at Caroline’s youth and beauty. The thought of someone 15 years younger outshining her only fueled her fury.

“You got the tip first. You responded first. And you were dealing with an independent journalist,” Rooney fumed. “Yet you failed to contain it?”

Caroline, though unafraid, remained silent.

“The clients are furious. Robert Downey Jr. has already decided to terminate his contract with us. Your failure has cost this company reputation and business, and the board is asking questions. If I hadn’t intervened, you’d all be out of a job!”

Caroline accepted responsibility. “It’s my fault.”

“I don’t care about blame, and I don’t care about losing Downey as a client. I’ve had enough of his junkie antics!” Rooney took a deep breath, shifting her tone. “What angers me most is how completely out of control this situation became!”

Fixing her gaze on Caroline, Rooney added, “You let one man make a fool of you. If I were in your shoes, I’d climb to the top of the Columbia Tower and jump off.”

Caroline replied softly, “I underestimated him.”

Rooney, having vented her frustrations, felt marginally better. She sat down and continued, “Losing Downey doesn’t matter, but this company cannot afford to lose Sarah Parker. Go to her, do whatever it takes to smooth things over. If you have to grovel, then grovel!”

Uncomfortable as she was, Caroline had no choice but to comply.

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