Singer - 15. Law Enforcement

With limited time between performances, Chipper’s schedule was crowded. His rehearsals and other responsibilities left few hours for personal matters.

“Chipper, I presume?” The deep baritone had a softness to it. “I’m Miles Abramonov.” Tan, well built with sparkling salt-and-pepper hair, the man looked like what central casting would send out to play a lawyer. The attorney had insisted on meeting Chipper at the studio where he had just recorded his next song. It would be streamed on Apple Music immediately after his performance.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Abramonov. Thank you for coming out here. I have a little over an hour before I have to meet my coach and two teammates for a group rehearsal.”

“That should be enough. I’d like privacy during our discussion. Why don’t I drive through Starbucks? We can get something to drink and chat while cruising around.”

Chipper hitched his backpack a little higher on his shoulder. “Hmmm… I, ahhh… Crap! Listen, I told Ethan this before, and I’ll tell you the same thing. I can’t afford you guys. I don’t know why he insisted on bringing you in.”

“Because I’m good. And because of The Squad.”

“Huh?” To say Chipper was surprised would be an understatement.

The attorney’s laughter was rich. “Yeah, I know about your little group of friends. After Ethan and I hung up, I received a call from the firm’s managing partner. He explained a project I’m already working on involves two of your buddies. Sounds like most of you are exceptional individuals. The type of individuals we want as clients. Your credit’s good.”

The following morning, Chipper skipped his workout. Miles had insisted on taking him to breakfast. When the attorney drove up, there was another man in the SUV with him. “Morning, Chipper. I brought reinforcements.”

“Good morning.” Chipper was puzzled about who the Asian man in the passenger seat was but decided to trust the lawyer. “Hi, I’m Chipper.”

The stranger chuckled while offering a fist to bump. “Yeah, figured that out on my own.” The toothy grin never left his face. “Crisanto Lee. And before you ask, I’m half Filipino and half Chinese. Your first name and mine are about the same.”

During the drive to the restaurant, Chipper found out Lee was an FBI agent, and he and Miles had been friends for years. His involvement was due to the potential for interstate crimes by Nalbo.

While eating the biggest breakfast burrito ever, Chipper recounted his day at Greg’s home. And reiterated he had not touched any drugs except for cannabis edibles or had sex with anyone. Nudity in the bathroom pictures was the extent of his frolicking.

The FBI agent posing as an Uber driver delivered Chipper to Spago’s, leaving him with words of encouragement. Within twenty-four hours of meeting Special Agent Lee, an operation to bring down Greg Nalbo was cobbled together. Wolfgang Puck’s Beverly Hills restaurant—the place to see and be seen—was the entertainment mogul’s choice.

“Look, Chipper, I’m sorry it had to go down like this.” Conversation during the meal was subdued; interruptions by Greg’s clients and acquaintances were frequent. “You avoided me at the party and then ignored my messages.”

“Yeah, but you’re trying to blackmail me. That’s dirty.” Chipper remembered the FBI’s admonition to remain civil.

“Blackmail’s such an ugly word. I’d rather think of it as incentivizing you to join our company.”

“Whatever, man. And anyway, the only thing I did at your party was pot. That’s legal in California. And I didn’t have sex with anyone. Me and the guys simply decided to rinse off together.”

“The pictures may not show you doing anything wrong, but I bet they’ll be a pain to explain away. Look at it this way if—”

“Hey, buddy. What a surprise to find you here.” The FBI agent bumped fists with Chipper, giving him a discreet wink before offering his hand to the other man at the table. “Crisanto Lee. Hope you don’t mind me joining you for a bit.” At that moment, a server brought a third chair to the table.

Nalbo did not look pleased. “I’m sorry, but we’re having a private conversation.”

“I know.” Crisanto discreetly showed his badge and ID. “Special Agent Crisanto Lee with the Los Angeles office. Chipper’s wearing a wire and I’ve been listening.”

Chipper thought the shocked look on Greg’s face was hilarious but this was no time to laugh, even when Nalbo tried to sputter a response. “You… you can’t—”

The FBI agent shook his head. “Why don’t we remain calm so we don’t attract attention? I secured a subpoena last night and while we sit here my associates are searching your house and office.”

“You’re dead, Chipper. You’ll never work in the music business.” Greg’s murderous look made Chipper swallow. “And as for you”—Nalbo gave Crisanto the same stare—“my attorneys will destroy you. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I disagree, Mr. Nalbo. Your attempt at blackmail brought me here but even after I mentioned our young friend was wearing a microphone, you continued to threaten him.”

“Damn right I’m going to threaten him. You’re trying to ruin my life.”

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself. But I’ll let a Grand Jury decide.”

Chipper appeared tranquil, but his nerves were frayed. Searching for calmness, he rehearsed the song he was to perform in three days’ time in his mind. Music had always been his escape while his parents argued before their divorce. It also served him well during the turmoil of his move to Washington and later at stressful times in school.

“We can do this quietly, or I can stand and announce you’re under arrest for attempted extortion.”

Lee blackmailing Nalbo was fitting and brought a smile to Chipper’s face.

“Fine.” A stunned entertainment mogul sounded defiant. “I hope you realize this won’t go anywhere. I’ll be out of jail before the day’s over.”