The Wolf of Los Angeles.

Chapter 32: Gossip Scandal Too Conservative

In a street-side room of an apartment building in Santa Monica, Hawke, wearing a wig and a beard, pulled open the curtains.

The house is located on the fourth floor, with two windows on the south and east sides, and there are street lamp poles over nine meters high under the windows.

Most people cannot climb up to such a height, but Hawke can escape through the window at any time.

Hawke took out an envelope and arranged the photos he brought into a circle on the table, with Robert Downey Jr. at the center of the circle.

Surrounding Downey are Downey's current wife Deborah, Downey's agent and playmates.

Hawke took out a pen and drew a mark on the photos of Deborah and her two playmates.

Deborah would become an emotional trigger because of the thoughts Edward had that night.

In other aspects, Hawke needs to know more about Downey.

The people around Donny are key.

For Hollywood stars, playmates are closer than wives, and the two playmates circled by Hawke are the ones who appear most frequently around Downey in the photos he took and related online reports.

One is fat and the other is bald.

Hawke couldn't find much information about the two on the Internet, so he cleaned up his room, went downstairs, took the old subway to Inglewood, and found a private detective agency.

The kind that specializes in tracking and secretly filming couples cheating.

After a brief conversation in an East Coast accent, Hawke produced photos of a fat man and a bald man, gave $1000 in cash as a down payment, and left a new cell phone number for contact.

The playmates wouldn't follow Donny 24 hours a day, and Hawke wondered what the two were doing the rest of the time.

Before noon, Hawke was back home, back to his old self, and had bought a copy of the National Enquirer.

News about Eddie Murphy is on the front page today.

Hawke named it "Prostitution Gate".

Not long after, Edward came back.

As soon as he saw Hawke, he shouted excitedly, "Boss, listen to me first, listen to me! You are right. Developing news informants is also my opportunity."

Hawke gave emotional approval and asked, "Have you met someone you like?"

Edward pulled a chair over and sat across from Hawke: "Over there on Highland Street, a divorced woman in her 30s raising two children alone is so tiring!"

He was compassionate: "I have decided to help her and not let her suffer."

Hawke said: "It's really tiring to take care of two children alone."

"Boss, when can I get the special correspondent card you mentioned last time?" Edward obviously had an idea: "I have taken the first step towards success. When I handed out business cards, I asked for her contact information. But I spoke too quickly and told her that I was a reporter..."

Hawke understood and said, "We'll have to wait a few days."

Edward was very anxious: "Can you call and urge her? When I make an appointment with her, it will be much more reliable with a press credential."

Hawke accurately judged: "It depends on your performance."

Edward asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

Hawke said, "Clean up the first floor."

Edward was very motivated and immediately went to get the tools.

There was a knock on the door and Hawke opened it.

Frank, the old man in the RV, raised the cans of beer and a paper bag in his hand and said, "I said I'd buy you a drink, don't break your promise."

Hawke made way for the door: "Come in."

Edward heard the noise, ran out, and exclaimed, "There's free beer at noon!"

Frank, who has no taboos, snorted disdainfully and asked, "Do you want some fried chicken?"

Edward, who had emerged from the chaotic and impoverished Compton, was thicker-skinned than a city wall. He said, "I'll eat if you treat me."

Frank put down his beer and actually took the fried chicken out of the paper bag.

"I still have sausages, canned beef and sandwiches here." Hawke went to the refrigerator to get them.

Frank looked at Edward: "What about you? You just have a mouth?" Edward was angry: "Hey, old man, don't think I don't know you. Aren't you the one who picks up cans on this street? Tomorrow I will get some empty cans, fill them with shit, and throw them into all the trash cans on this street. Let's see how you pick them up in the future!"

Frank responded, "It's okay, at worst I can go pick cotton." He also shouted to Hawke, "Hey, buddy, do you have any watermelon? I want to eat some."

Hawke brought the food over and said, "Shut up both of you, I'm going to kick you both out. The old man will go pick cotton and Edward will go pick up cans."

The two finally shut up and sat at the dining table.

Frank didn't hold back, but still gave Edward a can of beer.

Edward ate the fried chicken without any hesitation.

Frank looked at the video cameras one by one and asked curiously, "Oscar, aren't you going out to cover the news tonight?"

"The Oscars ceremony doesn't start until 5pm. The celebrities are all preparing for the ceremony." Hawke took a sip from his beer can and said, "What the audience wants to see, the mainstream media will present to them. We can't snatch the normal news from those guys who have the support of the big media."

He pointed to the window and said, "Wait until it gets dark, the award ceremony is over, and they are drunk and high. That's when it's time for freelance journalists."

Frank nodded. "That's right. Those guys who have gained fame and fortune have become extremely arrogant. When they drink too much, they think they are God."

Hawke asked, "You know a lot?"

Frank drank the rest of the beer in the can in one gulp and opened another, seeming to recall: "The stars, directors and producers who are gentle and polite in front of the public and the media are all bastards in private. They are all reduced versions of Washington politicians, dirty under the glamorous coat."

In his previous life, Hawke could only learn about this circle through online gossip. Now that he has little contact with it, he finds that the gossip and scandals on the Internet are too conservative.

What actually happened far exceeds the most daring online gossip.

Eric Eason was right when he said, if you want to curry favor with someone, you have to kneel down and move your mouth.

Lucky guy, the thighs are women.

The unlucky guy might be even more outrageous than George. Not only is he a man, he might also be black and a pervert.

Edward threw away the fried chicken bones and sneered, "How can a beggar who picks up cans know all this?"

Frank said vaguely: "Because I was one of them and did a lot of excessive things."

"Bah!" Edward raised his voice, "I said my ancestors never grew cotton!"

Hawke asked curiously, "You now?"

"I used to be too arrogant and thought I could do anything." Frank didn't elaborate, but was vague: "I messed up a few projects, and I didn't want my ex-wives to use my money to support other men..."

Edward has a deep understanding of this: "Those men live in the house you provided for your ex-wife, spend your child support, and bully your children for no reason."

The more he spoke, the more he hurt her: "When I got excited, I even took out your wedding photo with your ex-wife and hung it on the headboard of the bed. It was so fucking exciting!"

These words really hurt his heart. Frank glared at him but couldn't say a word in rebuttal.

Because this is incredibly close to the truth.

Hawke was worried that Frank would die here, so he kicked Edward and stuffed the beer in front of the old man: "Drink, drink."

Edward calmed down a little: "You are not bragging? It can't be true."

Frank couldn't drink any more, so he stood up and said, "I'll go back and rest for a while, and drink again another day."

Hawke went to see someone off.

Edward muttered in his heart: "Did this bastard ever have a glorious past? Or his ex-wives...? No, I want to befriend him and get information about his ex-wives."

As night fell, the Oscar Awards ceremony began.

Hawke got in the car and drove Edward into the Hollywood area.

But he did not go to the area near the Kodak Theater, where there were many media reporters. He could find a few reporters wherever he urinated.

After walking around for a while, Hawke only took some photos of negligible value.

Nearing 10 o'clock in the evening, the business cards I had distributed finally took effect.

On the south side of Highland Street, near Santa Monica Boulevard, a call came in.

(End of this chapter)