The Wolf of Los Angeles

Chapter 22: The First Deal of Entrepreneurship

As night fell, Hawk started the car and turned onto Sunset Boulevard.

After spending the day staking out the gym and Brentwood, he had nothing to show for his efforts. Now, he planned to try his luck at the Viper Room.

Hawk parked his Mondeo by the roadside. Since it was inconvenient to carry a camera or camcorder, he packed them away and took out a mini voice recorder, slipping it into his pocket.

He then pulled out his newly purchased Nokia 7650 and snapped a photo. Its 300,000-pixel camera wasn’t exactly impressive, but in this era, there weren’t many camera phones to choose from.

Hawk walked into the bar alone. It was still early, and the place wasn’t crowded. After taking a lap around both floors, he didn’t spot Robert Downey Jr.

Choosing a spot with a clear view of the entrance, Hawk ordered a drink and waited patiently.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the door. It seemed someone notable had arrived.

Stretching his neck to see, Hawk caught sight of David Beckham smiling as he stood at the entrance. Even in a country where soccer wasn’t wildly popular, Beckham’s charm had won over plenty of fans.

In recent years, under Victoria’s meticulous branding, Beckham’s public image had become increasingly beloved.

As Beckham entered the bar, the noise outside quickly subsided. This bar was a hotspot for celebrities, and few people here would bother them for autographs.

Like many British athletes of his time, the young Beckham shared a fondness for large drinks. He made his way to the bar and ordered a sizable glass of something strong.

Hawk took a sip from his own drink, glancing at Beckham.

Where others saw star power and an idol’s halo, Hawk saw business opportunities and dollar signs.

Many media outlets had reported on Beckham’s escapades. If Beckham’s main hobby was infidelity, Victoria’s full-time job seemed to be forgiveness—over and over again.

Later, another athlete Hawk didn’t recognize joined Beckham at the bar. They quickly struck up a lively conversation.

Eager to overhear, Hawk exited through the fire escape and re-entered through the main door, taking a seat closer to Beckham. He discreetly eavesdropped on their conversation.

Bits and pieces of their chat reached him. Beckham mentioned skipping a national team match due to injury and accepting an invitation from Tom Cruise to attend several events in Los Angeles.

The other man introduced himself as Miller Collins, a baseball player for the Dodgers.

The two downed drinks together, naturally steering the conversation to topics most men couldn’t resist—women.

With their wealth, looks, and fame, men like Beckham were hardly going to stay loyal to just one Victoria.

At one point, Beckham mentioned a female model, piquing Hawk’s curiosity. Unfortunately, Beckham didn’t disclose her name.

As the bar grew busier and noisier, their conversation was soon drowned out. Around 8 PM, Hawk finally spotted Robert Downey Jr. entering the bar with a group of friends. ȒáNΟΒËŜ

The bar manager personally greeted them, presenting a bottle of fine liquor.

Hawk immediately abandoned Beckham and focused all his attention on Downey.

From a distance, he kept an eye on them, waiting for the right moment to strike.

How to handle this first “dish” would depend on Downey’s next moves. If Downey openly carried a stash of the stuff, things would be much simpler.

Less than an hour later, Downey stepped aside to take a phone call. Shortly afterward, the group left the bar.

Hawk trailed them without rushing.

The group split into two cars and headed east along Sunset Boulevard. Downey’s residence in Brentwood lay to the west.

Hawk followed in his car, soon noticing another vehicle and two motorcyclists also tailing Downey. Most likely, they were freelancers in the media industry.

Downey’s cars didn’t go far before pulling into the underground parking garage of an apartment building. The others couldn’t enter and had to wait outside.

Hawk parked a bit further away and used binoculars to keep an eye on the parking garage exit.

Los Angeles was full of celebrities and actors, offering no shortage of juicy scoops. But after a while, the other tailing vehicles gave up and left, having found nothing.

Strictly speaking, Hawk was in the same line of work, but his goals were different. Downey was his primary target.

He stayed put, watching the parking garage from a distance.

Inside the apartment, one of Downey’s chubby friends pulled the curtains closed and said, “Those bastards are gone.”

Downey, now dressed in a different outfit and wearing a hat, replied, “I’m heading out.”

“Can’t you have her come here instead? Who is she, anyway? You’re being so secretive about this. Do you really think we’d sell you out?” another friend asked.

“I’m not telling you loudmouths anything. I’m a married man, after all,” Downey said, checking himself in the mirror. He looked pleased. “You guys stay here and keep drinking. I’ll be back in the morning.”

The chubby friend advised, “Pick a low-profile motel. Don’t go to any big-name hotels; you’ll get caught.”

Downey smirked confidently and left alone, taking a Lexus.

At the parking garage exit, under the bright lights, Hawk spotted Downey through his binoculars as he drove out. He quickly started his car and followed.

The Lexus blended into Sunset Boulevard’s traffic, heading northeast.

No one noticed a black Mondeo trailing from a distance.

While driving, Downey received a phone call. “You’re already there? Wait for me a bit longer. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Opening a room is a man’s job—it adds to the sense of ceremony.”

On the other end, a woman’s voice responded, “You’re such a romantic, Downey, my darling.”

Downey laughed. “I’ve prepared a special gift for you. Just wait.”

The woman giggled and hung up.

Excitement coursed through Downey as he sped up.

Both were married, but the illicit thrill of an affair made him impatient.

Maintaining a steady distance, Hawk kept trailing the Lexus.

The car eventually turned off Sunset Boulevard, heading north before stopping at a small hotel.

The hotel had a modest seven stories and no dedicated parking. Hawk parked on the street, watching as cars lined up at the entrance.

From the backseat, he pulled out a bag and began changing swiftly.

In record time, he ditched his casual outfit for a business suit and leather shoes, added oversized glasses with clear lenses, and donned a golden parted-hair wig. With a black briefcase in hand, he was ready.

Downey handed his car keys and a tip to the valet before entering the hotel. Scanning the lobby, he smiled and nodded at the woman waiting for him near the elevator, then went to the front desk to check in.

The woman waited near the elevator, glancing around nervously.

As Hawk entered the lobby, he spotted Downey queuing at the desk. Unbothered, he strolled towards the waiting area, quickly surveying the scene.

His gaze lingered momentarily before snapping back.

Hawk had spotted Sarah Parker—Bro Derek’s wife.

Over the past few days, Hawk had been collecting intel. There was no mistaking her.

Even more intriguingly, Sarah frequently glanced in Downey’s direction.

This was getting interesting.

Hawk recalled that the two had dated in the past.

He had a feeling his first entrepreneurial deal in Los Angeles was about to materialize—and it was going to be a lucrative one.

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