Movie Menace

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Whoa!” I paused the recording again. “Did he just say Jaan St. John is directing this thing?”

  Joe shrugged. “Yeah, so what? He’s just some director, right?”

  “Just some director?” It was my turn to roll my eyes. “I guess I should expect that from a guy who thinks superhero comics are great literature. Jaan St. John won just about every serious film award last year for his independent film Milady.”

  “Milady?” Joe looked dubious. “Never heard of it.”

  “I’m not surprised. There’s not a single explosion in it. It’s a docudrama that draws parallels between the life cycle of ladybugs and the life of Mary, Queen of Scots.”

  “Sounds like a thrill a minute.” Joe was back to rolling his eyes. “Anyway, now that you mention it, I remember reading about him on those entertainment blogs too. I guess he’s supposed to be some kind of kooky-artsy creative genius or something. Don’t ask me why they’d hire him to direct something like Deathstalker.”

  “They’re probably trying to class it up. But forget that—the mission sounds a little vague so far. Let’s find out the other details.”

  I turned the disk back on. But there weren’t many other details. Just the usual info about how to get where we were going and such.

  “Oh well,” I said as the recording ended. “Guess we’ll find out more when we get to New York.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “And I guess the beach will have to wait.”

  “This is awesome!” Joe said.

  It was seven o’clock the next morning. Joe and I had arrived in New York City the night before, checked into our hotel, and fallen into bed. Now we were on location at the movie set waiting to meet with the director, Jaan St. John.

  Joe looked pretty happy, especially considering the early hour. But I understood why. The movie set was a pretty cool place.

  From the outside, it hadn’t looked like much— just a bunch of trailers and sheds lined up behind temporary fencing on the Great Lawn in Central Park. A guard had stopped us at the gate, but a quick call to Jaan St. John had gotten us in.

  Now we could see that the place was all hustle and bustle. Burly men wheeled huge cameras here and there. People with clipboards raced around, barking orders into cell phones. Workers were setting up a bunch of scaffolding and scenery nearby.

  “I bet I know what scenes they’re shooting here,” Joe said eagerly. “It’s probably the part when Deathstalker first faces off against the evil aliens and discovers more of her powers.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “Aliens?”

  Joe looked at me as if I was an alien. “Duh,” he said. “Are you so busy watching movies about ladybugs that you’ve never even read the first page of a Deathstalker comic?”

  I shrugged. “So sue me. I have taste.”

  “If you say so.” Joe snorted. “But listen, bro, this is part of our mission. You really need to get up to speed. See, Deathstalker started life as ordinary suburban teen Sissy Stiles. Then one day an alien spaceship crashed into her house, killing the rest of her family and leaving her in a coma. The only reason she survived at all is because Sissy’s best friend, Susie Q, risked her own life to pull Sissy out of the flames.”

  “Susie Q?” I said. “Really?”

  “Hey, I didn’t make up the names,” Joe said. “Anyway, when Sissy wakes up from the coma, she finds out that the brilliant but psycho surgeon Dr. Ezekiel Brayne has used a risky and totally untested medical procedure to revive her. He injected her with a serum made from the deadly deathstalker scorpion’s venom.”

  “That’s actually a real kind of scorpion,” I commented. “They’re found in Northern Africa and the Middle East.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Wikipedia,” Joe said, making a face.

  “Hey, you should know that too, Mr. Short Attention Span,” I countered. “We learned about them in that ATAC training seminar on neurotoxins, remember?”

  “Sure, whatever. Anyway, Sissy ends up changing her name to Deathstalker because of that and also because one of her powers is being able to immobilize her enemies by digging her long fingernails into their skin and poisoning them with the toxic scorpion venom in her blood.”

  “Okay, I’m no doctor, but I seriously doubt the venom would stay in her blood like that.” I had to step back as a harried-looking woman rushed past, carrying a bunch of extension cords. “Plus, even if it did, how would it get into her fingernails from there?”

  Joe looked annoyed. “This isn’t science class, okay? It’s a superhero comic. Deal with it.”

  “I could deal with it better if it bore any passing resemblance to scientific accuracy,” I said. “But never mind. Anything else I should know?”

  “Well, the burns from the alien crash site leave weird blue and green scars all over her body, which is why she wears that hot leather jumpsuit,” Joe said, leaning against a huge piece of camera equipment. “When Sissy—now Deathstalker—returns to the scene of the accident, she finds this creepy-looking eight-foot-tall alien named Asp huddled in the ashes. He’s the only survivor from the alien ship. She starts to sting him, but he stops her by telling her that his ship crashed because it was shot down by some evil aliens who are trying to take over Earth. So the two of them, plus Susie Q, team up to try to track down and destroy the evil aliens and also end up righting other wrongs and stuff along the way. But they have to keep dodging Dr. Brayne, who wants to find Deathstalker so he can lock her up in his lab and study her like a lab rat.”

  “Wow. That’s quite a story.” Now I understood why the movie trailer on our DVD hadn’t made any sense to me.

  Before I could say anything else, I saw someone heading toward us. It was a tall, blond dude around our age or maybe a little older. You know how certain people get described as having “movie-star good looks”? Well, that was this guy. White teeth, square jaw, broad shoulders, the works.

  “Excuse me,” he said, sounding kind of suspicious. “I haven’t seen you two around here. This is a closed set, you know. Do you have ID?”

  As a matter of fact, we did. A packet had been waiting for us at our hotel last night, complete with fake driver’s licenses sporting our names for this mission: Frank Miller and Joe Clark.

  “Sure,” Joe began. “We’re—”

  “Hello, hello!” a new voice broke in. A second later a man hurried over. He was about fifty years old, had a beard, and was kind of short. His twinkling blue eyes held a hint of mischief.

  Even dressed in khaki shorts and high-top sneakers instead of a tux, I recognized him right away from the awards show clips I’d seen on TV: Jaan St. John.

  “Don’t fret, Vance,” the director told the blond guy. His voice had a light European accent, though I couldn’t quite place it. “These boys aren’t here to cause mischief and mayhem. I was just looking for them, in fact.”

  “Oh, okay.” The blond guy—Vance—looked a little less aggressive. “I was just checking. After the fire and everything, you never know….”

  “Fine, fine.” St. John beamed at him, then turned to us. “Vance is one of our actors. Now come along, my children. We’ll talk in my office.”

  His office turned out to be in one of the trailers parked nearby. The interior was pretty wild. Parts of it looked like a normal office, like the desk and the filing cabinet and the laptop computer.

  But most of the offices I’ve seen don’t have an Australian didgeridoo leaning in the corner. Or a framed display of huge, weird-looking insects pinned to a velvet backing. Or what looked an awful lot like a genuine shrunken head hanging from the ceiling fan.

  “Whoa.” Joe stared at something in a glass case atop the filing cabinet. “Is that a real elephant tusk?”

  “Yes, it was given to me by a friend on my first visit to the Dark Continent many moons ago,” St. John said with a cheerful smile. “Quite illegal to procure such things now, of course. But please— make yourselves comfortable.”

  I wasn’t sure how that was going to be possible, given the toothy moun
ted crocodile head glaring at us from one wall. But Joe and I sat down in the guest chairs in front of the desk while the director settled himself behind it.

  “Now,” he said. “Shall we discuss the reasons for your visit to our humble workspace?”

  “Sure,” Joe said. “I—”

  The rest of his words were lost in an ear-shattering explosion from somewhere just outside.

  Blastoff

  Frank and I were on our feet instantly. “Dude, what was that?” I cried.

  Without waiting for an answer, I raced for the door. Frank was at my heels.

  “Wait, boys!” Jaan called. “It’s not—”

  I didn’t hear any more. I shoved open the trailer door and leaped to the ground, bypassing the steps.

  “Over there!” Frank shouted, landing beside me.

  I looked where he was pointing. Black smoke was pouring out of a metal barrel about a hundred feet away.

  “Stop!” Jaan appeared in the doorway behind us. “It’s only Scorch testing the explosives for a scene we’re shooting later.”

  “Huh?” I said.

  Yeah, I’m not real articulate when I think I’m about to get blown up.

  Jaan pointed to a wild-haired man leaning over the barrel. “That’s Scorch. He’s our special effects man. Best in the business.” He leaned closer and winked. “Even if some people think he’s a bit crazy.”

  After seeing his Wild Kingdom of an office, I was already thinking this guy wasn’t one to talk.

  But I forgot about that as one of the most gorgeous girls I’d ever seen in real life emerged from the next trailer. Okay, Frank would probably tell you that I think every girl is the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen. But this time it was no exaggeration. I knew immediately that she had to be an actress. Judging by her wholesome blond looks, I figured she was probably playing Susie Q.

  “Jaan!” she exclaimed. Even her pout was pretty. “Can’t you tell Scorch to warn people when he’s going to do that? Lila almost drew another mouth on my face while she was trying to put on my lip liner!”

  “Apologies, Harmony, my child,” Jaan said with a little bow. “I’ll speak to Scorch, but you know how he is. Everything fades away to unimportance when he’s bringing one of his babies to fiery life.” He smiled. “Besides, if you’re to be an action star, you’ll have to get used to such things. This isn’t your talky, broody TV show where nothing louder than a tragic breakup ever happens.”

  “Tragic breakup?” I echoed, confused.

  “Ah, but don’t you recognize our lovely young star, Joe?” Jaan turned to smile at me. “This is Harmony Caldwell, the former star of Young Hearts.”

  Okay, now I knew who she was. Young Hearts was a huge hit—a teen TV drama set at an exclusive private high school. Not that I ever watched it myself. Angst and gooey romance aren’t really my things. But Aunt Trudy, who lives with us, never missed an episode.

  Now, looking at Harmony, I was wondering if I should’ve been watching after all.

  “Nice to meet you,” I told Harmony with my most charming smile. “I’m a big fan.”

  Frank shot me a look, but I ignored him. Meanwhile Jaan checked his watch.

  “Have you seen Anya, my dear?” he asked Harmony.

  “I think she’s in her trailer,” Harmony replied.

  Jaan thanked her and glanced at us. “Come,” he said. “You’ve met our established young actress. Now let me introduce you to our rising star.”

  As Harmony went back to finish up her makeup, the director led us to another trailer. He barely had time to knock before the door swung open.

  “Are they here?” the girl inside demanded. Her ice blue eyes swept over Frank and me. “Oh, good!”

  “I told you I’d take care of things, Anya my dear,” Jaan said calmly. “Shall we all sit down and get acquainted?”

  The girl nodded and let us into the trailer. It was basically one big open room. At one end was a makeup counter and mirror; at the other was a small kitchenette. The rest of the space was a sitting area with cushy sofas and stuff.

  Not that I was paying much attention to the furniture. I was way more interested in checking out Anya.

  I could definitely see why she’d been cast as Deathstalker. She looked exactly like the comic character. I mean exactly. Lush dark wavy hair tumbling over her shoulders. Those amazing blue eyes. Legs a mile long. She even had Deathstalker’s trademark slight gap between her two front teeth.

  Not that I got a very good look at her teeth. Anya wasn’t smiling much. She looked kind of tense, actually.

  “So you two are really professionals?” she asked, sounding a little dubious.

  Jaan chuckled. “I’m told these lads are two of ATAC’s most accomplished and capable young agents,” he assured her. “They’ll get to the bottom of things—no need to fret. You can relax now and focus on becoming your character. All right, my child?”

  Anya nodded. “Okay,” she said in a small voice. But her eyes were troubled.

  “Good.” Jaan clapped his hands. “So shall we discuss the strange goings-on around the set lately? Get you boys up to speed so you can start solving all our problems?”

  “Sure,” Frank said. “By the way, just to confirm—you two are the only ones who know our real identities, right?”

  Jaan nodded. “That’s right. We haven’t told anyone else, not even my assistant director or Anya’s agent.”

  “Not that he’d care.” Anya rolled her eyes. “He’s off in L.A., perfecting his fake tan to get ready for the Big Apple Awards.”

  Coming from most people, a comment like that might sound kind of obnoxious. But from Anya, it just sounded a little sad. It made me want to hug her. Okay, her gorgeous face and hot body already made me want to hug her. But that, too.

  “Should we begin by telling our intrepid young agents about the fire?” Jaan asked.

  “I guess.” Anya glanced at him. “By the way, Big Bobby just texted me. He’s running late. Again.”

  “Big Bobby?” I asked.

  “Her primary bodyguard,” Jaan explained. Then he turned to Anya. “I’m sorry to hear that, my dear. But I can assure you, Big Bobby came highly recommended by several of my fellow directors. He’ll keep you safe, not to worry.”

  “How can he keep me safe when he’s not even here half the time?” Anya bit her lip. “Actually, I have an idea. Since there are two ATAC agents, maybe one of them should be like an additional bodyguard. You know—stick close to me in case anything else happens.”

  “I’m not sure that will work,” Frank spoke up. “Our cover story is supposed to be that we’re extras.”

  “That’s exactly what I need. An extra bodyguard.” Anya finally cracked a smile, though only for a second. Then she turned to Jaan. “Please? I’d feel a lot better if I knew I had someone reliable protecting me all the time.”

  The director shrugged. “You know I cannot resist a sincere plea from a pretty face,” he said, tickling Anya under the chin as if she were an oversize baby. “Let it be done!”

  Frank and I traded a look. I could tell what he was thinking. Posing as extras was the perfect cover—we’d be able to wander around together or separately anywhere on set without raising suspicion. It would be a lot harder if one of us was stuck shadowing Anya.

  Then again, I was ready to embrace the silver lining. Shadowing Anya didn’t sound like the worst job in the world. She was hot, she was about to be famous, and so far she seemed pretty cool.

  I was about to open my mouth to volunteer when Jaan pointed at Frank. “You,” he said. “You’ll stay with Anya. But we won’t call you a bodyguard, all right? No need to arouse suspicion or envy by giving her another personal bodyguard. You can pose as her boyfriend, freshly arrived from back home in Apple Valley, Minnesota.”

  “Wait, are you sure?” I blurted out. “Maybe we should really think about which of us will be more convincing as her boyfriend….”

  “It is already decided,” Jaan announced. “Fran
k is taller and more handsome than you are, thus better suited for the part.”

  I scowled. Taller, okay, I could give him that. But Jaan had to be half-blind if he seriously thought nerdy Frank was more handsome than me!

  But I figured it wouldn’t do much good to grumble about it. This guy was a director—he was used to calling the shots.

  Besides, I’d just gotten a look at Frank’s face. He’d smirked for a second at Jaan’s comment, then started to look nervous.

  I could pretty much read his mind. Frank isn’t exactly Mr. Suave when it comes to the ladies. He gets tongue-tied trying to talk to the cute checkout girl at the supermarket back home in Bayport. How was he going to handle acting as the love interest of a gorgeous soon-to-be movie star? I wasn’t sure, but it was probably going to be amusing to watch.

  So there. I had my silver lining after all.

  Just then there was a knock at the door. It swung open, and a sixtyish man with droopy jowls stuck his head in.

  “There you are, Jaan,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Don’t you ever answer your phone?”

  “Only when I feel like it,” Jaan answered calmly. “What can I do for you, Stan?”

  “We need to talk about the budget,” the man said. If he’d noticed there were other people in the room, he gave no indication of it. “I really wish you’d run some of your ideas by me before you implement them. That wind tunnel contraption you rented is costing a fortune, and if you’re serious about adding the scene where Brayne crashes a city bus into the Hudson River …”

  “All right, all right. We shall talk.” Jaan stood and glanced at us. “You young people can continue this party without me, hmm?” Not waiting for an answer, he hurried out after the other man.