Movie Menace

by Franklin W. Dixon

  My gaze stopped on the guy playing Dr. Brayne, who was standing nearby talking to Vivian and Harmony. He was a well-known character actor named Michael B. Spoon who’d appeared in dozens of films and TV shows. An unlikely suspect? Maybe. But if my time with ATAC has taught me anything, it’s that unlikely suspects sometimes turn out to be the guiltiest.

  I was thinking about walking over and introducing myself. But just then Anya’s phone buzzed.

  Uh-oh.

  Sure enough, her face went pale as she looked at the screen. “What?” I asked.

  She held it up wordlessly. I read the text message:

  U HAVE NO FRIENDS IN NYC. GO BACK 2 MN B4 IT’S 2 L8.

  Where There's Smoke …

  “This is crazy,” I muttered, staring around the crowded convention hall. Finding two super-fans in this place was like looking for a needle in a haystack … or a couple of geeks in a geekstack.

  I glanced at my ATAC-issue class ring. Too bad its GPS capabilities didn’t extend to finding nerdy superfans. Just Frank. And I already knew exactly where he was—stapled to Anya’s side.

  Then a gang of roving ogres rushed past. Well, a bunch of fans dressed as them did. I stepped aside to avoid getting run down.

  That put me in view of some benches in an alcove near the emergency exit. There was only one person sitting there. When I saw that person’s greasy dark hair, I smiled.

  Score! It was him—Myles Eccleston.

  When I got closer, I saw that Myles was hunched over a fancy-looking cell phone. He didn’t look up until I stopped about six inches in front of him and cleared my throat. Loudly.

  “Hey,” I said when he finally tore his gaze off his phone.

  He looked annoyed. “I’m not interested,” he snapped.

  “Huh? Not interested in what?”

  “In whatever you’re trying to sell me.” He’d already returned his attention to his phone’s tiny screen. “Go try the next sucker.”

  “Dude, I’m not selling anything.” I sat down beside him. “I heard your question in that Deathstalker Q & A. It sounds like you’ve got some strong views on the new movie.”

  He shoved his phone in his pocket, giving me a suspicious look. “What’s it to you if I do?”

  Okay, the guy wasn’t exactly Mr. Friendly. But I needed to get him talking. It was time for some creative lying.

  “It’s just that I totally agree with you, bro,” I said. “I think Anya is all wrong for the part. But it’s mostly a gut feeling. I’m not even sure why I feel that way.”

  “How about because she’s nothing like Deathstalker?” Myles said.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s pretty much a dead ringer, isn’t she?”

  “In looks, maybe.” He snorted. “But so what? When it comes to Deathstalker, attitude trumps appearance.”

  “I see what you mean,” I said. “So why do you think they cast her?”

  “Don’t ask me.” He rolled his eyes. “I hear that St. John guy is kind of nuts. I’ve seen him make the actors do all these weird acting exercises and stuff.”

  “Really? Where’d you see that?”

  Myles shrugged. “They’ve been shooting in Central Park for a week or two. I live only a few blocks away.”

  “You mean you’ve been to the location?” I was careful to keep my tone casual. “I heard it’s a closed set.”

  Myles smirked. “Nothing is truly closed if one has an open and creative mind.”

  Just then there was a ping from his pocket. He pulled out his phone and glanced at it briefly. Then he rushed away, not bothering to excuse himself.

  I sat there for a second, thinking about what I’d just learned. Did it mean anything? Had Myles actually been to the set, or was he just trying to make himself sound important? He definitely seemed like the type.

  Either way, he was gone now. And I had another supergeek to track down. I stood up and headed back out to the main room.

  Ten minutes later I was wandering around the huckster room. That’s what they called this big room where people were selling stuff. There were tons of folding tables crammed in there. They were piled with books, comics, toys, photos—you name it. If it had anything to do with science fiction or superheroes, it was for sale in there somewhere.

  I found my way to the section of the room devoted to Deathstalker. There was no sign of Dalton, but I spotted another familiar face browsing some first-edition comics on one of the tables.

  “Janice,” I said. “Hey.”

  She might not be a suspect, but she seemed to know all the other Deathstalker superfans. Maybe she could help me find Dalton.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said when she saw me. She looked kind of cranky. “Can you believe Walter sold the Slater Scorpion?”

  I had no idea what she was talking about. “Um …”

  The guy behind the table looked up. He was in his early forties, with a full, reddish brown beard. And judging by his girth and the grease stains on his Deathstalker T-shirt, a weakness for fast-food burgers.

  “Give it a rest, Janice,” he complained. “It’s not like I had a choice, okay? I have a business to run. Besides, it wasn’t really mine to sell—I was just borrowing it. The buyer made the owner an offer he couldn’t refuse, so he told me to let it go.”

  He strode off toward a customer at the other end of the table. I looked at Janice.

  “What was that all about?” I asked. “What’s the Slater Scorpion?”

  “I assumed you were a Deathstalker fan, since you’re working as an extra on the movie and all,” she said. “How can you not know about the Scorpion?”

  “I’m, uh, more of a casual fan.”

  She looked disdainful. “Oh. Well, the Slater Scorpion is an extremely rare and unique Deathstalker artifact. It’s a large blown-glass rendering of the scorpion logo that was presented to Phillip Slater at WorldCon for his lifetime of achievement.”

  “Phillip Slater? You mean the creator of Deathstalker?” I said. “I thought he died a few years back.”

  “He did. His estate sold the Scorpion at auction.” She shrugged. “Sounds like it just got sold again.”

  “But why was it here in the first place?”

  “Walter talked the owner into letting him display it.” She gestured toward the bearded guy, who was eagerly unrolling a dusty old poster for a couple of skinny college guys. “He thought it would bring more people to his table.” She frowned. “But when I got here to check it out, he told me it got sold earlier today to a private collector. I can’t believe I just missed seeing it in person!”

  I couldn’t dredge up much sympathy. But Janice wasn’t paying attention to me anymore anyway. Something in her pocket let out a beep.

  “That’s me.” She pulled out a high-tech PDA and checked it out. “There’s a new post on SD.” Shooting me a look, she added, “That’d be Stalking Deathstalker, for you casual fans.”

  “Thanks for the translation. So does that mean Dalton just posted another entry?”

  “Uh-huh. I receive alerts anytime one of the major DS bloggers updates.”

  “Can I see?” I asked Janice.

  “Sure, in a sec.” She peered at the screen. “Whoa! Is it true? Does Anya seriously want to meet Dalton?”

  “Huh?”

  She shoved the phone into my hand. “Check it out.”

  I scanned the blog entry. It was dated today, just minutes ago.

  BIG NEWS!!!!!!! Just got a PM thru the site. Guess who from? ANYA HERSELF! She saw me in the crowd at the panel earlier & wants 2 meet me b/c she could tell I’m her biggest fan. I always knew she was smrt!!! Off 2 my mtg w/her on the roof right now … SOOO PSYCHED!!!! More l8r!!!!!

  “Wow,” I said. “Dude really likes exclamation points.”

  “Yeah. If this is for real, it’s like his dream come true.” Janice shrugged. “He’s probably making it all up, though. Or maybe it’s someone messing with him. You know—it could be someone pretending to be Anya and sending him that message t
o get him all excited. He’ll probably get to the roof and find some fat sweaty guy dressed up in a Deathstalker catsuit waiting for him.” She smirked. “It should be fun to see that on YouTube later.”

  I glanced at the entry again. Janice’s explanation was reasonable. But something about this didn’t feel right.

  “Yeah, that’s probably it,” I said. “Look, I just remembered something. Gotta go.”

  All my ATAC instincts were tingling. Outside the huckster room I glanced around, looking for stairs. I needed to find my way to the roof.

  I headed out into the main hall. There was a staircase at the far end, spiraling around in a big glass atrium. But I’d only taken a few steps in that direction when I heard the shrill scream of a fire alarm.

  Uh-oh. What now?

  I spun around and saw a couple of things. One was Frank and Anya. They’d just emerged from the hallway by the hospitality suite, along with some bodyguards and several other cast members.

  The second thing I saw? Thick black smoke pouring out of a different hallway.

  “What’s going on?” Frank cried, sprinting toward me.

  “Wait!” Anya dashed after him.

  I was already running. The wail of the alarm made it hard to think.

  As I ran through the hallway, I saw the source of the smoke. In one of the rooms, a life-size cardboard cutout of Anya as Deathstalker was going up in flames!

  Ups and Downs

  I skidded to a stop behind Joe. The smoke was so thick I could hardly breathe.

  “We’ve got to stop the fire from spreading!” Joe cried.

  Glancing around, I saw a fire extinguisher on the wall. I broke the glass, whipped out the extinguisher, and threw it to Joe. He leaped into action and started spraying the flames.

  The rest of the Deathstalker group was starting to catch up. We’d been on our way to this very room. The cast was supposed to be autographing posters and comics in there.

  “Whoa!” Buzz shouted. “Stand back, everyone!”

  Within seconds, the fire was out. “Nothing to see here, folks,” a bodyguard said, shooing away some curious fans. “The fire department will be here soon. Let’s leave them room to work.”

  “I guess this means the signing’s canceled.” Vance peered into the smoky room behind what was left of the cardboard cutout.

  “Nonsense,” Jaan said briskly, whipping out his phone. “Just give me a moment, children.” He wandered off with the phone pressed to his ear.

  I glanced at Anya. She looked totally freaked out. No wonder. It’s not every day you see yourself burn to the ground.

  “You okay?” I asked her.

  “What do you think?” She was trembling. “This is insane! I’m not sure how much more I can take!”

  Harmony and Vivian had been huddling near the back of the group, but now they stepped forward. “It’s okay, Anya,” Harmony said softly.

  “Yes, it is.” Vivian sounded sterner. “If you’re going to be in this business, Anya, you need to realize that it’s unpredictable. People aren’t always going to like you, and sometimes they’ll show that in extreme ways.” She looked at the charred remains of the cutout. “Like this.”

  Anya sniffled. “But—”

  “But nothing,” Vivian said. “When you’re in the public eye, it’s just part of the deal. So if you really want to be a movie star, you need to put up with it.”

  I winced. Vivian’s pep talk seemed a little harsh to me. Even Harmony looked kind of surprised.

  But Anya had been listening quietly. Finally she nodded.

  “You’re right, Vivian. Thanks,” she said, straightening up. After one last, brief glimpse at the burned cutout, she turned away. “I’ll be ready to do the signing as soon as someone touches up my makeup.”

  “Good for you!” Harmony gave her a squeeze. “Come on, I’ll go back to the room with you to fix your face.”

  Jaan reappeared just in time to hear her. “Hurry up,” he said. “The organizers are setting up another room for us. The signing will start in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Anya promised. “Let’s go, Harmony.”

  She seemed to have forgotten about me, so I grabbed Joe’s arm. “We should find somewhere to talk,” I said.

  Soon we were back out in the main room. We found a private spot behind a huge model of a spaceship.

  “That’s two fires involving Anya,” I said. “Coincidence?”

  “Doubtful.” Joe shrugged. “Guess it’s a good thing we both came to the convention after all.”

  “Yeah. Seems like whoever’s after her is right here.” I chewed my lower lip thoughtfully. “Trouble is, we still don’t know if it’s a fan or someone from the cast and crew. Did you track down those superfans?”

  “Sort of,” Joe said. “That reminds me—we need to get to the roof.”

  “Huh?”

  He was already on the move. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  As we hurried across the room toward the stairway atrium, he told me what he’d read on the blog. It didn’t make much sense.

  “Anya didn’t send Dalton any messages,” I said. “I would’ve seen her do it.”

  “Duh.” Joe shot me a look. “She may not have contacted him, but someone did. Who would want to lure him to the roof of this place, and why?”

  “Who cares? We’re here to figure out who’s harassing Anya, not what practical jokes a bunch of science fiction geeks are playing on each other.”

  “But this could be connected to Anya,” Joe insisted. “Whoever contacted Dalton used her as bait. What if that person is trying to set her up somehow?”

  I didn’t answer. We’d just reached the atrium. The stairs spiraled up in the middle. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side looked out over a big fountain court between the hotel and the mall.

  “What’s going on out there?” I said.

  A couple dozen people were out in the courtyard. Most were definitely from the convention. You could tell by the costumes and T-shirts. Almost all of them were staring upward.

  Joe tossed an impatient glance out there. “Who knows,” he said. “Maybe someone’s trying to launch the Starship Enterprise off the …” His voice trailed off, and he looked outside again.

  “Off the roof?” I finished for him. “Come on. Let’s see what’s going on.”

  We rushed outside and looked up. Everyone was staring at the roof of the two-story restaurant behind the fountain that connected the hotel to one end of the mall.

  “Whoa!” Joe said. “It’s Dalton!”

  Dalton was up on the roof, leaning over the safety railing. The railing was about three feet high and set back a few inches from the smooth concrete drop-off.

  “What’s he doing?” I said.

  “Climbing over that railing,” Joe said grimly. “Is he nuts? That ledge is way too narrow to walk on.”

  More people were still pouring out into the courtyard. One of them was Janice. She spotted us and hurried over.

  “What’s going on out here?” she asked. Then she looked up and gasped. “Oh, wow! What’s that doing up there?”

  For a second I thought she meant Dalton. Then I followed her gaze. I’d been so busy looking at Dalton that I hadn’t noticed the plank sticking out from the edge of the roof like a weird little diving board. It was a few yards to the left of where Dalton was. The glass skylight of the restaurant was raised up in that area, which meant you couldn’t reach the spot from which the plank extended without edging along the narrow roof edge.

  The plank stuck straight out over the courtyard, jutting out approximately three feet. It was hard to see how it was attached to the roof. But it was easy to see that something was sitting on the other end—a chunk of glass about the size and shape of a shoe. It looked like some kind of statue.

  Joe saw it too. “What’s that?”

  “Are you blind? It’s the Scorpion!” Janice exclaimed. “The Slater Scorpion!”

  “The what?” I said.


  “Whoa, seriously?” Joe said to Janice. Then he turned to me. “It’s some kind of rare Deathstalker doodad. It was supposed to be on display here at the convention, but a collector bought it earlier today.”

  I had no idea how he knew all that. This didn’t seem like the time to ask. Dalton was sliding carefully down the wrong side of the railing.

  “Did Dalton put that scorpion thing there?” I asked, still not really understanding any of this.

  “Maybe,” Janice said. “This could be a stunt to publicize his blog or something. He’s done nuttier things in the past.”

  Yeah. That I could believe. Especially when I thought back to that motorized paper airplane.

  “Dalton, stop!” Joe called up to him. “It’s too risky. Let us help you get down from there, okay?”

  Dalton glanced down. Even that small movement made him sway dangerously. His foot almost slipped off the edge of the roof, but he caught himself on the railing.

  “There’s no time!” he called, sounding hysterical. “The countdown is already down to ten seconds!”

  He took another wobbly, precarious step toward the plank. A few people in the crowd gasped. Others whooped and hollered.

  “What countdown? What’s he talking about?” Joe said.

  I was peering up at the board sticking out over the courtyard. “Hey,” I said. “There’s something on the other end. Can you see it?”

  “It looks like a clock,” Janice said, squinting. “That’s weird.”

  “Five seconds!” Dalton howled, lurching forward another step. He was almost within arm’s reach of the plank now.

  Joe and I exchanged a look. Suddenly this was all making sense. Okay, a really weird kind of sense. But still.

  “Countdown,” Joe said.

  “Timer,” I added. “That board must be set to drop that glass thing when it hits zero.”

  “No way!” Janice cried. “But the Scorpion …”

  The sudden clang of an alarm cut her off. The crowd gasped as the plank shuddered and dropped an inch or two. The glass scorpion slipped toward the edge.

  “Nooooo!” Dalton howled.

  He let go of the railing and lunged forward, grabbing for the glass scorpion. His fingers came within inches of it.