by Stuart Woods
Dan read the pages quickly. “You’re right. If we can calm both Jake and Dax down, we can have Jake on the way back to L.A. the day after tomorrow, and we can finish the shoot without him.”
“What time does Dax get up in the morning?” Teddy asked.
“Early—his car comes for him at seven AM.”
“Do we have any idea what time Jake told Dax he was quitting?” Teddy asked.
“I think I heard about it pretty quick,” Jenny said, “so maybe two hours ago.”
“Do you think Dax has already called our stand-by star?” Teddy asked Dan.
“I happen to know that our man, Kramer, weekends up in the Sierras somewhere, and there’s no cell service.”
“Okay, then,” Teddy said. “We’ve got two jobs to do. Dan, you tell Dax about our plan and get him to hold off on calling the stand-by star. When Jake wakes up, I’ll try to talk him into working two more days.”
“I’ll be there when Dax wakes up,” Dan said.
“Oh, and you’d better get the director to meet you at Dax’s place. He’s the guy who has to make this work.”
“I’ll call you,” Dan said.
• • •
TEDDY, SALLY, AND JENNY poured themselves a drink from Jake’s well-stocked bar and settled down to wait for him to regain something like consciousness.
“Hey, good morning!” somebody yelled.
Teddy sat up, blinking. Jake was standing in front of him, looking remarkably human.
“Ted, thanks for last night,” Jake said. “I remember some of it.”
“Jake,” Teddy said, “do you remember an argument with Dax?”
“I remember telling him to go fuck himself,” Jake replied. “Hey, I’ve got to call my pilot and get my airplane to Santa Fe. I’m off the picture.”
“Jake,” Teddy said, “why don’t you order some breakfast sent up, and let me tell you why you might not want to quit just yet.”
• • •
THE FOUR OF THEM were having breakfast.
“Let me get this straight,” Jake said. “If I do seven minutes of two-shots and close-ups, I’ll be done and home in L.A. for dinner Tuesday?”
“That’s right,” Teddy said, “and you’ll get your whole paycheck and avoid a very expensive lawsuit from Dax, which could have an unfavorable impact on your career.”
Jake took a sip of coffee. “Well, shit,” he said, “I guess I can put up with the fucker for another seven minutes. I’m in.”
Teddy’s cell phone rang. “Dan?”
“I’m with Dax. He buys it, and I got him to agree not to be on the set when Jake is working.”
“Jake’s on board, too,” Teddy said, “and he’ll be real glad to hear that news.”
14
TEDDY RODE TO WORK with Jake in his studio car. When they arrived at the location for the first setup, he got out of the car and looked carefully at the waiting faces. Dax was nowhere in sight.
“Okay, Jake,” Teddy said, “you’re on. Got your script?”
“Sure, but I’ve already learned my lines,” Jake said.
They were in a forested area near a small waterfall, ending in a creek. Dan introduced Teddy to the director, Troy Small.
“Dan told me what you did,” Small said to Teddy. “I want to thank you, and I want to thank you both for keeping Dax off the set while we shoot these setups.”
“You’re welcome,” Teddy said, “but I think we’ve got a problem here.”
Both Small and Dan were immediately attentive. “What now?” Dan asked.
“The waterfall,” Teddy said. “That’s going to read on the soundtrack, and it’s the sort of thing that could require some looping back at the studio.”
“Oh, fuck, you’re right,” Small said. “Jake’s not going to show up for looping, is he?”
“Doubtful,” Teddy said.
Small conferred with his sound man while an assistant miked Jake. He came back to Teddy and Dan. “My guy thinks he can pull it off by using two mikes, one for Jake and one for the water, then reduce the water sound in the editing room.”
“That could work,” Dan said, “but maybe not, and we’re not going to find out until we’re in the editing room.”
“It’s worth a try,” Teddy said. “If it doesn’t, you can always hire another actor who’s a good mimic to do the looping.”
“I know just the guy,” Small said. “He’s a comedian and he can do anybody.”
“Then let’s shoot,” Dan said.
Teddy got an extra headset from the sound man and plugged it into the equipment.
“I need levels,” the sound man said.
“Jake, give me a quick reading for a level,” Small said.
Jake counted to ten.
“Shit, that was perfect,” the sound man said. “Good for me.”
“Let’s do one for real,” Small said, and the other actor in the scene stepped in. They did two quick takes, and everybody was happy.
“All right,” Dan said, “that’s a minute and a half in the can. Let’s do the close-up.”
They set up for the close-up, and while the other actor read his lines, Jake spoke his part exactly as in the two-shot.
“The guy’s a pro,” Teddy said to Dan.
“Okay, next setup,” Small called out, and everybody started moving equipment.
Dan took a cell call, then came over to Teddy. “Dax wants to see you in his double-wide,” he said.
“What about?”
“He brushed me off when I asked, but he wasn’t shouting.”
“That’s good,” Teddy said.
“Maybe, but he was very quiet,” Dan replied, “and he gets that way when he’s most deeply upset. Jake’s driver will take you there, then come back for Jake. Watch your ass.”
Teddy got into the car, and they moved out. Halfway to the double-wide, his cell rang. “Yes?”
“It’s Dan. Dax’s assistant called me and said that Dax has found something wrong with your background.”
“Any idea what?” Teddy asked, trying to sound baffled.
“No, but I say again, watch your ass.”
The car pulled up, and Teddy got out and knocked on the door. Dax’s assistant opened it, showed Teddy in, then she got out.
“Have a seat, Ted,” Dax said. His voice was very quiet.
Teddy sat down. “What can I do for you?”
“Is Ted your real name?” Dax asked.
Teddy kept it conversational. “It’s Theodore, but I’ve always been called Ted.”
“I happened to speak to a friend of mine in New York an hour ago. He was a producer on the documentary film you listed as a credit on your résumé, and he says there was nobody named Ted Shirley on the crew.”
Teddy’s mind was racing now; the documentary had been filmed three years ago; he steamed straight ahead. “Who’s your friend?”
“Jason Cohen, he’s a partner in the company.”
“I never met him,” Teddy said. “I was called in the night before to replace somebody who had a medical emergency. Tell Mr. Cohen to check the call sheets for the last four days of the shoot, which were done on location at the Central Park Zoo.” Teddy had seen the film, and he remembered those scenes. He reran the film credits in his mind. “The guy I replaced was Robert Swain. He got the assistant director screen credit.” Teddy remembered something else about Swain: he was dead of a heart attack before the film hit the theaters.
Dax was less certain now. “Were you a friend of Swain’s?”
“No, I didn’t know him.”
“How’d you happen to get the call?”
“They called the union in a panic for a replacement, since the rules didn’t allow shooting without an AD, and somebody there gave them my name.”
“That’s a strange way to
replace a key crew member,” Dax said.
“I heard they tried two other people, who weren’t available. It was late in the evening and the shoot was for dawn, before the zoo opened. What would you have done in the circumstances?” You would have called the union, Teddy thought: say it.
Dax didn’t say it, but he thought about it. “What was Swain’s medical emergency?”
“Heart problem, I heard on the set.”
Dax turned to his computer and typed something.
He’s Googling Robert Swain, Teddy thought. I hope.
Dax read something on the screen, then turned back to Teddy. “You broke my guy’s wrist last night.”
“He was threatening me,” Teddy said, “and he’s a lot bigger than I am.”
“What did you hit him with?”
“An umbrella.”
“An umbrella? You took those two guys down with an umbrella?”
“It was a big umbrella,” Teddy said.
“What were you doing with an umbrella?”
“It looked like rain. I keep an umbrella in my truck.”
Now Dax was trying to remember if it had rained the night before, but he gave up. “Okay, get out of here.”
Teddy got up and headed for the door.
“Shirley?” Dax said.
Teddy turned back. “Yessir?”
“Dan told me how you solved our problem. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“There’ll be something extra in your paycheck when we wrap,” Dax said.
“Thanks very much,” Teddy said, then he got out of there.
15
TEDDY FOUND THE CREW shooting another setup in the hills. As he got out of the car, Dan Waters came striding over.
“Don’t worry,” Teddy said, “it went just fine.”
Dan pulled him aside out of earshot of everybody else. “It didn’t go as fine as you think.”
“He asked me some questions, I answered him, and as I was leaving he thanked me for my suggestion about Jake and said there’d be a bonus in my final paycheck.”
“I got a call from his assistant after you left. She said Dax was back on the phone, making calls about you.”
“I don’t know what his problem is,” Teddy said.
“Dax thinks you’re a danger to him.”
“How could he think that? I just saved his shoot and a couple of million dollars that would have come right out of his pocket.”
“He doesn’t think you’re a danger to his wallet, he thinks you’re a threat to him, personally.”
“Personally? What does that mean?”
“He thinks you’re working for somebody who wants him taken out—a guy at Centurion named Billy Barnett—something about his wife.”
That stopped Teddy in his tracks. “Dan, can I confide in you?”
“Sure.”
“This can’t go any further, or I’ll go down fighting Heckel and Jeckel.”
“Ted, come on, give.”
“I’m not Ted Shirley, I’m Billy Barnett.”
Dan froze, then looked at him closely to see if he was kidding. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“I’m not kidding. I’m a producer at Centurion for Peter Barrington’s production company.”
“Holy shit! Dax thinks you’ve hired yourself to knock him off?”
“It sounds that way.”
Dan started pacing, looking at the ground.
“What’s the matter, Dan?”
“We’ve got to get you out of here, and you can’t go back to the production center.”
“Actually, I’m not that worried about Heckel and Jeckel. Heckel has a broken wrist, and Jeckel is scared of me.”
“I’m not worried about them, either, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to worry about.”
“What should I be worried about?”
“Dax has sent for a guy from L.A., and he’s due in this afternoon.”
“A guy? What kind of guy?”
“The kind of guy who makes people disappear. It sounds like he’s coming for you, first, then for Billy Barnett.”
Teddy couldn’t help laughing. “He’s going to kill me twice?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Who is this guy?”
“He’s a Russian. His name is Dimitri Kasov.”
“I’ve heard that name, never met him.”
“If you’d met him, you wouldn’t be here. We’ve got to get you out. Let me see if the chopper is free. They could pick you up here and take you straight to the airport.”
“No, no, don’t do that. Dax would know about it immediately.”
Dan looked at his watch. “I think you’ve got, maybe, three or four hours.”
“Then I’ll be here when he arrives. He can come looking for me.”
“Are you crazy? Don’t you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Dan, if I’m here, at least I can see the guy coming. If I leave, he’ll hunt me down and take me out when I least expect it.”
“Ted . . . ah, Billy . . .”
“Keep calling me Ted.”
“Ted, you’re beginning to sound like you’ve had some experience at this sort of thing.”
“Some,” Teddy admitted.
“How can I help?”
“Do you know what this Kasov looks like?”
“Not big, maybe five-eight, a hundred and sixty pounds, all muscle and gristle.”
“Does he dress in any particular way?”
“He dresses to blend in. Look around you, he’ll look like one of us.”
“I think I’d better shave,” Teddy said. He peeled off his mustache. “Can we swap hats?” Teddy handed him his Stetson and took Dan’s baseball cap.
“You look completely different,” Dan said.
“That’s the idea, isn’t it? It may not work for long, but it’ll give me a little edge.”
“Listen, Ted,” Dan said, “I’ve got a gun in my room. I don’t know why I carry the thing, but you’re welcome to it.”
“I don’t think guns will be involved,” Teddy said. “Kasov is more likely to use a knife or an ice pick.”
“I’m getting really scared,” Dan said.
“Don’t be. Kasov’s not coming for you.”
“I mean, scared for you. This guy’s a pro, and from what I’ve heard, he’s pretty much unstoppable.”
“Nobody is unstoppable,” Teddy said. “Everybody bleeds.”
“Jesus,” Dan sighed.
“Who knows where I live?” Teddy asked.
“Did you put your address on your employment application?”
“I used a P.O. box number in Tesuque.”
“Then he’ll know you’re in Tesuque. It’s a small place, it won’t take long to track you down. Has Sally been there?”
“Yes.”
“Then she’s probably the only one on the shoot who knows.” Dan raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “I don’t want to know.”
“Does anybody know Sally and I have been seeing each other?”
“Just me. Oh, and the makeup girl, Mala, remember?”
“Can you reach her?”
“I’ve got her cell number.”
“Please call her and find out if she’s mentioned Sally and me to anyone.”
“Okay.”
“And if she hasn’t told anybody, tell her to keep quiet.”
“Okay. What are you going to do?”
Teddy gave him the keys to his truck. “This is parked in the lot at La Fonda Hotel. The ticket’s under the sun visor. Can you get somebody to get it out of there and return it to its owner?”
“Who’s that?”
“His name and address are on a piece of paper in the glove com
partment. Tell him I won’t be needing it anymore.”
“What are you going to do for wheels?”
“I’ve got wheels.”
“You didn’t tell me what you’re going to do, Ted.”
“I think I’m going to pay Dax another visit.”
“Oh, shit.”
16
WHEN JAKE HAD FINISHED his setups he went to his car, where Teddy caught up with him. “Jake, can I get a ride to Production with you?”
“I’m not going anywhere near Dax, but I’ll drop you off at the main gate.”
“Thanks.”
Jake looked closely at him. “What happened to your face?”
Teddy took the mustache from his shirt pocket and glued it back on. “Is that better?”
“It’s more familiar,” Jake said. “Your hat is missing, too.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Teddy said.
“Ted, I want to thank you again for the way you handled Heckel and Jeckel.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“I’ve seen those guys in action, and it didn’t turn out well for their victim.” Jake looked out the window. “You know, I’m a movie star, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can, Jake.”
“I mean, if I’m not as drunk as I was last night.”
Teddy nodded.
“Not many people know that I trained as a Navy SEAL.”
Teddy looked at him anew. “Really?”
“I didn’t say I graduated the course, but I did all the training, and I excelled. The night our training ended I got drunk and took a swing at our DI. I found myself on a bus the next morning.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Teddy said.
“It’s not that I couldn’t handle the sergeant, I was just drunk, and that doesn’t work unless the other guy is as drunk as you are.”
“Good point.”
“After I heard that he’d bounced me, I invited him outside for a chat, and I cleaned his clock. After that, he was all the more anxious to see me go.”
“How’d you get from the navy to the movies?”
“I met a girl in a bar near where I was stationed, and we ended up in bed. Turned out she was an assistant to a movie producer at SAC, and they were making a Navy SEAL movie, and she thought I might get a small role. I went to Burbank, in uniform, to audition, and they were impressed. It was a supporting role, but I lent some authenticity to the shoot, and after that, it was more and better movies. I kept the SEAL stuff from the PR people at the studio, because I was embarrassed about being bounced.”