by Sam Moffie
On the door was written Props & Special Effects. Alexei turned the knob and walked in.
He walked up and down the aisles peeking in all the boxes, containers and bags with each step. He was in the room for a few hours until he found what he was looking for; hundreds of boxes of all sorts of fireworks, a few loaded canisters of gas, drums filled with gasoline, drums filled with oil and there was even a barrel of gunpowder!
Glad we got smart and went into skin flicks. Just the cost of the material in this room would have broken us long ago, he thought as he quickly devised how he was going to attempt one more shot at taking out John Wayne.
“I’m going to blow this place up when Wayne comes to visit and everyone in the world will think it was an accident. I’ll tell Mr. Zavert and Boris that Ivan died in the explosion. Stalin gets what he wanted and I get to leave,” Alexei said to all the props, costumes and explosives as he started to go to work at rigging the place to do just that. He knew he had two days to smuggle in some heavier explosives that would help do the job. He was pleased that the weather was dry and windy and hoped that it stayed that way to help the flames spread. The majority of the buildings were wooden — having been built in the early 1900’s — and he didn’t see much emergency equipment around. He knew it was a long shot, but he had to try it. If he failed at killing Wayne, at least he had the cover for Ivan.
For the next day and a half Alexei played arsonist and put together a contraption that wouldn’t have been confused with Mrs. O’Leary’s cow.
He was amazed how quickly all his training came back to him, and he silently thanked all his instructors who had worked him into the ground while they taught him everything he had learned about not only how to kill people, but how to save them, too. He estimated that the fire and explosions would travel quickly and be devastating. On the day Wayne was due in, he waited at the gate for The Duke to make his entrance. Once Wayne entered Powell’s office building, Alexei would start the fire and retire to the hill behind the lot to watch his masterpiece.
Wayne entered the lot in a huge Pontiac Bonneville. Alexei was surprised that The Duke drove himself. Furthermore, when employees came up to greet him, Wayne couldn’t shake enough hands, kiss enough cheeks, pat enough backs and share enough laughs.
Nice guy, Alexei thought. Too bad I have to kill him. Alexei watched Wayne enter the building that housed Dick Powell’s office, and he retreated to the building where he would slowly count to 100 and then start the fire.
He started the fire and left the lot to watch the entire place blow-up from the hill he had picked out a day earlier. He was amazed at how easily he roamed in and around the lot. He assumed that once one was inside the gate — everyone assumed you belonged. The spot he had picked had a small clump of trees where he could watch and be concealed from being watched. The night before he had hidden a satchel of items that he would need while he stayed hidden — binoculars, a hand gun, food, cash and water.
He was halfway up the hill, when he heard the first alarm, then a second alarm sounded as he turned to watch. He could see the smoke billowing up into the air and he jogged up to the top to seek his cover. He opened up the bag and grabbed his field glasses to take a closer look. He wanted to see the explosion that would level the studio and kill Wayne.
It never blew. Sure there was a lot of smoke and fire damage, but the explosives that he had rigged never went off. He marveled at how the RKO workers and the quickly arriving firemen worked to contain the fire and protect the other structures. But he knew that before any of that would have happened his firebomb would have gone off.
“He dodged me again!” Alexei yelled into the air as he threw his binoculars into the bag and retreated down the hill. Suddenly, he had an urge to go to The Coconut Grove and get drunk before he left.
At least you have your cover for Ivan, and it’s better than what was agreed to during your last meeting with him, he said to himself.
He was at The Coconut Grove for about an hour and a half when none other than Mickey Cohen came in. Mickey spied Alexei and went up to greet him.
“Thought you were leaving,” Cohen said.
“I got delayed,” Alexei said.
“I know what you mean. I should have been here hours ago, but a fire at RKO studios has traffic backed up all over town,” Mickey said.
Alexei perked up a little and asked Mickey for more details as they both ordered a drink.
“Did anyone get hurt?” Alexei hoped.
“Not a soul,” Mickey said.
Alexei slumped and Mickey noticed that.
“What? Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who likes to see people hurt at accidents! You probably go to car and horse races, hoping there is an accident!” Mickey said sarcastically.
“I’m just a little depressed about having to leave Hollywood and our profitable business for a while,” Alexei lied.
“Oh yeah, that would make me depressed, too,” agreed Mickey.
“How do you know no one got hurt?” Alexei asked.
“My source?” replied Mickey as he signaled for another round. “Some kid who is an intern at RKO. He’s from Ohio, learning the movie business, but he likes to gamble. I rip up his IOU’s for the passes like I got you.”
“An intern gets access like that?!” a bewildered Alexei shouted.
“He’s pretty smart. Knows everything going on. I told him if things don’t work out in the movie business to give me a call,” Mickey said with a laugh.
“Probably would make more money working for you than RKO,” Alexei said.
“I’ll tell you how smart and knowledgeable he is,” Mickey began. “You may or may not know that Howard Hughes owns RKO. Hughes has many fetishes — one is cornering the market on whatever he thinks is going to be the next big thing. He hits more than he misses, but I think he really struck-out with what my bought-and-sold intern told me.”
“I’m lost,” Alexei confessed.
“That’s pretty easy to do when I’ m doing the talking and the subject is Hughes. Anyway, Randy Komara… ‘my intern’ is told by his boss Dick Powell to find a place for thousands of metal dinner trays that Hughes has had shipped to RKO for storage purposes,” Mickey said.
“Dinner trays?” Alexei asked.
“Hughes thinks that movies are going to lose the war to television. He thinks that Americans will spend all their time in front of the sets… eating breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. The metal tray is on folding legs and is a perfect fit for those who are going to do what Hughes thinks. At least that is what Randy told me that Dick Powell told him.”
“No way is Hollywood going to lose to television. No way,” Alexei said as he shook his head in disbelief.
“I agree. I call it ‘the idiot box,’” Mickey said with a smile as he ordered another round.
“That intern is smarter than Hughes,” Alexei said with a laugh.
“I’ll say. He stored all those metal trays in a room that just happened to be next to the room where the fire broke out. Those trays not only acted as a fire wall, but fell over onto the flames to keep them from spreading to some explosives; which would have caused a lot of damage and probably killed some people. The kid told me that the fire wasn’t as big of a deal as John Wayne being there. I expect that kid to become a permanent fixture at RKO… not just an intern,” Mickey announced.
Alexei frowned… frowned hard.
“Hey, you look like you have been sucking on a lemon instead of drinking,” Mickey said.
“I’ve got to run Mickey,” Alexei said as he quickly got up and exited The Coconut Grove.
Alexei went home and slept and slept and slept. When he awoke, he couldn’t get motivated to do anything and so slept some more. Alexei didn’t know it yet, but he was depressed — something that he had never experienced personally or in others.
“Too cold in Russia to get depressed,” the general manger of The Brumagin Winery later told him. “Either that, or the Russian people are always depress
ed and just don’t know it under Communism.”
Once Alexei awoke from his very long slumber he knew he had to head out of Hollywood and away from everything. He wasn’t ready for Russia yet. He went to his kitchen table where he kept stacks of people’s business cards and looked for the one that read: The Brumagin Winery. He found it, memorized the address, threw some clothes and weapons into the trunk of his car and started driving north to the winery in the Russian River valley.
The drive was long, even longer than he had slept, but Alexei was grateful for it.
“Took your mind off what was ailing you,” Paul, the general manager of The Brumagin Winery had told him — once Alexei showed up.
“Yes, it did,” agreed Alexei.
“So what are you doing up here?” Paul asked.
“I need a job,” lied Alexei.
“You need a job?” an astonished Paul asked. “I thought you were too busy putting swindlers out of business.”
“That dried up,” Alexei lied. “You don’t even have to pay me.”
“You’re hired!” Paul yelled out. “What can you do?”
“How about I drive for you?” Alexei asked. “It will take my mind off a lot of things.”
“Done,” Paul said as they shook on it. “My wife would be plenty mad if I didn’t give you a place to stay. We have an old barn that we let a lot of the help use. There’s plenty of room. It’s clean and has a bathroom, too.”
“Done,” Alexei said as he shook Paul’s hand. “Can I start the day after tomorrow? I have to run a few errands… you know, let people know that I’m safe. By the way, is there a place in town where I can send a telegram?”
Paul told him where to go and then invited Alexei to look over the winery and sample some of the wines. Alexei loved every inch of the winery and every drop of the wine. It made him sleep very easily.
Alexei found the telegram place. The man who was in charge of the little office informed Alexei that the office they were standing in was an original telegram office from the 18th century, and he pointed out all the old instruments that were lying around.
Toughski shitski Alexei thought, which made him think of Ivan, which made him send this telegram to Mr. Zavert and Boris: Every calendar’s day is numbered. This meant that he was away from Hollywood in pursuit of the intended target.
Alexei loved working for Paul and delivering wine up and down the coast of California for The Brumagin Winery.
“Nothing like solitude, views of the ocean and the wind whipping through the open windows,” he told Paul one night after he returned from a long haul.
“But the food on the road sucks,” Paul replied with a sigh.
“I have found some decent spots. After all, it has been six months,” Alexei said. “When is my next trip?”
“In a few days. Have to wait for the bottling.”
A few days turned into a week and when the crates were ready to be delivered, Alexei was chomping at the bit to make his deliveries. He drove very skillfully and quickly and was never late. His customers never experienced a broken case or even a broken bottle from a delivery made by Alexei Alexandra. Alexei was very proud of that fact.
On this day, he had been driving a few hours when he saw a sign for one of his favorite roadside diners. It was good, and as a matter of fact, it was the only one that Paul liked; it was located on the beach, with a terrific view, a big menu, great food and very cheap prices. The name of the joint was Bills Place and Alexei smiled as he pulled in the parking lot. As usual, there were a lot of other sized trucks parked all over the place. Alexei found a spot, parked, checked on his cargo and walked in.
He sat at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee. As the cup warmed his hands and the aroma drifted to his nostrils, he gazed out the big bay window to look at the ocean waves crashing onto the beach. He couldn’t believe what he saw and quickly excused himself to his waitress and ran out onto the beach where, with each stride, he knew his eyes were not playing tricks on him.
He had spotted the three boys from that seedy neighborhood he had beaten up way back when. They had some contraption in their hands and were staggering around out on the beach like drunks he had seen stagger in and out of The Coconut Grove.
“What are you kids doing way out here!” he yelled when he got within ear shot.
“Never mind us, what about you?!” the leader of the three shouted back.
Alexei came to a stop and knew the kid’s leader was right with the question he asked. Of course Alexei was going to tell the truth and wondered what they were doing so far from home. “I thought you kids were working at the grocery store?” he asked them as he extended his hand, which they all took.
The three boys laughed in unison. Alexei was happy to see that they looked good… wait a minute…too good, and thought the boys might have strayed off path.
“We are truck drivers now!” the leader said.
“So am I!” Alexei said.
“Ain’t that a pity,” the leader said sarcastically. “You and all your talents forcing you to be a truck driver like us.”
“From one truck driver to three truck drivers, talk to me about your escape from the grocery store,” Alexei said.
And the boys told Alexei what had brought them to the beach in front of Bills Place.
They had been walking down the street in their South Central Los Angeles neighborhood, when an older man approached them about driving trucks for the various ‘big’ studios in town. The three boys thought it was a scam — just like the celebrity photographers everyone who had grown up in Southern California were aware of — and wanted to roll the man right then and there. Something must have told the man that was about to happen to him when he pulled out identification, his union card and all sorts of other documents to prove that he was a head driver for a trucking company called The Long Haul, which had an exclusive contract with all the major studios. The boys asked him why he was searching the streets for drivers and the man told them that no young men wanted to do the heavy lifting along with the driving — they all wanted to play and not work. The boys took the man upon his offer and here they were after some weeks of training.
“What kind of lifting does it require?” Alexei asked.
“We drive out to location shooting — that’s where they are filming movies off the set — and have to pack up or unload all sorts of things that are being used for the movie,” the leader of the three said.
“Are you guys happy?” Alexei found himself asking the boys.
“Like pigs in shit!” they said in unison.
“Good. Were you filming around here?” Alexei asked them.
“No,” replied the leader of the three. “We’re on our way back to RKO studios with the reddest sand you ever saw. That’s why we have these gizmos,” he said as he held one out for Alexei to see. “No lousy valuables on this beach though.” The others shook their head in agreement.
Alexei knew right away that he held a Geiger counter in his hand, not a metal detector, but didn’t inform the boys of that. “Take me to your trucks,” he commanded.
And they did.
Alexei walked around the trucks and the Geiger counter showed large traces of radioactivity in the sand. Alexei also waved the counter around the boys, but there was very little activity. He didn’t think that the boys had been contaminated and told them to stay out of the sand and get it to RKO right away. They agreed of course; they knew who and what Alexei Alexandra was all about.
“What movie set is this stuff from, and do you know why it is headed for RKO?” he asked them.
“A movie called The Conqueror done in Southern Utah. John Wayne is in it. The guys who helped us on the set said it was a western with Genghis Khan in it. And we got to try these new drinks that all the helpers said were invented on the set called raspberry lime rickeys,” the leader of the boys said.
“Did you meet Wayne?” Alexei asked them.
They all shook their heads dejectedly.
“So wh
y is the sand going back to RKO?”
“They have been filming for months on this stuff and when they went back to post production, the sand at the studio was a different color, so they hired The Long Haul to drive two trucks of the stuff to the studios. Wayne and the others have to reshoot a lot of film,” the leader of three boys said.
“You know a lot,” Alexei said.
“This kid named Randy Komara told us everything.”
That kid knows everything, Alexei thought as he bid the three boys a safe journey, went into Bills Place, ate a hearty meal and drove down to the neighborhood where he had first met the three boys to send a cable. But first he had to make a delivery. Secondly, after he made the delivery, he contracted with The Long Haul to drive the truck back to The Brumagin Winery and left a note in it to Paul, thanking him for everything and leaving his car and his other belongings to Paul.
This was the cable received by Boris: Time flies like an arrow, and fruit flies love bananas.
Gila dashed into Zavert’s office, threw down the cable and declared “Mission accomplished.”
“How come I haven’t read it in Variety?” Zavert said as he threw down the latest issue of Hollywood’s favorite newspaper.
“I guess we will have to wait to hear from Alexei,” Gila said.
“Don’t guess Comrade, find out!” Zavert ordered as he calmly picked up the newspaper and started reading it.
chapter two
THERE’S NOTHING LIKE FILMING ON
LOCATION AND BEING THERE
“Fortune favors the bold but abandons the timid.”
— Latin proverb
“To escape criticism — do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.”
— Gilbert Chesterton
“Well, I guess you can’t break out of prison and into society in the same week.”
— John Wayne as The Ringo Kid in “Stagecoach”
Dick Powell was sound asleep. It had been a long day, made longer by a night of drinking vodka-laced raspberry lime rickeys with the cast and crew.