The next morning Benjamin gently slid a rosewood tray onto the table beside Louis’ bed. Balanced on it was a fine bone china tea set, a freshly brewed pot of leaf tea and an envelope lying next to an ivory letter opener.
“It would appear Jonathan neither slept in his bed last night nor is his bike in the garage. I took the liberty of making sure nothing valuable was missing,” Benjamin said. The butler briskly pulled back the curtains, adding, “All he took was that airline overall. This letter was on the bed.” He pointed to the small vellum envelope addressed simply to ‘Mr. Louis’. Louis looked at it, half wondering if Benjamin had already steamed it open earlier.
“There is no passport in the drawer where he usually keeps it, he did at least leave behind the cell phone you pay for,” the butler added as he noted his employer’s hesitation in opening the note. He realigned a picture.
Louis marveled at the degree to which Benjamin noted every minutia in the house. All the better that his own secrets were locked in the vaults of his own memory. Paper trails led only to danger and Louis left no traces for anyone; least of all his manservant.
Benjamin picked up Louis’ dressing gown and laid it on the bed, turning to leave the room to prepare breakfast. Louis slid the flat ivory blade under the lip of the envelope.
The note was brief. ‘I must deal with Haribon. If Cara is there, she will not return’.
Louis put down his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jonathan will not be returning, Benjamin. Under any circumstances,” he said to the retreating figure. “Dispose of his things. Give them to someone or just burn them.”
He thought for a moment and added as Benjamin reached the door, “and get me Mr. Gemmell on the phone.”
A moment later the light on the handset by his bed flashed.
Louis picked it up.
“Tyler, is your man on the way…? Good. Jonathan will be in the background. Just for cover.” Close enough to the truth, he thought.
“I want these guys off our backs, Louis,” Tyler said angrily. “But I blame you for them being there in the first place. Immigration inquiry or not, you somehow started this, but now we have to finish it. We will need to review our options and relationship when this is settled,” he snapped.
Louis ignored the not-so-veiled threat. He was set. Problem solved.
Ever since Benjamin had brought in Haribon’s floral ‘gift’, Louis had beefed up security in the house. The butler had hired two uniformed security guards to pace the grounds. Security cameras now covered every angle of the house and there were motion sensors in the garden, on the rooftops, as well as inside the building itself.
Even with Tyler Gemmell sending someone to deal with Haribon, Louis was concerned for his own security. He needed to become even less accessible. It would be advisable to get away from his normal haunts to a place where security was the priority. He was never the kind to hide out in some lonely lakeshore shack in the Greenhorn Mountains. He knew the perfect refuge, somewhere that would keep him locked in and others out.
Picking up the phone and dialing the familiar number, he resignedly said into the phone, “This is Louis McConnell. I’m afraid my bad habits have caught up with me again. I’m surrendering. You can get out the large file you have on me… Yes, today. I know the drill.” He pulled the silken green cord hanging next to his bed. Benjamin reappeared.
“I’m turning myself in. I need to report to jail.”
Benjamin nodded and waited. “Prepare a small bag,” continued Louis. “Nothing much. All casual. Prepare a decent farewell breakfast first though.”
* * *
Within a few hours, the Bentley was purring south towards Fiji Way in Marina Del Rey. It pulled up at a jetty where two uniformed men were waiting to take Louis away.
Benjamin got and then opened the door for Louis, who strode down to the jetty where he boarded the launch. He settled down for the two-hour journey south to an isolated island forty miles out to sea.
The Arrow Point Clinic, better known by its select group of regulars as The Catalina Jail, was one of the most exclusive and expensive health resorts and addiction treatment clinics in America.
Its cosmetic surgery clinic enjoyed visits from the select few in Hollywood who could afford it. Due to rigorous secrecy, its clientele frequently swore publicly they had never been under the surgeon’s scalpel but that their startlingly youthful appearance was down to good genes… and of course the diet and exercise book they were currently promoting.
Louis felt safer. He knew the owner was an associate of Gemmel’s. Certainly no thug hunkered down several thousand miles away across the Pacific could threaten him here. He pondered over his two other strands of unfinished business; Marcus and Mako and how to find that Buddha head. The head was the key, and he was sure no one else understood why.
From what Jonathan had told him, Mako and Marcus either had it or knew where it was. Since they had escaped Jonathan twice, Louis knew he could no longer underestimate them. They may have gone to ground, but they would resurface eventually. And when they did, he knew they would have only two places to go for the answers they must surely want. Himself or Haribon. Right now though, he was lying low. If Marcus and Mako somehow decided to track down Haribon first, it could prove awkward, though not terminal. By the time they tracked down Haribon, Gemmell’s man would have dealt with him. So they would have to come to Louis, and there was no way they could travel with the head. He would just need to persuade them to tell him where it was, or they were going nowhere. Easy.
Jonathan was of no value now that he had started to act without his employer’s express wishes and instructions. To Louis independence was the ultimate betrayal.
It was not all bad news, though. He was confident Tyler’s ‘envoy’ would take care of everything.
Louis walked to the prow and looked out to sea. At least he was going to be able to try a few of the dietary changes recommended by that smug doctor before he went for surgery. A gentle feeling of sated lust rippled through his body when he remembered the nurse. He’d been right, of course. A discreet word in her ear from another client as to who Louis McConnell really was and the next visit she had been all over him.
He smiled at the throbbing she must have felt the next morning after the way he had turned her over and ravished her after the perfunctory dinner at The Palm. It must have been similar to his own discomfort following the rectal examination at the doctor’s office. He never returned her calls.
The spray from the sea thrown up by the prow of the magnificent motor launch pattered across Louis’ jowly face and droplets formed on his heavy-set features.
* * *
At that precise moment Jonathan was hunkered down in the plane trying to doze, despite the incessant drone of the engines. He was on a mission. The irony was that even though he was acting out of a feeling of loyalty to Mr. Louis, he knew he had lost all of the man’s respect.
His boss had made clear he was sending someone else to clear things up. Jonathan had to make amends. As for Mako and Marcus, he’d pick up their trail and deal with them later. A few moments alone with either of them and he’d get back that head.
Right now he had to deal with Haribon. Haribon had sent those flowers, clearly threatening his employer. Haribon had sent his people to take Cara. Jonathan would kill him, end it now to prove his worth to Mr. Louis and rid him of his nemesis…
55
MID AIR
Marcus and Mako had been airborne for several hours. At first they both slept heavily but were now reading. Marcus held his copy of the screenplay. Mako looked up deep in thought, Kelso’s version in her hands.
“Finished?” he enquired.
She nodded. “Are you sure? I just don’t see it,” she replied. “OK. Now read my version. This part.” He handed it to her, the manuscript already turned to the first scene of the movie.”
* * *
EXT. NEW YORK. DAY.
FADE IN:
PRESENT DAY:
WHITENESS... Nothingness... which reveals itself to be clouds full of snow... A bird SWOOPS down... through the cloud. towards the snow-covered peaks of Manhattan. The Chrysler Building... the Empire State... the Flatiron... past them all, down towards the white expanse of Central Park...
* * *
EXT. CENTRAL PARK. DAY.
A lone JOGGER leaves a trail of footprints behind him in the virgin, china white snow, his breath visible in the chill morning air...
* * *
EXT. EAST 54TH STREET. DAY.
A silver Mercedes Maybach limousine idles outside an elegant apartment building...
The CHAUFFEUR, in black coat and gloves, shivering in the cold, opens the door for FRANK KIDDO, a Big Man, mid-fifties, thickset...
* * *
FRANK
(To himself, seeing the jogger down the street)
God gives you a finite number of heartbeats, why would you waste them running through snow?
* * *
The chauffeur smiles, shrugs his shoulders. As he turns to get into the car the passing jogger drops something.
* * *
CHAUFFEUR
Hey, buddy.
The JOGGER continues, ignoring the call and disappears into the snow. CHAUFFEUR picks it up. It is an envelope addressed simply FRANK KIDDO. It bears the logo of a small eagle.
* * *
INT. LIMOUSINE. DAY.
Plush, silent. FRANK activates a switch to darken the side windows and panoramic glass roof, turning the back of the car into a private cocoon. He picks up the pile of mail on the seat next to him as well as THE NEW YORK TIMES and THE NEW YORK POST. A headline. PANAMA BUSINESSMAN KILLED IN ATF SHOOT OUT. He notices the car has not started and taps impatiently on the screen divider.
* * *
CHAUFFEUR
(Lowering the divider)
I’m sorry sir.
This was just... delivered.
* * *
The driver passes the envelope to FRANK. He takes it, hesitates then closes the screen divider.
He tears it open...
* * *
EXT. MANHATTAN STREET. DAY.
* * *
The limo pulls up outside an old-style New York office block, GIRO HOUSE Above the doors – a sign A FRANK KIDDO DEVELOPMENT A doorman hurries out, opening an umbrella for FRANK...
* * *
DOORMAN
Morning sir
A moment – and then a grim FRANK emerges and walks straight into the building, ignoring the surprised doorman and his umbrella...
* * *
INT. ELEVATOR. DAY.
Frank pushes 51... The elevator rises. He closes his eyes...
INT. OUTER OFFICE. DAY.
FRANK enters his outer office. His PA, BONNIE – 30s, efficient, elegantly groomed within an inch of her life – rises –
* * *
BONNIE
Good morning Mr. Kiddo, what would you -
Without pausing he strides past her and into his office, shutting the door behind him...Bonnie stops, taken aback. Puzzled, she sits back down at her desk.
* * *
CLICK... Bonnie looks up in surprise – FRANK locks his door from the inside...
* * *
INT. FRANK’S OFFICE. DAY
* * *
FRANK stands motionless, staring out at the New York skyline...
* * *
INT. OUTER OFFICE. DAY.
* * *
Frank’s perplexed chauffeur stands in front of Bonnie’s desk, holding his boss’s briefcase and almost all his mail.
* * *
CHAUFFEUR
Everything okay?
* * *
Concerned, Bonnie gets up, walks over to the door... Taps on it... No answer...
* * *
EXT. FRANK’S OFFICE. DAY.
* * *
Close up. FRANK’S face... Dead-eyed... Snowflakes appear on his cheeks.He’s standing outside his window, on the narrow ledge of the balcony... He looks down, at the distant traffic below and sees squad cars, sirens blaring and lights flashing pull up at his building – He steps forward into space.
CRASH CUT TO OPENING CREDIT
FALL OUT
* * *
“But why do that?” she looked at Marcus, puzzled. “Why the differences?”
“You tell me.”
“Same beginning… but the other script is set in the rain whereas yours is. ”
“In the snow…”
“Did you see the other smaller changes to the scene?”
She looked down and opened Robert’s copy. “Giro Towers instead of Gatlin…Frank pushes 51, instead of the elevator operator nods as Frank gets in and presses the 50th floor?”
“And the inclusion of BIG MAN to describe Frank. In capitals. Think. What’s the connection?” Mako was smart. Marcus knew she’d get there.
“They’re drug terms… Big Man is a drug dealer… Pushes 51, fifty-one is crack and marijuana. He’s pushing drugs. God, china white in the snow is heroin…”
“And Giro House is a street name for where drug money is laundered. My screenplay is littered with that kind of reference and drug slang. Mako, Sam is telling me it was drugs. That’s what he’s pointing at.”
He pulled out the notes he’d made the night before.
“OK. Here goes my list so far. There’s an extra section in Robert’s screenplay in the scene in Kenny’s office that talks about a playground, but I just can’t work out what it means. I mean Kenny is obviously meant to be Robert. All three scripts mention Aqua Regia. What’s that about? Must have meant something to Sam, though.”
He showed her the section.
“No idea. I’m sorry, Marcus.” She hesitated a moment. “You think it’s possible Sam might have left clues in each version?”
“Maybe. We won’t know unless we get all five versions.”
“That’s not happening any time soon.”
“There are two bits added to your father’s copy. Literally just the odd line, but enough to push up the page count. The biggest insert is at the beginning of a scene about how Frank Kiddo started the double cross.
The money laundering team is dividing income from the gun-running cartel. The finance guy, Joe Nisten, is working on a hacked computer terminal from a bank sending proceeds to key personnel.
In my version Joe manipulates the amounts so that the New York guys get more than their fair share. In your father’s version, they send funds to various accounts, former partners they have told Aguinaldo need to be paid off and whom they use as a cover. The funds are then routed back to Kiddo and Nisten,” Marcus finished.
“Funds going in a circle, that sounds familiar,” Mako said opening her father’s copy.
“There are also a couple of lines added from a frustrated Frank needing money and giving Nisten instructions on wiring it to him.”
* * *
FRANK
(v.o. ON PHONE)
Do I have to spell it out to you?
G... E... T CASH.
* * *
NISTEN
O.K. message understood.
* * *
FRANK
Good.
* * *
(Phone goes dead)
* * *
“There’s another difference in the scene where Bill, I mean, Stan performs his party piece,” said Marcus.
“You mean how to blow up my boat and us along with it? Show me,” she said.
He leaned over.
* * *
STAN
When we wanted to off somebody but walk away totally clean... you know how to do that?Let your Daddy show you... We used to surprise those dumb Provos when they were making some secret delivery, ‘Our day will come’ my ass. We’d chase them across the moors, all the way to Muckno Lake in Crossmaglen.Left this little gift. We’d be sure they always start off with a full tank of gas – go on, you rabble, keep drinking! – the tank empties nice and s-l-o-w-l-y... just like this little beauty
is emptying -
* * *
“It’s also in mine. But this is what Robert’s says.”
* * *
STAN
We used to get those dumb Provos to chase us across the moors, but we’d been at their vehicles before they set off.
* * *
“Make any sense to you?” he asked her. “Our day will come… I’ve seen that somewhere…” Marcus said. “When I read that scene, something didn’t seem right to me. I can see it now though. That little bastard who tried to kill us, he was just a spectator in the background at THE LAST COMPANY party, not the one who got soaked. Sam was warning us, pushing him to the foreground. What does Aguinaldo say?”
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