Bottom Feeders

by John Shepphird

  “Why were they leaving the scene of a crime?”

  Stuart didn’t have an answer so simply shrugged.

  “I need them to come back, and I need their contact info,” she said.

  Stuart nodded. “Okay.”

  “Did anyone see what happened?”

  Collective silence followed.

  “Anything out of the ordinary? Anything suspicious?” Martinez pressed.

  More silence.

  “Who was the last to see the victim?” the officer asked, thumbing back over her shoulder.

  Sheila remembered the last time she saw Jimmy was at dinner the night before. Before then she remembered him pacing like a caged animal just before the veterinarian put Patches down.

  “His name is Jimmy,” Lucky informed.

  “Thank you. Who was the last to see Jimmy?”

  Paul raised his hand, jerky still in his mouth, and said, “I saw him in the bar last night before I crashed.”

  “What bar?” she asked.

  “The Gold Strike down the hill,” Stuart explained. “We’re all staying there.”

  “Right.” She pulled out her notepad, “What time?”

  “Just past midnight or so,” Paul said. “After last call.”

  She jotted that down. “And you are …?”

  “Paul Reynolds. Chief electrician.”

  “Did anybody see Jimmy this morning?” she asked.

  Many of the crew looked to Lucky who shrugged and said, “I knocked on his room early this morning but he didn’t answer.”

  “And when was that?” Martinez asked.

  “Five-thirty or so,” Lucky said. “It was still dark.”

  Sheila could see Deputy Martinez was trying to determine an approximate time of death.

  “Understand this is a crime scene,” Deputy Martinez announced. “I’ll need everyone to be patient. Nobody goes anywhere, is that understood? Please be patient.”

  As horrible as the situation was, Sheila liked the way the deputy remained calm and in control.

  “Look, deer!” Connie shouted, pointing up the hill.

  Sheila turned to see a half-dozen deer running across the Western town above them. Prancing, darting, the grace of the animals took her breath away.

  “Oh, they’re beautiful,” Tami exclaimed.

  But Sheila’s impression was that these deer were not necessarily at peace. The animals appeared in full flight, running from something. They leaped around the sets and darted for cover into the trees and thick brush. The magnificent animals were gone as fast as they came.

  Stuart asked the deputy, “Arrows … do you think somebody is trying to hunt deer?”

  “Could be,” she said.

  “Merda,” Giovanni barked, eyeing the treetops adjacent to everyone. Sheila followed his gaze to see what he was referring to.

  Flames were licking the tops of the pines.

  “Fire!” someone shouted.

  “Holy shit,” Tom said.

  “Game changer,” Martinez said. “Listen up! I’ll need everyone to evacuate in an orderly fashion,” she announced. “The Gold Strike … we’ll all calmly make our way down and convene there. Is that understood?”

  Sheila watched the flames in awe. She wondered how much time it would take before the fire engulfed the entire bank of trees.

  “Don will shuttle everyone down,” Stuart said, “so line up,” and then to Don, Stuart asked, “Where’s the stakebed truck?”

  “Out picking up supplies,” he said in a worried tone. “All we have is the van.”

  “Then you’ll have to make a couple of trips,” Eddie said.

  Don nodded. “Copy that.”

  “It’s your fault!” an enraged Diane screamed at Don. “What’d you do, flick your cigarette butt out the window?”

  “Don’t look at me,” he replied.

  “Calm and orderly, is that understood?” the Deputy instructed. “Please do not panic. There’s plenty of time to evacuate. We’ll all meet down the hill and assess the situation.”

  But most did panic.

  There was a sudden rush for the van.

  Tami was the first to jump in, followed by Connie, Bonnie, and Diane, still seething and cursing under her breath. Tom climbed in next, but Stuart shouted, “Women first!” so he reluctantly gave up his seat. As Tom climbed out of the van, Sheila heard Tom mutter, “What is this, the Titanic?”

  Sheila’s first instinct was to run up to the set and grab the camera and lenses. She watched as the deputy went to her squad car and got on the radio. Martinez pulled an electronic device off the dashboard and into the radio announced “latitude” followed by a list of numbers. Sheila recognized the spoken code as GPS coordinates.

  Sheila turned to Giovanni. “I’m going for the camera,” she said. She wished they’d broken the camera apart earlier, when she suggested.

  “Don’t worry about it, everything’s insured,” he said.

  “But the media cards. It’s got everything we’ve shot so far.”

  Giovanni said nothing. He turned to study the smoke coming from the trees. “I’ll drive the camera truck,” he offered.

  Paul said, “We can take a handful down in the grip truck.”

  “Great. Do that.”

  Karen and Linda, the original hair and makeup team, were closest in proximity, so they followed Paul to the grip truck. After the van was stuffed with its first load of passengers, the vehicle took off. Next the grip truck set out. Sheila could see, other than the deputy, she was the only woman left.

  Giovanni said, “Okay, let’s get those cards.”

  With that she, Giovanni, and Luther climbed the hill.

  Up on set, Lucky was freeing the horses from the stagecoach. He smacked them on the rear with a hearty “Git!” but the animals would not scatter.

  Sheila couldn’t help but gaze once again at Jimmy’s dead body while pulling the camera apart. She wondered if the fire would reach the stagecoach and if Jimmy’s corpse would be charred beyond recognition. The camera equipment went into cases and they were all snapped shut. Then she, Luther, and Giovanni carried it all downhill.

  Lugging cases, Sheila watched the burning trees. Smoke billowed into the sky, as if in slow motion. It seemed so surreal.

  The tailgate down, they were able to load the cases quickly. Sheila stood on the liftgate and watched the smoke, wondering how long it would take for the fire to spread. It seemed like an eternity, but the passenger van finally arrived to shuttle down the second load. Sheila heard Eddie and Stuart arguing below. Eddie said, “I’m the captain of this ship, so I’ll be the last to get on that shuttle.”

  “We don’t need a martyr, Eddie, we need a director,” Stuart argued.

  “After I make sure everyone’s safe,” Eddie countered.

  “That’s my responsibility.”

  “Ours together.”

  The discussion was cut short when Deputy Martinez joined them. “Assistant Manager,” she addressed Stuart. “I need you to get on this shuttle. Make sure nobody leaves the Gold Strike. Can you do that for me?”

  Stuart suggested, “I think it’s best that I—”

  “I need you to insure that nobody jumps in their cars and drives home, is that clear? Have your producer and whoever else was in that Land Rover meet us there too. We need everyone together. An officer will join you, but he doesn’t know anyone from the cast and crew. You do. You have that list. I’ll be down there shortly. Can I count on you?”

  “Sure. What about—?”

  “Firefighters are on their way.”

  “Okay.”

  Like sardines, the next group of passengers was packed into the van. Stuart managed to wriggle himself in, a tight squeeze. “I’ll see you down there,” he said to Eddie before the sliding door closed and the van
departed.

  Sheila jumped off the tailgate and said, “We’re good to go.” The smoke was beginning to make her eyes water.

  Luther pushed the button of the lift. The electrical engine whirred but the mechanical gate would not engage. “Oh, shit,” Luther said. He pushed the button again and again without luck.

  Giovanni saw this and jumped into the cab of the camera truck.

  Sheila could see him pull keys from the visor and attempt to start the engine. No luck there, this truck’s battery was clearly dead.

  “Bastards!” Giovanni cursed and jumped out.

  Sheila could see he was on the verge of one of his mini tantrums. She intercepted with, “Giovanni, it’s fine, we’ll go down in the shuttle.”

  “Always shitty trucks! No prime lenses! No time to make anything good … I am so sick of these fucking TV movies,” he barked before reverting to his native language, “Porco Giuda!”

  “Giovanni,” Sheila tried to reason, “we’re good, look.” She pulled the media cards from her back pocket to show him. “We’ve got all we need right here.” These were the electronic chips that held everything they’d shot so far.

  The sight of the cards seemed to calm him. “Yes, fine,” Giovanni muttered before he began coughing from the smoke.

  “Let’s start walking down,” she suggested. “Come on.”

  “Of course. We don’t need the truck. Let all that shit burn,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  That’s when Sheila heard the low rumble.

  At first she thought it was a helicopter, but as it grew louder she spotted the orange airplane, low over the treetops, coming straight at them.

  “Incoming!” Deputy Martinez announced before she jumped into her squad car.

  Sheila stood mesmerized by the approaching aircraft. Eddie, Tom, Luther, and Giovanni all watched it too.

  Martinez opened her car door and shouted, “Take cover!” over the noise of the approaching prop plane.

  Sheila then understood. “In here!” She turned and ducked into the back of the camera truck. Luther and Giovanni followed.

  But Tom and Eddie hesitated, both standing outside, eyes on the crazy-looking orange aircraft seconds before it was upon them.

  The water hit—drenching everything in an instant.

  Tom and Eddie were knocked off their feet.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-THREE

  Eddie got up and went to help Tom. He could see the actor was shaken and asked, “You all right, bro?”

  “Son of a bitch!” Tom cursed.

  Deputy Martinez emerged from the safety of her vehicle, stepped around a puddle, and squinted up at the smoldering trees.

  “What the fuck?!” Tom shouted at her.

  “The Superscooper,” she explained, “dumping water sucked up from the San Gabriel Reservoir. Cal Fire is fighting the blaze north of here, but I didn’t expect those boys here so fast,” she said while studying the effectiveness of the drop.

  “You could have warned us,” Tom said.

  “I gave instructions.”

  “You did not.”

  “Yes, I did,” she said.

  “Hardly.”

  “Sir, what part of ‘Take cover’ do you not understand?”

  “You could have been more specific.”

  “We’re lucky that wasn’t fire retardant.”

  Tom continued in defiance. “We’re lucky? We? You’re not the one that’s totally soaked here.”

  “If either of you are in need of medical attention—”

  “I’m fine,” Eddie said, trying to defuse the situation. “How about you?” he asked Tom. “You okay, bud? Anything hurt?”

  “I don’t know … I don’t think so. But I’m putting in for hazard pay,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Eddie laughed. Tom was referring to the bump in salary actors receive when they are asked to work in scenes involving elements such as water, snow, or theatrical smoke—not necessarily hazardous conditions, but that’s how the Screen Actors Guild defines it.

  “I’m fucking serious,” Tom said to Eddie.

  “Okay, but I’m soaked too. Where’s my hazard pay?”

  “Hell, you fucking directors sit back in video village sipping lattes most the time anyway. Where’s the hazard in that?”

  Eddie let it go. He could argue with Tom—but what’s the point?

  “Did it work?” Giovanni asked the deputy as he looked to the steam rising from the bank of trees.

  Martinez said, “It just bought us some time before the fire crew gets here. Keep your eyes peeled. Those flyboys may scoop some more and come back.”

  Tom scanned the sky for the plane and said, “It better not come back,” before he sat on the liftgate.

  More time passed as they nervously waited in silence. Eddie could see the water drop had dampened the fire, and there was far less smoke coming from the trees, but it was starting to come back. Meanwhile Deputy Martinez was at her car talking on the radio. Giovanni and Luther stood off to the side speaking in hushed tones. Sheila was back in the truck, coughing, and she appeared to be dour and lost in thought. Eddie went to a nearby cooler and pulled out a handful of bottled waters. When he came back he caught her eye. “Want one?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” said Sheila.

  He tossed it. She caught it with both hands and came out of the truck. He offered one to Tom who shook his head no. Eddie set the waters down on the liftgate and opened one for himself. The cold water felt good on his parched throat.

  “This is so crazy,” Sheila said.

  “Yeah,” Eddie said and asked Sheila, “You all right?”

  She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t.

  Tom said, “I’ve got to admit, the sight of blood totally freaks me out,” before he took one of the bottles. He opened it, sipped, and added, “I could have never been a surgeon.”

  More time passed with few words between them.

  Deputy Martinez returned from her car and said, “There are hot spots all over the range and this fire has stretched the sheriff’s department’s resources.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Tom.

  “I won’t have an officer to meet us at the Gold Strike for now. And, we’ll likely have to evacuate from there.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” Tom said facetiously.

  “Want a water?” Eddie asked the deputy.

  “Thank you.” She took one, opened it, and sipped.

  “Where will we go if not the hotel?”

  “Sheriff substation if we have to evacuate,” she said, studying the smoke coming from the trees.

  There was an awkward silence before Tom snapped, “Where’s that van? It should be here by now.”

  Eddie said to Tom, “What do you say we dig up some dry clothes from the wardrobe trailer?”

  “Good idea,” Tom said.

  “Make it quick,” Martinez said. “I’ll follow the van down when it returns and we’ll reconvene at the hotel. From there I’ll determine if we move again.”

  “Why can’t we just go home?” Tom asked her.

  “That’s not how it’s done.”

  “How what’s done?”

  “There’s a been a murder. This is procedure.”

  Tom shook his head before he said, “Okay … whatever you say.”

  Martinez dryly returned, “Your patience is very much appreciated, sir.”

  Eddie said to Tom, “Come on, Tom, let’s get changed.”

  Eddie led the way. As they waddled to the wardrobe trailer, Eddie tried to calm Tom by changing the subject. “On one shoot, my crew and I were caught in a crazy rainstorm working in the Caribbean. Talk about wet. It rained so hard you couldn’t hear yourself think. Destroyed equipment, all the electronic stuff mostly, the monitors. Now that was a living h
ell.”

  When they were out of earshot, Tom seethed, “That bitch could have warned us.”

  “You’re right,” Eddie said. “But who knew?”

  “What she lacks in size she tries to make up for with a bitchy attitude. Classic Napoleon complex, I see it all the time.”

  In the wardrobe trailer Tom found the clothes he wore to set hanging on the door, khakis and a pullover sweatshirt. As he peeled off his costume, Eddie searched through boxes and came up with Dockers and a flannel shirt that looked like they’d fit. Unseen by Tom, he snuck the mini bottles of vodka out of his wet jeans and slid them into the front pocket of the khakis. Just in case.

  “Ever been on set when someone died before?” Tom asked Eddie as they got dressed.

  “No.”

  “I was on a horror film in Wisconsin, years ago, when I first was starting out and living in New York. Zipperface II. The effects guy blew himself up.”

  “How?”

  “He was setting a charge of gasoline for a car explosion. Back then, lots of movies had cars exploding. Remember that? Always made it in the film’s trailer. It must have been a spark or something. The worst part … you could smell the guy. I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced that, but burning flesh smells really horrible. Like … evil. The fire extinguisher didn’t work so they had to put him out with sound blankets. His hands were all charred and curled up,” Tom demonstrated, making claws with his fingers.

  “Oh, man.”

  “It’s weird, but sometimes I catch a whiff of something and it brings me back to that night. Olfactory memory is what they call it. I get that whiff and can remember it all, everything … what the guy was wearing, his screams.”

  “Horrible.”

  “We were only a week in so everyone just went home and they never finished the movie. A shame, too, because I had a good role.”

  Eddie wondered if that would be the fate of this film, if Sam would throw in the towel since they were already so far behind schedule.

  Story of my life, he thought.

  Tom finished dressing and said, “But this is different. That wrangler guy was murdered, like the deputy said. That was no accident. He was killed and stuffed in the stagecoach.”