Tracking Shot

by Colin Campbell

McNulty let out a sigh and took Alfonse to one side. The far corner of the parking lot had been dressed to look like a roadside leading between a pair of industrial units. Fake street signs and lampposts completed the deception. Anything identifying it as Fresenius Medical Care had been removed or covered. This was the car chase and fistfight scene where Detective Alfonse Bayard catches one of his main suspects. Alfonse was nervous about how close the punches were going to land. McNulty waved his doubts aside.

  “Just think, Yakima Canutt.

  “Is that a calming thing? Should I chant it?”

  McNulty blew out his cheeks. “He’s the stuntman who taught John Wayne how to fight.”

  “He fought for real?”

  McNulty turned sideways so Alfonse could only see one side of him, then faked throwing a punch at his own head. The fist missed by six inches but from Alfonse’s perspective, when McNulty threw his head back, it looked like a solid hit. McNulty looked at the actor. “Movie fight.” He clapped his hands. “Add a slap in sound effects and you’ve got a punch.”

  Alfonse didn’t look convinced. “And our stunt guys know how to miss.” He raised his eyebrows. “This is Titanic Productions we’re talking about.”

  McNulty appreciated Alfonse’s concerns but pushed ahead. “Trust me. If they wanted to hit you, they’d hit you.”

  The arc lamps came on along one side of the set. Diffusers were moved into position to soften the light, and reflectors angled on the opposite side to bounce some of it back into the scene. A rusty old car had mounted the curb on the fake street and a shiny Crown Vic was angled across the road in front of it, final positions after the car chase that hadn’t been filmed yet. Larry didn’t want to risk damaging the cars before the close-ups. F.K. Parenteau supervised the grips laying a dolly for the tracking shot that would run the camera alongside the actors until Alfonse caught the suspect. Then the angles would be adjusted for the fight. Randy Severino would normally have covered some of this but Larry hadn’t hired a replacement, and the Arriflex still hadn’t been found.

  The film cartridge was snapped onto the camera. The second AC snapped the clapperboard a couple of times to make sure it was loud enough. Amy Moore finished touching up the stuntman’s makeup and waved for Alfonse to come for the same. McNulty nodded that the actor was almost ready, then gave him a pat on the back.

  “Don’t forget. Cops don’t punch. You’ve got more fine bones in your hand than any other part of your body. You start thumping someone in the face you’re pitting small bones against the strongest bone they’ve got.”

  Alfonse nodded. “Forehead. Got it.”

  McNulty tapped his forehead. “If God wasn’t worried about our brains, he wouldn’t have protected them with hard flat bone.” He feigned a boxing guard then a slap. “Defend and slap across the face. The shock opens their eyes.” He grabbed Alfonse’s forearm and twisted it around his back. “Then it’s on with the cuffs before he knows what’s happening.”

  Alfonse took a slow, deep breath. “The stunt guy does know about the slap?”

  McNulty leaned in and spoke softly. “Don’t slap him too hard. He might forget to miss you.”

  He glanced toward Amy and nodded. “Thank God I didn’t wear makeup on the beat.”

  Alfonse smiled and walked to the makeup chair, speaking over his shoulder. “That’s not what I heard.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Larry didn’t arrive until the fight scene was in the can and they were setting up for the car chase. Having the producer on set during a potentially expensive sequence made everyone nervous. McNulty deflected some of that by taking him to one side and explaining about the red van and the hillbillies.

  “Rats?”

  McNulty nodded. “In a blocked well next to the cabin.”

  Larry shuddered, then his eyes lit up. “You think they’ll let us shoot down there?”

  McNulty didn’t get a chance to tell Larry what he thought about their chances of filming under the cloverleaf. The producer had been called over to sign off on the stunt team’s plan for the in-chase collisions. Larry insisted on one last run-through with toy cars on a clear stretch of sidewalk. F.K. threw his hands up and looked at the sky. They had maybe two hours of good light before matching with the earlier scenes, which would actually come later in the edit, would be impossible. When it came to cinematography, there was only so much you could do with lights and reflectors.

  McNulty watched the preparations. A camera car sat ready along the nearside between the industrial units. The chase cars were positioned at the start of their run. A trash bin on wheels had been rigged with explosives to fake a crash as the cars drove past. Yellow electrical tape had been stuck to the floor to show each car its projected route, ensuring they were never closer than two feet. The angle of the camera would provide the collisions with the sounds added in post-production, just like with John Wayne.

  Once Larry had agreed he came over to McNulty. “I can’t watch this. Gives me palpitations.”

  McNulty led Larry away toward the production vehicles. “Well, if you get any dents I know a place that’s cheap.”

  Larry stopped and looked at his technical adviser. “That’s not funny.”

  McNulty stopped as well and they stared at each other in the middle of the parking lot. “And neither is what we’re going to do later tonight.”

  Larry shook his head. “You sure about this? You were already nearly rat food.”

  McNulty sighed. “That was a mistake. Going down there on my own.”

  “You’ll be on your own tonight.”

  “No I won’t.”

  Larry shook his head again. “I don’t like it.”

  McNulty stood firm. “You’re the one who wanted to spin this in Titanic Productions’s favor.”

  Larry gave an insincere laugh and threw up his hands. “The guy shot five people.”

  McNulty nodded slowly. “In daylight. We hit him with the arcs at midnight, he won’t be able to see shit.”

  “Oh, great. A blind gunman. That’s so much better.”

  Engines started over by the industrial units and somebody shouted “Action” through a megaphone. They both looked toward the driveway as the chase got underway. Tires screeched. Engines roared. The trash bin exploded with that sparkly effect that only happens in the movies. McNulty turned back to Larry.

  “That’s why you ordered Kevlar vests.” He paused for a moment, then lowered his head. “You did order Kevlar vests?”

  This time the hands went up in a placating motion. “Yes, yes. I got the bulletproof vests.” He lowered his hands. “Head shots aren’t just eight by ten glossies, you know.”

  McNulty shrugged. “He’s not going to shoot anyone on camera.”

  “He did before.”

  “He didn’t know. Before.”

  “And he will this time?”

  “He’s coming because he thinks I’m downloading the CCTV.”

  Larry held his hands up in exasperation again. “There is no CCTV.”

  McNulty rummaged in his pocket. “No, but…” He brought his phone out and smiled. “…he’ll be looking right into this.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The car chase went off without a hitch. Almost. The trash bin exploded on cue. The cars hit the marks for their final positions, but they also hit each other in an unscripted collision that spun the rusty old car all the way around before continuing on its course. Larry’s palpitations went into overdrive when he heard the sound of crunching metal. He rushed back to the set.

  “What the fuck am I paying stunt drivers for?”

  He walked over and checked the cars. Most of the damage was to the villain car, crumpled rear fender and offside wing. The light cluster was cracked but the glass hadn’t fallen out. The Crown Vic had a dent along the wheel arch and some scraped paintwork. McNulty came up behind the producer but didn’t mention the body shop under the interstate. F.K. checked the camera then came over.
r />   “That looked great. Added realism.”

  McNulty leaned in and spoke softly. “Maybe I was wrong. You do make real movies.”

  Larry pointed at the damage. “Well those are real dents. And they aren’t in the close-ups.”

  F.K. made a viewfinder shape with his hands and replicated the camera angles from earlier. He lowered his hands and came over to stand with Larry. “Most of the fight is from the opposite side. I think we can minimise the coverage in the edit. It will be fine.”

  Larry didn’t look convinced. “Except now we’ve got two dented cars and no backup.” He looked at McNulty. “It’s the no backup part I’m worried about.”

  Bringing the conversation right back where McNulty didn’t want it. He glanced at the damaged fender then moved away from the set. Larry took a last look at the damage then followed him. “Maybe we should tell the police. About tonight.”

  McNulty stopped once they were far enough from the crew. “Maybe we should tell them about your involvement in the porn trial.”

  That shut Larry up. McNulty looked at his producer. “You have got your subpoena now, haven’t you?”

  Larry kept his voice low, glancing over his shoulder to make sure there was nobody within earshot. “That subpoena is bullshit.”

  “Bullshit for which side?”

  Larry took a deep breath then looked at McNulty. “They’re calling me for the prosecution.”

  McNulty considered that before replying. “Meaning you’ve got something on these guys?”

  Larry shrugged. “I may have done some work for them. Way back.”

  McNulty shook his head. “Your credits back then. Matter of public record. Must be more than that.”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Prosecution must think so.”

  “Well the prosecution is wrong.”

  McNulty frowned. “Muddy the water, perhaps?”

  “These guys don’t like muddy water.”

  McNulty thought for a moment then stepped in close and lowered his voice. “So, maybe the message isn’t for the judge.”

  Larry jerked back as if given an electric shock. “Me?”

  McNulty kept steady eyes on him. “It was your movie set.”

  Larry snorted a laugh that sounded far from convincing. “They’re pornographers. They aren’t going to shoot five people to leverage a case they’re going to beat anyway. That’s insane.”

  “Not all the lunatics are in the asylum.”

  Larry raised his eyebrows. “All the orphans aren’t in the orphanage either. Doesn’t make you a bad person.”

  McNulty clamped his mouth shut and breathed through his nose.

  Larry held his hands up in a placating motion. “Sorry. Just rolled off the tongue. Bad choice.”

  McNulty breathed out slowly to calm himself down. When the burn of anger and shame eased, he spoke softly. “We all make bad choices. That’s how we learn to make the right ones.”

  Larry saw his chance to change the subject. “Yeah, well. What I said before, about changing showers.” He nodded toward the cluster of production vehicles where Amy was packing away her makeup. “That’s a right choice. Right there.”

  They wrapped the day’s shooting with half an hour of good light to spare. The crew went into overdrive, striking the set and loading the stunt cars. The set dressers removed the fake signs while the heavy mob dismantled the lights and reflectors. This was the last day at the Cambridge Reservoir location. Their contract with Fresenius Medical Care stated that Titanic Productions had to leave the parking lot in the same condition as they’d found it.

  Larry was the first to leave, juggling his worries about giving evidence in court with his fears for the night action he couldn’t talk McNulty out of. The location caterer went next, a luxury that Larry had funded only after the success of their first Alfonse Bayard cop-thriller. Amy Moore was packed and ready to go long before anyone else, but she was the last person there. Apart from Vince McNulty.

  “You haven’t lost your powder puff have you?”

  Amy watched the last of the location vehicles pull out of the parking lot then came over to McNulty. “I’ve always been a slow packer.”

  McNulty felt heat spread up his neck. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. “No. You were pretty fast. Methodical, maybe.”

  Amy stood next to McNulty’s car, holding her bag and folded canvas chair. “Leave nothing behind. Like the Marines.”

  “That’s, leave no man behind.”

  “I’m not leaving my man behind.”

  Now McNulty knew he was blushing. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys. Amy leaned the chair against the trunk and stood her bag in front of it.

  “And it looks like I need a lift.” She leaned her back against the car and skewered him with her eyes. “Assuming you’re not going straight off to this showdown you’ve engineered.”

  McNulty came closer and stood in front of her. He’d liked Amy ever since he joined the movie circus, but his history with massage parlors and shady ladies made liking a nice girl hard to justify. He guessed that deep down he didn’t feel he deserved the love of a nice girl. Telling her how he felt was something else he had trouble with, so he did what he always did, talked about anything but.

  “Larry’s supposed to be keeping that secret.”

  Amy didn’t take her eyes off him. “I told you before. This is the circus. There are no secrets in the circus.”

  McNulty looked into her eyes. “Best be careful they’re not talking about us then.”

  Amy smiled and shook her head. “Vince. They’ve been talking about us ever since you arrived.”

  “That long, huh?”

  “The longest first kiss in history.”

  “We haven’t kissed.”

  Amy moved forward and took his face between her hands. She stood on her tiptoes and reached up to kiss him, slowly and gently, on the lips. Eyes open so she could look at his face. His expression didn’t change but he didn’t pull away. She stopped and looked up at him, then kissed him again. This time she closed her eyes and McNulty did the same. He slid his arms around her waist but didn’t squeeze. This was new territory for him. He didn’t want to rush things. Amy stopped again and smiled up at him.

  “You’re not rushing things.”

  McNulty smiled back at her. Larry was right; she did seem to know more about him than he thought.

  She let out a long slow sigh and proved it again. “And you need to make up with your sister. She’s worried about you.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  McNulty didn’t pause outside Newton North High School this time; he went straight to Kirkstall Road and pulled into Susan’s driveway. That’s when he paused, standing beside the car, looking up at the bungalow. The sun had gone down but the dying light reflected off the white clapboard siding, painting it a dull red as the sky grew dark. This was harder than coming to see her the last time. That wasn’t surprising, considering how he’d left the last time, with harsh words and recriminations. He leaned against the car and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. Yes, this was harder than last time.

  A face peered out of the window, then the curtains were drawn. There was no movement for several seconds. McNulty felt as low as when he’d learned that the girl who’d been slapped at Crag View Children’s Home had been his sister and that she had been sent away after he’d broken Mr. Cruckshank’s nose on her behalf. It seemed that you never stopped paying for some things.

  He took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe he should have called first and apologized over the phone. He nodded to himself, then pushed off from the car. He was getting the keys out when the porch door opened and Susan came out. She stood there for a few moments, hugging herself as if it were cold, then walked stiff-legged down to the drive.

  McNulty stood up straight. Susan looked at her brother. The silence became awkward but neither of them seemed willi
ng to break it. When it became almost unbearable, Susan unfolded her arms and wrapped them around him. She hugged him tight and felt his body tremble.

  “Friday it was always fish and chips.”

  “Except done in the kitchen, not as good as the fish shop.”

  “No scraps or salt and vinegar.”

  “And the mushy peas were shit.”

  They both laughed, sitting at the picnic table on the deck at the side of the house. The porch light was on but the sky wasn’t completely dark yet. A moth battered itself against the glass globe. Steam drifted up from two mugs of tea. Susan smiled at her brother.

  “They weren’t that bad though. Things weren’t all bad.”

  McNulty smiled back at her. “The mushy peas were.”

  She laughed again. “Yes they were.”

  They’d spent the last half-hour reminiscing about the place McNulty never thought he’d reminisce about. Susan’s memories were happier than McNulty’s, but she was slowly drawing some brightness out of his dark. Like pulling the thorn out of the lion’s paw on the Tate and Lyle’s Golden Syrup tin, the treacle they used to have as a treat at Crag View. Out of the strong came forth sweetness, it said on the tin. Susan was trying to bring some sweetness out of McNulty.

  “What I’m getting at is, it wasn’t all bad.”

  McNulty resisted the urge to look on the bright side. “Fish and chips and treacle pudding doesn’t make up for the rest of it.”

  Susan held her mug of tea in both hands. “It doesn’t have to. The treacle was nice. Think of that.”

  McNulty softened his gaze. “Instead of the mushy peas?”

  Susan nodded. “Out of the strong came forth sweetness.”

  McNulty took a swig of tea. “There was nothing sweet about Mr. Cruckshank.”

  Susan tipped her cup at her brother. “There’s plenty that’s sweet in you.” She waved a hand at the house. “You came all the way over here just to find me.” She rested the hand on one of McNulty’s— “I’m glad you did.” —and squeezed. “Now you’ve got to let it go. The dark side.”