by Brad Smith
“What about the new actress?”
“Man, they threw her into the deep end of the pool and then went for lunch,” Tommy said. “Did you read the book? The role is this rawboned, hardscrabble farm wife, and she’s playing it all petulant, like it’s a reality show and she’s being imposed upon, stuck out in the wilderness without her iPad. Problem is, she’s getting nothing from her director, so she’s fumbling around in the dark. I don’t know, maybe she’ll figure it out on her own. She’s not a bad actress, you know. Batshit crazy, but that doesn’t mean she’s not talented.”
“Why did they cast her?”
“Because an Indian with red hair made them. That’s a first, even for me.” Tommy shook his head, as if still in disbelief. “Sam told me that he gave them an ultimatum. Sam’s the smartest one of the bunch, when she’s not babysitting her husband at least. She saw the writing on the wall with this, though, and they caved. It was either that or go looking for more financing on a film that’s getting a lot of bad press.” Tommy smiled. “Aren’t you glad you signed up?”
“I didn’t sign anything,” Virgil said. “I’m just the dimwitted hired hand.”
“Yeah, right,” Tommy said. “You can sell that somewhere else.”
“By the way,” Virgil said, “I thought Abner Doubleday was supposed to show up somewhere.”
“They cut his part,” Tommy said. “They’ve been cutting stuff all along because Robb wants to film some action stuff. Stuff they’re going to need a lot of shooting days for. So Abner got the boot. Just as well, they probably would have cast an actor who couldn’t throw a baseball and you’d have to fill in again.”
“He never invented the game,” Virgil said.
“I know,” Tommy said. “But bullshit becomes legend and legends die hard. Speaking of bullshit, watch your back around Levi Brown. He doesn’t like you.”
“Gee, and I think the world of him,” Virgil said, smiling. “What’s his story anyway?”
“He’s a champion poser in a business that’s lousy with posers. Nothing about him is real. Sam says he grew up on skid row in Detroit and he’s been inventing himself ever since he got out. With the hair and the muscles and the attitude. Even changed his name apparently. But he can’t wash the punk off himself, or the fact he’s a two-faced prick. He’s been bad-mouthing the director to me and I’m sure he’s bad-mouthing me to him. And probably to Sam too. Truth is, I wouldn’t trust any of them as far as I could throw one of your horses.”
“So they’re not thrilled to have Ronnie Red Hawk on board?”
“Shit. That’s another thing. Not only are they major-league pissed that he brought in Kari Karson without consulting them, they’re also pretty fucking sure that Red Hawk killed Olivia Burns. Or knows who did. Which means they’re scared shitless of him. Fucking hall of mirrors, man.”
“You figure he killed her?”
Tommy looked at Virgil for a moment. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” he said. “But it almost makes too much sense. I’ve been doing this for forty-odd years and I’ve never heard of a producer whacking an actress to cast somebody else. But then, times have changed, man. The whole fucking world is sideways these days.”
They heard the rumble of a diesel engine then, and both looked out the window to see the tractor trailer rolling into the drive out front. Tommy plopped his cigarette butt in the can and got to his feet.
“Let’s get this place dressed and shoot some film,” he said. “We might get some nice coverage once the sun begins to dip beneath the mountains. Magic hour.”
• • •
Virgil spent the next couple of hours watching the crew refurbish the little homestead. The buckboard from the pioneer village was rolled off the trailer and parked alongside the barn, clothes were hung on a hastily strung line, wooden buckets and a half cord of firewood were placed on the porch. Several red chickens arrived from somewhere, along with a Jersey cow and a couple of jumpy calico cats, both of which ran directly into the barn and disappeared for the rest of the day.
While the crew hustled, Tommy Alamosa walked the perimeter of the place with the cameraman, deciding what to shoot and how to shoot it. Several times he had Virgil move Bob and Nelly from one place to another, sometimes in the foreground of the proposed shot, others off to the side or behind. Finally, Tommy and the cameraman wandered off into the hills to consider their options for some longer shots. Virgil let the two horses loose in the little corral beside the barn and stood there watching them. After a moment he heard footsteps and turned to see Nikki approaching, carrying some quartered apple pieces in her hand.
“Hey Virgil,” she said.
Virgil nodded to her and she stepped to the rail fence. “Okay to give them some apples?”
“Sure.”
Bob and Nelly had already spied the food and were on the move. The woman reached over the fence and fed them, one out of each hand, the horses gobbling the chunks of apple greedily.
“We had horses when I was growing up,” she said.
“Where was that?”
“Bedford County,” she said.
“Pennsylvania?”
“Yeah.” As soon as the apples were gone, Nelly turned away but Bob stuck around, basking in the attention of the stranger. Nikki rubbed his forehead with the heel of her hand. “Not like these guys, though,” she said. “These two are, like, awesome.”
“I think Bob likes the limelight,” Virgil said. “This your first movie?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “It’s like my sixth or seventh. I’ve been doing this since I was eighteen.”
“You’re an old-timer.”
She looked over at him and then laughed, as if she wasn’t sure at first he’d been making a joke. Her one front tooth was crooked, pushing just slightly in front of the other. She was a very pretty girl, and seemed unaware of it, which naturally made her even more attractive.
“What about you?” she asked. “How long you been doing this?”
“I’m a rookie,” Virgil said.
Nikki gave Bob a final rub, then turned to look at the little cabin across the yard. “It is so cool here,” she said. “Can you imagine living in a place like this?”
“I do live in a place like this,” Virgil said.
“Really?”
“Pretty much. Except I have electricity. And cattle. And a mortgage.”
“You see?” Nikki said, laughing. “Fucking civilization, man. It ruins everything.”
She indicated the table of food she’d set up. “Come and grab something to eat if you want,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“You like avocados? I got avocados coming out of my ears,” she said. “We bought them for Olivia because Levi said she loved them. Although now that I think about it, he probably read it in some tabloid.”
She gave Virgil a little smile after that, as if she was aware of her tone and didn’t care.
“Not a fan of Levi’s?”
She shrugged. “He’s okay. He thought I might be interested in hooking up with him, and when I wasn’t, he got pretty offended by it. Like he was doing me a solid—big-time producer fucking the craft services girl.” She shook her head at the memory. “What is it with guys like that anyway?” She stopped and turned toward Virgil. “Jesus, you’re not a friend of his, are you?”
“Not even close.”
“Good. You two don’t seem very much alike.”
“Did you get to know Olivia Burns?”
“Not really,” Nikki said. “I mean, I met her, and she was real nice, but it wasn’t like we had a long conversation or anything. I asked her the first day of filming if there was anything special she wanted and she said no.” She laughed. “She never mentioned the avocados. And that was really the only time we talked. Oh, I did see her the night she was killed.”
Virgil had been half listening. He’d been looking past her to where Tommy Alamosa and the cameraman were returning, walking down the grassy slope toward the little homestead. Now he tu
rned to Nikki.
“You saw her that night?”
“Yeah. Outside the hotel. She was out walking and she was on her cell, so I didn’t bother her.”
“What were you doing?”
“Tommy and I were having a little picnic down by the river.” She giggled. “Or something like that. We ran out of wine, so I boogied back to my room for another bottle. That’s when I saw Olivia.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“No. Tommy said not to. I didn’t actually lie. The cop who talked to me was kind of dopey and he never asked me much. I didn’t see anything suspicious and Tommy said it would just muddy the waters. Whatever she was doing was her own business.”
“But she was killed the same night.”
“Yeah. Bummer.”
Virgil watched the young woman for a moment. It didn’t appear that she was being flip. “What time did you see her?”
“Maybe midnight?”
“And she was alone?”
“Oh yeah. Shit, I’m not sure of the time. We were kinda wasted, you know? We smoked a joint and you know—one thing led to another.”
“How long have you known Tommy?”
“We just met on this,” she replied. “He’s fucking awesome. You know he worked with Warren Beatty back in the seventies? And Jack Nicholson and, um, what’s her name . . . Keaton?”
“Diane or Buster?”
“Diane,” Nikki said, smiling. “Wise guy. Anyway, he’s worked with everybody. He’s got the best stories. They’re lucky to have him on this, especially with Robb the make-believe director.”
“Not a fan of his either?”
“That fucking guy,” she said. “Comes into the trailer, stares at my tits, and calls me ‘you.’ Like, you want to ogle me but you can’t learn my name? What a twit.”
Tommy was drawing near now. Nikki smiled at Virgil. “I gotta go make some sandwiches. Don’t tell Tommy I told you about seeing Olivia, okay? He told me not to say anything. He says one of the things he learned over the years is to know when to keep your mouth shut.”
She headed back to the table of food. Over by the house, the crew had just about finished their work. There was now a flower bed out front, complete with newly planted petunias and marigolds. More firewood had arrived, large sections of unsplit hardwood, piled by the tree line to the south.
“We’re going to set up on that ridge over there,” Tommy said as he reached Virgil. “Can you let the horses loose in the pasture behind the house?”
“Sure.”
“Just let them wander wherever they want. We’ll shoot down from the ridge, with the horses grazing in the foreground, then swing around by the road there and shoot up, when the sun’s disappearing. Those clouds stay away, we should get some awesome stuff.”
“Okay,” Virgil said.
Tommy stood looking up into the hills, as if imagining the shot. “How do you like Nikki?” he asked casually.
“Nice girl.”
“Tell you something, Virgil,” Tommy said, still looking off in the distance. “I’ve been reading Playboy magazine since I was old enough to work a box of Kleenex. None of those girls in that magazine is a patch on Nikki. Not one.” He turned, smiling. “Okay, let’s go to work.”
FOURTEEN
Ronnie positioned his office chair so he could see the road leading into Running Dog, thirty stories below. He’d sent Billy with the limo to the film set that morning, in case they wrapped early for the day, or if they finished with Kari before schedule. He didn’t want Sam Sawchuk or the other one—Levi—to whisk her back to Kingston, where the rest of the crew was staying. Ronnie wanted her to himself for the weekend.
He could have remained on location for the day if he wanted to, but he didn’t like being around Kari there, where her attention was constantly diverted, whether it be by the hair or makeup people, or the director or the producers. Also, Ronnie didn’t like the way the director looked at Kari, like some mouth-breather. In fact, Ronnie didn’t like the director at all, but that was another matter. There was something phony behind his eyes. There was no question he was frightened of Ronnie and Ronnie was okay with that.
After he’d given them the ultimatum, the two producers had been sullen for the rest of the day, but then they seemed to come around, which made sense, as there was no reason to pout about something they couldn’t change. Besides, they would see soon enough that he’d been right. Ronnie had watched them shoot a scene in the general store at the pioneer village, a scene where Kari’s character orders gunpowder and shot after the Indian raid that killed her husband. The dialogue in the script was very stiff and formal and Kari had trouble with it, inserting contractions that weren’t supposed to be there and adding little things like “you know” to the end of a sentence. Ronnie had noticed some of the crew rolling their eyes behind Kari’s back. He decided he would put a stop to that or it would be their heads, not their eyes, that would roll. Also, he made a mental note to have the script worked on so it better suited Kari’s style.
When he saw the limo coming up the winding road, he hurried to the elevator and made his way down to the ground floor. He was wearing a black Armani suit with a T-shirt underneath, not wanting to appear too formal but not, at the same time, giving Kari the impression that he was a slob.
He was standing on the ceramic sidewalk outside the hotel when the limo rolled to a stop. He was so excited he was actually vibrating at his core. Kari Karson was finally at his hotel. Ronnie knew a little about dreams coming true but this one had seemed unattainable. It was a lesson for him, he decided. There was nothing on this earth beyond his reach.
However, when the limo door opened, to his surprise a young blonde woman got out. She was maybe twenty-five, with bangs that hung down over her eyes and numerous gold bangles on her wrists. She blinked in the sunlight, her eyes resting on Ronnie for a split second before sweeping across the hotel and the surrounding buildings quickly, as if appraising the place.
Kari stepped out of the car then, wearing oversize sunglasses and torn blue jeans and a loose-fitting cotton shirt. Her hair was tucked beneath a Dodgers cap. She seemed to pause when she saw Ronnie waiting there.
“Hey,” she said.
“Welcome to Running Dog,” Ronnie said. It was a lame greeting and he immediately regretted it. Why hadn’t he come up with a cool line earlier, while he was waiting?
“Yeah.” She came forward and gave him a quick hug, turning her cheek at the last second to discourage any notion he might have of kissing her.
When she stepped back, Ronnie hesitated for a moment, thinking he might get an introduction to the blonde with the bangs. He wasn’t at all happy to see her there, but he would at least like to know who the fuck she was.
Billy, who had opened the limo door, now was moving to the rear to open the trunk. As he began hauling bags out of the Caddy and stacking them on the tarmac like a stevedore on a dock, Ronnie turned and motioned for one of the bellhops to help.
“Better bring a cart,” Ronnie said to the bellhop, then watched as more bags emerged. “Or two.” He then took a step toward the blonde and stuck out his hand. “Ronnie Red Hawk.”
“Oh,” Kari said. “This is Nicole.”
The blonde named Nicole shook his hand. “Hey.”
Ronnie couldn’t see her eyes behind the bangs. “What do you do, Nicole?” he asked.
“Nothing, if I can get away with it.” The woman laughed and turned toward the back of the car, where Billy was helping the bellhop stack the bags on the carts. “I’ll take the red one with me,” she told him.
Ronnie looked at Kari, putting the blonde out of his mind for the moment. She couldn’t change the fact that Kari Karson was at his casino, which was all that mattered for now. “I want to show you around. I have your suite ready. We can get Nicole a room . . . um, if she’s staying.”
“She can crash with me,” Kari said.
That wasn’t what Ronnie wanted to hear, but apparently he’d have to be okay
with it. For the time being anyway. “Is she your assistant?” he asked.
“Nah, she’s my homey,” Kari said. “She’s just here to hang.”
Again, that didn’t quite mesh with Ronnie’s plans. He had thought that he and he alone would be hanging with Kari for the weekend. But he wouldn’t let this latest development discourage him. Actors had entourages, he knew, and if Kari’s consisted of just one skanky blonde, he should be grateful. If she got in the way, he’d deal with it at the time.
“Let’s get you checked in and then I’ll give you the tour,” he said. “Maybe Nicole will want to rest up.”
He could only hope that Kari got the not-so-subtle message. Ronnie accompanied them to the suite on the twenty-ninth floor, and while they waited for their luggage to come up on another elevator, he went from room to room, pointing out the amenities therein. He’d had the large refrigerator stocked with seafood and fruit and various snacks, as well as champagne and wine and beer and liquor. There was a case of Grand Marnier because he’d read once that it was Kari’s drink of choice.
After the luggage arrived, Ronnie told the two women that he’d meet them downstairs in twenty minutes for a tour of the casino and the grounds. He was sitting in front of the hotel in a four-man golf cart, the black finish polished to a gleaming shine, when Kari came down by herself a half hour later. She was still wearing the torn jeans but she’d changed into the red T-shirt Ronnie had left in the master bedroom, with RED HAWK FILMS on the front, now splashed across her perfect breasts. The girl was no fool.
Starting out in the cart, Ronnie gave her a quick look at the exterior of the gaming palace itself, but they didn’t go inside. She would be recognized at once if they went in, and that meant sharing her with all the gamblers there, the sweaty little Chinamen and the blue-haired old ladies and the deadbeats from the surrounding towns blowing their welfare checks on the slots. Ronnie hadn’t brought her to Running Dog for that.
They drove past the casino to the art gallery in the square, where they went inside and looked at the Native pieces. When Kari expressed admiration for a painting of an Indian and his pony—a blatant and somewhat mediocre Charles Russell rip-off—Ronnie bought it for her. Realizing he had no money on him, he told the man behind the counter to send the painting to Kari’s suite and the bill to his office. The man, of course, knew better than to send the bill, but it played well in front of Kari Karson.
