by Stuart Woods
“Ben’s a good guy. Do you think he’d hold something that happened in college against you? Being filmed without your knowledge, for goodness sakes? Just tell him what’s going on.”
“I can’t. You didn’t see the DVD they sent me. It was awful. Horrible. I can’t.”
“If you say so. But eventually these secrets have a way of coming out, like it or not.”
Tessa looked ill at the thought.
“Have it your way,” Teddy said. “Well, don’t you feel better now?”
“Better?”
“You were sick to death wondering what the blackmailer wants. Now you know.”
“Yes, and it’s something I can’t do.”
“It’s something you don’t think you can do. Come on. Compared to some of the scenarios you were envisioning, this isn’t that bad.”
“Not that bad? What can I do? It’s a no-win situation. If I show up at the meeting and vote my shares against him, Ben will want to know why. If I don’t show up at the meeting, they’ll leak the video.”
“I’ll handle it.”
34
Teddy dropped by Ben Bacchetti’s office during lunch.
“Oh, hi, Mark,” Ben said. Teddy, of course, was in his character-actor garb. “What can I do for you?”
“Are you still concerned with people buying up Centurion stock?”
“It’s sort of in the rearview mirror. Right now my focus is on some projects to greenlight, or not. It’s always a tough decision, and when it’s an either/or proposition, you want to make the right choice.”
“Does either/or mean you have to take one or the other?”
“No. It’s more a question of do I want to commit ten million dollars to a first-time director with a fixable script, or fifteen million to a proven director with a fixable script.”
“Does anyone have a script ready to go?”
“There’s no such thing—most scripts require editing. Peter turns in scripts that don’t need to be touched, but that’s rare. Some parts of my job are simple. Greenlighting Peter is one of them.”
“Uh-huh,” Teddy said. “Look, I think there might be a reason to reexamine the stock situation.”
“Oh? What brought that on?”
“Vanessa Morgan died. I understand she was a substantial holder.”
“She was.”
“What happened to the stock?”
“Her son inherited it.”
“Does he have any interest in motion pictures?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Has that stock been transferred yet?”
“Hang on.” Ben scooped up the phone. “Get me Kenny in Accounting. . . . Hi, Kenny, it’s Ben. I’m wondering about Vanessa Morgan’s shares of Centurion. Did they go to her son? . . . Yeah, I’ll hold.” Ben covered the phone. “Accountants. He knows the answer, but he’s not going to tell me until he can read it off a ledger. . . . Yeah, Kenny, I’m still here. . . . Really? When did that happen? . . . Thanks, that’s what I needed to know.”
Ben hung up the phone. “The shares went to her son, but he turned around and sold them.”
“To a holding company?”
“That’s right.”
“When’s the next stockholders’ meeting?”
“Hang on.” Ben flipped open his laptop. “Let’s see . . . a week from today. Damn it to hell. It seems like we just had one—I can’t stand these meetings. Well, we’ll get to see Peter’s father, which is always a pleasure.”
“These holding companies—can they vote the shares?”
“If that’s what they’ve been instructed to do.”
“This looks more and more like a hostile takeover, Ben.”
“I tell you, it can’t happen.”
“Maybe not, but something’s going on, and you don’t want to be caught flatfooted. Why don’t you let me attend the meeting and see if I can figure this out?”
Ben shook his head. “You’re not a stockholder.”
“Oh. Well, your wife’s a stockholder, right? I’ll go with her, as her adviser.”
“She never attends. She hates stockholders’ meetings, so I vote as her proxy.”
“I’ll talk her into it. I can be very persuasive.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Look, she can go because she’s a stockholder. She can bring me, and give me her proxy to vote her stock. They can’t kick me out if I have her proxy.”
“She’s not going to be happy.”
“Leave it to me.”
35
Tessa was amazed. “How did you swing that?”
“I’m magic,” Teddy said.
“No, really.”
“I convinced Ben we needed you to go in order to get me in for some reconnaissance. When he insisted you wouldn’t, I told him I’d talk you into it. I’m doing that now.”
“So I have to go to the meeting?”
“You get to go to the meeting. Before, you had to go to the meeting but you couldn’t without raising suspicion. Now you have to go to the meeting and you can.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
“It’s not enough to appear. I have to vote their way.”
“You’re not going to.”
“Then they use the video.”
“It’s not going to come to that. You’re going to take me with you as your adviser. If we have to vote, you’re going to give me your proxy, and I’ll vote your stock.”
“Are you going to vote for their motion?”
“Hell, no.”
“Then I’m in the same position as before. If you vote against them, it’s the same as if I voted against them.”
“Not exactly, and they won’t be expecting it. They’ve invested a lot of time, energy, and money in buying up their shares—they’re not going to lose their leverage and blow the deal. They’ll have to regroup.”
“I don’t agree.”
“You’re scared, I understand. I’m asking you to trust me. I am not without resources. If I play my cards right, it will never come to a vote.”
“How can you do that?”
“I have a plan.”
Teddy felt bad saying it.
He hated to lie to friends. But he had a week to work it out.
36
Marsha Quickly slammed down the phone. Son of a bitch! What did she have an agent for, if he wasn’t going to get her work? The only auditions he’d sent her for lately were cattle calls, where three hundred actresses dropped off résumés in the hope of being used in a crowd scene. None of those panned out, and anytime she scraped up anything herself, that bottom-feeding son of a bitch took fifteen percent without even lifting a finger.
Marsha was so far behind on the rent that she was dreading the day she’d get home and find the landlord had changed the lock.
Something had to give. As usual and all too common with actresses in her position, what had to give was the career.
Marsha packed everything she owned into two suitcases and snuck out, praying the super wouldn’t catch her. She took a cab to the airport and blew most of her savings on a plane ticket to Las Vegas, and took a cab straight to the New Desert Inn.
Pete Genaro’s curvy secretary was not welcoming. She put a little extra sway in her step, probably for Marsha’s benefit, and went in to tell the boss someone was here to see him.
Pete Genaro looked up in irritation. Everything irritated him these days, though the wiggle in Sherry’s walk soothed him somewhat. “Yes,” he said.
“There’s a woman to see you.” Sherry was not willing to favor Marsha with the adjective “young.” “Says her name is Bambi.”
“Who?” Genaro said.
Sherry was pleased Genaro couldn’t place her. “She says she used to work here.”
“
Oh, I suppose she did. What does she want?”
“She wants to see you. She wasn’t willing to tell her business to a secretary.” Sherry smiled archly. “She brought two suitcases.”
“What?”
“She brought two suitcases with her. Hard to tell if she’s coming or going.”
Genaro exhaled noisily. “All right. Send her in.”
Marsha Quickly took one look at Genaro’s face and began talking fast. “Pete, how good to see you. I didn’t expect it to be so soon, but things happen. The movie business dried up, I don’t know, I think it’s the economy or so many TV channels, but the fact is there’s no work and I can’t afford to sit idle. So I’m going to be out here for a while, and of course I need a job, and who would I rather work for but you, what with our history and all.”
Marsha’s history with Pete Genaro consisted largely of being pinched in the ass anytime she got within arm’s reach while wearing the skimpy miniskirt barmaid uniform, but Genaro wasn’t listening. Sammy Candelosi was not going away, but a growing number of Genaro’s employees were. Several pit bosses and dealers and barmaids had been lured over to Sammy’s casino, which augured well for Marsha’s chances if Pete tuned in enough to hear what she was saying.
“Don’t you think?” Marsha prompted, largely to see if she had his attention. She didn’t, but it snapped him out of his haze. “So if you had a position for a cocktail waitress, I know the turnover in these places is pretty rapid, and I’m someone you wouldn’t have to train.”
“Huh,” Genaro said. The penny was starting to drop. This was someone he might need.
Marsha didn’t realize she’d already made the sale. “Did you speak to Billy?” she said, reminding him of the good deed she’d done.
Genaro frowned. “Who?”
“Billy Burnett, the guy I told you about. A good man to call on if there’s something you need him to take care of.”
“Or someone,” Genaro muttered.
“Yeah, Billy Burnett.”
“What studio did you say you saw him at?”
“Centurion. Working as a stuntman.”
“How about that? Billy Burnett. He changed it to Barnett, you know, when he got to Hollywood. I think I will give him a call. I have a problem he would be just the man to deal with.” Genaro snatched up the phone to buzz his secretary. “In L.A., a listing for Billy Barnett.” He covered the mouthpiece and nodded to Jake. “Take her down to the floor manager and tell him to put her to work. Bar girl and shill. You’ve worked as a shill, haven’t you?”
Marsha smiled. “Are you kidding me? I was one of the best.”
“Great,” he replied. To Jake, “Put her to work.” Into the phone he said, “Yeah, that’s right. Get on the horn to him, will you?”
* * *
—
Teddy picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Billy Burnett?”
“I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”
“Oh, I think not. This is Pete Genaro.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“It should. I saved your life. I tipped you off that a certain Russian was on your tail. He would have killed you.”
“Oh. Would that be the same Russian you hired a skip tracer for to find me so he could send his goons to kill me?”
“You don’t always like your playmates. The Russian in question was an honored guest in my casino, and a member of our board of directors. When I found out what he was like, I kicked him out of my casino and had him removed from the board, and then I gave you all the information you needed to take him out.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I find myself in a situation where I could use a little help myself. A New Jersey crime family has moved into the casino next door and is trying to crowd me out of Vegas.”
“You’re the toughest man in town. They can’t scare you.”
“These guys play dirty. The boss, Sammy Candelosi, tried to buy me out. I refused, and now he’s moving in on me.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Making trouble for me. He killed two of his own employees so the cops would think I did it, as a rival. I’m totally screwed. I try to tell them what really happened, and they think I’m a lousy liar.”
Teddy laughed. “You have to admire the sheer artistry of it.”
“Forgive me if I fail to appreciate it. Sammy’s got my employees running scared, thinking his boys are going to retaliate, and I can’t calm them down because they all think I did it. My dealers and bar girls are quitting left and right to go work for him.”
“It’s a shame, Pete, but even if I were who you think I am, I’d be a damn fool to get involved with something like that.”
“A damn fool, but a live damn fool. That’s gotta count for something.”
“Oh, come on, Pete. Didn’t the thing with the Russian just come down to which one of us you’d rather see dead?”
“Don’t be like that. You know I always liked you.”
“Sorry. Even if I wanted to help you, I couldn’t. I happen to be in a hell of a mess myself, and I don’t know how I’m going to get out.”
“Anything I could help you with?”
Teddy laughed. “Aw, gee, Genaro. Of all the guys that tried to kill me, I think I like you best. Listen, if I can ever help you sometime, I will, but getting involved in a mob war isn’t it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sorry,” Teddy said, and hung up the phone.
37
Stone Barrington flew in for the stockholders’ meeting in his private Citation CJ-3 Plus. Teddy managed to tear himself away from filming to meet him at the Santa Monica airport.
Stone climbed down from the plane in front of the hangar Peter maintained for his own airplane to find Teddy standing out front.
“Who are you supposed to be?” Stone asked.
“You haven’t seen my movies? I’m crushed.”
“I’ve seen your movies, but don’t get a swelled head. They also happen to be Peter’s movies.”
“I believe he does have something to do with them.”
“You’re filming this afternoon?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Well, I appreciate the personal reception, but why are you here?”
Stone turned the plane over to the pilot in charge of the hangar and allowed Teddy to lead him away.
“It’s about the stockholders’ meeting,” Teddy said.
Stone was confused. “What about it?”
“I want to go over a few things before it happens.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to be there.”
“You’re going to attend the stockholders’ meeting?”
“That’s right, in the capacity of Tessa Bacchetti’s adviser.”
“That’s not exactly your scene.”
Teddy grinned. “I know. I’ve been an assassin for the CIA, a hit man for the mob, and a freelance killer. But I’ve never sunk so low as to be a corporate board member.”
“What’s the story?”
“Are you aware someone’s been buying up Centurion stock?”
“Yes, but that’s hardly surprising. It’s a hot commodity.”
“Well, it’s being bought by several holding companies that might well be operating for the same individual. I think someone’s going to attempt a hostile takeover of Centurion Pictures.”
Stone started to protest.
“Yes, I know,” Teddy said. “You control over fifty percent of the stock. But the way I understand it, the girls have fifteen percent between them.”
Stone’s face darkened. “If you’re dragging the kids into this . . . ”
“Not at all,” Teddy said. “You know me better than that. I’m taking precautions in case someone else tries to drag the k
ids into this. I’ll be at the meeting. I’m going with Tessa Bacchetti just to get in the door. She normally gives Ben her proxy to vote her stock. This time she’ll be there in person with me as her adviser and give me her proxy so they can’t throw me out.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“The more you know, the more you feel you have to act. I owe you big time for the presidential pardon.”
“You’ve more than paid that back.”
“I can never pay that back. I’m happy to help in small ways.”
“If you want to pay me back, tell me what’s happening.”
Teddy smiled. “Nice try, Stone.”
38
Stone took everyone out to dinner, bypassing the more trendy Hollywood restaurants in favor of an old-fashioned steakhouse that’d been around for more than fifty years. Sylvia Kenmore, the well-known film star Peter Barrington had invited as a date for his father, was no vegetarian, and he knew the others in his party would approve. They included Peter and Hattie Barrington, Ben and Tessa Bacchetti, and Teddy Fay, on hand as producer Billy Barnett.
Peter and Hattie would have been happy to host the dinner at their place, but Stone wanted to relieve everyone of any responsibility while he was there. “After all,” he told Peter, “you’re making a movie.”
After they had ordered and their drinks had arrived, Stone raised a glass. “To the movies. May people never stop going.”
“What? Did you hear something?” Sylvia said, and everybody laughed.
“It’s a problem already, I fear,” Stone said. “All these streaming services allow people to view movies cheaply, from the comfort of their own homes. Without box office takes, the financing for future films becomes tricky.”
“I don’t think we’ll ever see the end of big cinema,” Teddy said, “because the movies still deliver something that streaming can’t. Nothing beats the experience of being in the theater when everyone laughs at something funny or gasps in suspense. As long as you move an audience, you’ll get an audience.”
