The Money Shot

by Stuart Woods

  The first siren was heard in the distance, followed immediately by another. That was it. It was over. They were coming.

  Slythe headed back to the car.

  An upstairs window shattered. A shapeless form hurtled through it and landed on the lawn.

  Slythe started for it.

  The shapeless form was a man. He shrugged off the linoleum he’d been wrapped in and stood up.

  Slythe froze. His mouth fell open.

  He had a gun?

  It wasn’t enough that he was alive and apparently unharmed. He was holding a gun!

  There was no way Slythe could take him on with just a straight razor. Not someone as good as this guy apparently was.

  Slythe backed into the shadows.

  The sirens were louder.

  Slythe crept around the house and headed for his car. He drove off just as the first fire trucks and police cars pulled up.

  48

  Teddy’s property was surrounded by four fire trucks, six police cars, and two ambulances. For all that, they hadn’t managed to save his house. By the time he had woken up it was pretty much gone.

  A policeman was talking to Teddy on the front lawn. “You woke up and smelled smoke?”

  Teddy figured the cop suspected him of arson. The house was totaled, and he had barely a scratch. “That’s right.”

  Teddy was still dressed in his pajamas. He had managed to stash the gun in his glove compartment before the cops arrived, or the conversation would have taken a whole different turn.

  A cop hurried up to them. Teddy couldn’t help thinking he was so young he must be thrilled to be up past his bedtime.

  “It’s arson all right. There are gas cans scattered all around the place.”

  “Did you collect them for fingerprints?”

  “It’s being done.”

  “Without fucking them up?”

  “I’m on it,” the cop said, and hurried away.

  “This is your house?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And your name is?”

  “Billy Barnett.”

  “Can I see your identification?”

  Teddy jerked his thumb in the direction of the fire. “It’s in there. Look, I’m the owner, so I know you need to check whether or not I burned it down for the insurance money. It’s insured for the bare minimum, and I never increased it. If you asked me if I’d rather have the money or the house, I’d take the house, because I guarantee you I won’t be able to buy anything as good with what I’ll get as a payout.”

  An EMS worker from one of the ambulances came over. “Sir, you’re going to the hospital?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “We still need to check you out.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You mind sitting on the back of the ambulance? We want to check your blood pressure.”

  “Officer,” Teddy said, “may I suggest a change of venue? I’d like to get these guys squared away.”

  They walked over to the ambulance. Teddy sat down, and they strapped on the blood pressure cuff.

  “One-thirty over seventy,” the EMS worker said.

  “A little high from the excitement,” Teddy said.

  The EMS guy said, “High?”

  Teddy checked out fine. He had a few cuts and scratches from the broken window, but they were superficial. His forearms had taken the brunt of it. The medic cleaned them up, dabbed on antibiotic, and pronounced him good to go.

  “How about it, Officer?” Teddy said. “What do you say you check with Motor Vehicles, pull up my driver’s license, verify I am who I say I am, and let me get a room for the night? We’re shooting first thing in the morning, and it’s going to be hard getting up.”

  “You’re in the movie business?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Centurion.”

  “What do you do there?”

  “I’m a producer.”

  The Hollywood community was divided between people who were impressed with a producer and those who considered him nonessential personnel. The cop clearly fell in the latter category.

  Still, he ran Teddy’s driver’s license and let him go. Teddy knew he would. He had been Billy Barnett long enough that his cover was damn near perfect.

  49

  Teddy drove up to the Arrington Hotel, handed his car off to the valet service, and walked into the lobby in his pajamas with his gun in a paper bag.

  The woman behind the desk was surprised to see him, to say the least. She gulped and said, “Sir?”

  “I’m Billy Barnett. I’m going to be staying at Stone Barrington’s house. It’s spur of the moment, and I don’t have a key. I understand Stone keeps a key at the desk for emergencies.”

  “Sir?”

  “I apologize for my appearance. My house burned down. If you check with the police, you will find it just happened.”

  “That’s not the issue. In the absence of Stone Barrington, I would have to clear this with Peter Barrington. And he can’t be reached at this hour.”

  Teddy held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”

  She frowned.

  “Mine burned up. I need your phone.”

  Teddy called and got Peter’s answering service. The service was an improvement over voice mail, because Peter was able to leave specific messages for specific callers.

  The woman on the line was clearly used to fielding calls at all hours. “Peter Barrington’s line.”

  “This is Billy Barnett. Put me through to Peter Barrington.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnett. Mr. Barrington does not accept calls at this hour.”

  “He’ll accept mine.”

  “I have no instructions to that effect.”

  “What are your instructions?”

  “Not to ring him for anything short of a fire.”

  “Then you won’t get in trouble. My house just burned down, which is going to affect tomorrow’s shooting unless I speak to him now.”

  A minute later Peter’s groggy voice came on the line. “This better be good.”

  “It’s not. I’m at the Arrington. My house burned down.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. You attend one little stockholders’ meeting, and—”

  “Billy.”

  “Relax. I’m sure it has nothing to do with that. But the fact is, my house burned down, along with everything in it. I’ve got the pajamas I was wearing, and that’s it. So if you expect Mark Weldon to show up on the set tomorrow, I’m going to need some clean clothes and a makeup kit sent over to Stone’s house. I figure if anyone can make that happen this time of night, it’s the director. You also need to vouch for me with the Arrington desk clerk. She seems pretty freaked out.”

  “Oh my God,” Peter said.

  50

  Peter Barrington came through. At five o’clock in the morning a fully equipped makeup kit and a complete change of inconspicuous clothing were delivered to Stone Barrington’s residence adjacent to the Arrington Hotel. Per Peter’s instructions, the production assistant entrusted with the task did not ring the doorbell, but merely left the items on the stoop. The gofer was getting a generous tip for the service, and an even larger tip not to talk about it. There was nothing odd in that. What movie folk did was nobody’s business.

  As soon as the young man was gone, Teddy inspected the items. His main concern was the makeup kit. It wasn’t nearly as good as his own, but it would do, at least to get stuntman Mark Weldon onto the back lot and into wardrobe and makeup, where a wig and costume would transform him into movie villain Leonard Kirk.

  Teddy had gotten to the studio and just finished changing when Tessa walked onto the set. She was shocked. “Your house burned down?”

  Teddy grabbed her arm and pulled her away
. “No, no, no, you must be confused. Billy Barnett’s house burned down,” he said meaningfully.

  Her eyes widened. “Of course, Mark, how silly of me.”

  “It happens to the best of us.”

  “And where is Mark Weldon’s house, exactly?”

  “That’s something I’m going to have to take care of. It never was an issue before now. Nobody on this picture needed to know my address, so I didn’t need to have one.”

  “Damn it,” Tessa said. “I don’t care what you’re going to tell everybody else. What happened?”

  “My house burned down. It was arson. Someone tried to kill me in my bed.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Relax, I’m fine. But someone burned my house. They did a thorough job of it, too, completely drenched it with gasoline. It was pretty extensive for arson, more likely enough to ensure nobody got out.”

  “Was it because of me?”

  “Don’t get a swelled head. Just because you’re a movie star, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  “Billy, I’m not in the mood.”

  “Mark, I’m not in the mood,” Teddy corrected. “The more you do it when we’re alone, the more chance you’ll do it in front of someone else.”

  “Is this because of the meeting?”

  “It could be,” Teddy said. As far as he was concerned, it was equally likely it was because of things he had done after the meeting, but there was no reason to tell her about that.

  “Is it about the gun?”

  “Interesting idea. I’ll have to think about that.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I’m glad you asked.”

  Tessa waited. “Well?”

  “Oh, I’m not going to tell you. But thanks for reminding me. I’ve got a lot of things to remember.”

  “Did it burn up in the fire?”

  “Another interesting idea. I’m afraid guns don’t burn very well.”

  “Then—”

  “Tessa, I’m handling it. You just worry about things you’ve got to worry about.”

  “I’m not that type of girl.”

  Teddy sighed. “No, you’re not. That’s what I like about you, but it’s damn exhausting.”

  “Aren’t you worried?”

  “Worried about what?”

  “That someone tried to kill you.”

  “Well, he didn’t succeed.”

  “You’re taking it so casually.”

  “When something like this happens, you have to keep a clear head and assess the situation. What happens, happens.”

  “What happened was someone burned down your house.”

  Teddy shrugged. “There are glitches.”

  51

  Mason Kimble looked up from the newspaper. “Did you burn his house down?”

  “Who?” Gerard said.

  “Billy Barnett.”

  “No. Do you want me to burn his house down?”

  “Someone already did.”

  “What?”

  “His house burned down last night. He barely escaped with his life. Are you sure you didn’t do that?” Gerard had been known to use forceful methods to deal with problems.

  “Barnett escaped. Does that sound like my work?”

  “No offense meant, but what the hell is going on?”

  Gerard shrugged. “All of this is news to me. I don’t know anything about this Billy Barnett person, except he’s chosen to make himself a major pain in the ass. The last I heard, we have two weeks to deal with him. But rushing off half-cocked to burn the guy’s house down—that’s a messy solution, not my style. No way to make it look like an accident.”

  “No, there’s not.” Mason pointed to the newspaper. “According to this, he was on vacation and just came home for a board meeting.”

  “He came back just to fuck with us?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Why?”

  “Why indeed. I guess he’s a friend of the Bacchettis’.”

  “And this actress appealed to him for help?”

  “Which she shouldn’t have done, as I have told her in no uncertain terms.”

  Gerard frowned. “If he was just here for the meeting, why is he still in town?”

  “Someone burned down his house.”

  “He didn’t know that was going to happen. Why’d he stick around for it?”

  “Are you saying he burned down his own house?”

  “That’s probably what the police are wondering, based on the fact that he survived. You did say he got out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he injured?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Then someone didn’t do a very good job. Assuming it was arson.”

  “The police aren’t saying, but it sure sounds like it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The police refused to comment. You can practically hear the reporter saying, ‘The only reason I can’t tell you it’s arson is the cops are being hard-asses.’”

  Gerard nodded. “So maybe he did burn it himself.”

  “Why?”

  “To frame us.”

  “How? What connects us to the crime?”

  “The fact that we’d profit from his death.”

  “You and I know that. No one else does. It makes no sense.”

  “Who else would want to burn down this guy’s house?”

  “Exactly.”

  52

  Sammy Candelosi was pissed. “He got out?”

  “Yes.”

  “You burned down his house. He was in it. And he escaped?”

  “The guy is good.”

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. That’s not what I want to hear. I want to hear the guy is dead. Then he can be as good as he likes.”

  “I understand.”

  “This is not your first fire.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Back in Jersey, Slythe had torched two houses belonging to a rival family. In neither instance had anyone escaped.

  “So what happened?”

  “It’s not like I did anything wrong. I did everything right. I overprotected. I drenched that house with enough gasoline to burn down L.A.”

  “So where is he now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Find out.”

  Slythe called Centurion Pictures. “Billy Barnett, please.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnett’s on vacation. Would you like to talk to his secretary?”

  “Yes. Can you connect me?”

  Moments later the secretary came on the line. “Billy Barnett’s office.”

  “Could I speak to Mr. Barnett?”

  “I’m sorry, he’s on vacation. Could I take a message?”

  “I need to speak to him directly. Could you ring him, please?”

  “I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”

  “Well, hang on, here. You say he’s on vacation. According to the paper, his house burned down, and he was there at the time.”

  “That’s right. Mr. Barnett has been on vacation all month. He returned temporarily for a board meeting, and while he was here his house burned down. He’s put the matter in the hands of the police, and they are investigating. In the meantime, he’s gone back on vacation. Which is actually convenient, since he has no place to live.”

  “How can he be reached?”

  “He can’t.”

  “And just where is he on vacation?”

  Slythe could practically hear the smile in the secretary’s voice. “If I told you that, he could be reached.”

  “I’m afraid my employers are not going to appreciate that answer. Can you help me?”

  “If this is a matter relating to Centurion Pictures, I can put you in touch wit
h someone else. If you have urgent personal business to discuss, I could refer you to his attorney.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. Would you like to leave a number?”

  Slythe hung up the phone. “He’s been on vacation all month, and no one’s going to tell us where he is.” He shook his head. “This is not good. Genaro hires an out-of-town hitter and the guy disappears.”

  “Hang on,” Sammy said.

  “What?”

  “Something’s not right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They just told you Billy Barnett’s been on vacation all month? That he came back for a board meeting, but aside from that he’s been gone?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “According to Jake, this cocktail waitress over at Pete Genaro’s saw him on a movie set.”

  “Maybe it was a while ago.”

  “Didn’t sound like it was a while ago. He was talking like it just happened.”

  “Maybe he got it wrong. The guy’s not very bright.”

  Sammy nodded. “Let’s ask him.”

  53

  Jake felt like he was about to get whacked. He had no idea what he’d done to deserve it, but that only unsettled him further. He’d been summoned to Sammy’s office, with no explanation, which couldn’t be good. Even the curvy secretary looked foreboding. Now he was sitting in a chair in front of Sammy’s desk, and no one was talking to him, and he was scared to ask why.

  Then the door opened and Slythe came in, and he started saying his prayers.

  Sammy picked up a newspaper from his desk and extended it to Slythe. “Show him.”

  Slythe took the newspaper and thrust it in front of Jake’s face.

  “What do you have to say about that?” Sammy demanded.

  The newspaper was folded open to an article.

  “‘Producer escapes deadly blaze’?” Jake read.

  “That’s right.”

  “What about it?”

  “You tell me.”

  Jake blinked uncomprehendingly. Getting no help from Sammy or Slythe, he looked back at the article. It read: