Hollywood Tough

Chapter 40

"What the fuck d' you think you're doing?" Tony's angry question hung over Shane like a sword of reckoning.

"I'm just trying to… to tell you about a strange thing that happened at Farrell Champion's bachelor party.

I'm."

"I don't care about Farrell Champion's party, I wanta know what's going on with this damn movie. Somebody in our legal department, an attorney named Charlotte Brooks, says you talked to her today about some movie deal with Universal. Is that right?"

"Charlie? Yes, I did."

"She also says she talked to somebody over at CineRoma Productions who says they're on the hook for over a half a million dollars in preproduction costs, and in less than a week they're gonna owe twenty million on a hundred-million-dollar movie. Cine-Roma is half owned by us! What the fuck are you doing?! I only authorized a hundred and fifty thousand. I been tryin' to reach you all afternoon, but your cell's been off."

"Uh. yeah, well, the reason for that is, I got this cell from ESD, and it's got a bug in it. I keep it off unless I.." Shane froze in mid-sentence because of the exasperated expression on Tony's face.

"For the love of God, tell me we ain't really in that deep?" Tony looked tired in his rumpled suit. Wisps of fringe hair stuck up in back of his head where he'd slept on it. His round face and mostly bald scalp were turning pink with anger. "I can't believe this. How did it happen? I want the truth, Sergeant."

"Well, sir, in Hollywood, there are many truths," Shane began, "and those truths are generally dominated by soft facts, which are subject to constant reevaluation and revision."

"You sound just like one a them now," Tony accused.

"I'm sorry. It's just… to understand this, you have to realize how it works. Everything in Hollywood is upside down."

"Upside down? Are you kidding me? I want you to explain how this little sting I originally approved for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars got so fucking out of control."

"It's a little hard to explain, sir."

"Try" Okay, well, the first thing you have to understand is everybody in Hollywood wants films to be expensive." The chief frowned. "Bullshit."

"It's not bullshit. It's a Hollywood truth."

The chief just glowered.

Shane's throat was dry. "Let's suppose you can make the exact same film for ten million dollars, or for a hundred million dollars… which would you choose?"

"And they're exactly the same? Same stars, same everything?"

Shane nodded. "Finished film is identical."

"Well, of course I'd make the one for ten million. Only a fool would spend ten times more."

"Well, in a normal business context you're right, but in Hollywood, you're wrong. Nobody at a major Hollywood studio wants to make a ten-million-dollar film. The industry average is thirty-mil, but that includes a lot of low-budget stuff made by independents. At minimum, the majors would rather spend something north of fifty. And why do you suppose that is?"

"You tell me."

"Because it doesn't make sense to them to make a film for ten million and then go out and spend fifty mil on thousands of theater prints and national advertising. That's about what it costs in P and A to support a wide domestic release these days-more than three thousand screens. Y'see, in their minds, it's foolhardy to put five times more money behind the bet than you've got riding on the film in the first place.

"The idea started to flourish in Hollywood that you're better off spending fifty million instead of ten to make the same movie, because now the fifty mil in releasing costs makes more sense. Then some genius says: 'What if we spend a hundred million on a film?' The cost of P and A basically doesn't change too much, so now we have a great deal. A hundred-mil blockbuster, and only fifty is backing the bet. Pretty soon everybody was buying into that."

Filosiani glowered at this weird logic.

"Okay, that's the complicated truth," Shane sighed. "Now comes a simple truth: A lot of directors think if you're making a forty-million-dollar film, you're nowhere near as important as the guy who's directing a hundredmillion-dollar film. Some directors try to spend money on anything and everything to get the cost of production up. With directors trying to spend money and push the budget up, a lot of films spiral quickly out of control."

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard." The chief was smoldering.

"Egos conspire to cost money in show business. Like I said, the logic is upside down. But I've still got ten days." He glanced at the calendar on his watch. Well, more like eight and a half now, before we get hammered with all those pay-or-play clauses. I'm going to New Jersey later this morning. We take off at eight A. M. Dennis Valentine is going to introduce me to his uncle. I think I've got a pretty good chance of hooking Don Carlo DeCesare to this union-fixing, police-bribery case. Then once I've got Little Caesar on tape, I'll either shut this film down or sell it outright to Universal, which should recoup all our money." "And if Universal won't buy it? What then? How much have we spent?"

"Well, sir, uh… these figures are a little bit in flux. The soft costs are hard to compute, and hard costs are-" "Goddammit! Answer the fucking question!" Filosiani's face was flushed; he was almost screaming.

"Around five hundred and fifty thousand. We could subtract Dennis Valentine's two hundred fifty thousand bribe from that, but we've only received a hundred so far. The total's either three hundred or four fifty… not counting the transportation and construction costs. I don't know where we are on that, how much it costs us to freight those redwoods in from Oregon, or how many extras we hired yesterday, or what kind of deal the director made with his brother to set up the Civil War school in Reseda-"

"The what?!"

"We're… uh…" He looked to Alexa for help. She jumped in fast and switched to damage control.

"Sir, I promise, Shane will have us out of this by the weekend. I know we're a little over budget, but he's going to nail Don Carlo DeCesare. You've got to remember what a huge catch it would be to get Little Caesar on a RICO prosecution."

"He's not going to say shit. I know that guy-he won't incriminate himself," Filosiani growled, but the thought had calmed him slightly.

"Uh. sir… I know Shane will deliver," Alexa said weakly. "It's going to be huge. Then, once we have the goods, we'll shut the movie down."

At this point, Shane wasn't confident he could deliver a pizza.

"Let's go, Shane. You can give him the other information in a memo." She pulled him out of Filosiani's office without even letting him tell the chief why he'd come here in the first place.

He followed Alexa down the hall into her office. "We're both gonna get fired. Jesus, five hundred and fifty thousand from my OCB detective budget," she lamented.

"I'll be lucky if I can hold it to that. You want to know the truth? This boat has left the dock. Our only real chance of bailing out is to get Universal to take it over."

"Are you telling me that the Los Angeles Police Department is actually producing a Michael Fallon high-budget action picture?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it an action picture. It's more of a spiritual thriller."

"Shane, don't fuck with me."

"Yes, we're producing the film. How do you want your credit to read?"

"I'm speechless."

"Listen, I think I need to get out of here."

"What was all that malarkey about Farrell Champion and Dennis Valentine both being involved with this drug deal and gang war?"

"Oh, that." He smiled. "I've gotta rethink some of that." He kissed Alexa, then gave her a hug.

"I'm out of here at eight A. M. to New Jersey. I'll keep the StarTAC on. They're monitoring the tapes at ESD."

"Shane, what was it you were going to tell us? You said it was important." She was leaning forward, insistent now.

"I'm not sure what's important and what's not anymore. I think I'm losing my perspective. I need sleep. At least five hours all in one snooze. I'm starting to ramble." He kissed her again, then left the sixth floor.

He took the water glass and box top out of his briefcase, tagged them, along with the matchbox, and dropped them all off at R amp;I, with instructions for an immediate print-run on all three items.

Shane drove back to North Chalon Drive and let himself in. It was 2:30 A. M. Chooch wasn't there probably still at the hospital. His gun was in the mail slot and Franco was waiting for him. The cat followed Shane into the bedroom and watched while he set the alarm. Exhausted, Shane fell backwards on the bed without undressing. Franco jumped up, licked his face, and purred in his ear.

"I'm trying, Frank. I don't know who did it yet. The hole I'm in just keeps getting deeper and wider. I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing anymore."

The cat reached out and put a soft paw on his cheek. Finally, somebody cared how he felt. Shane fell asleep with Franco curled beside him. He didn't open his eyes until the alarm went off at six o'clock the next morning.