Jackpot

39

Dale looked like she wanted to argue with the police, to fight back against the arresting officers and run. Teddy was resigned to his fate and allowed himself to be handcuffed without giving the police a reason to send him away to a camp somewhere like they’d done with Bingo’s family. Neither of them talked with each other or with the police.

Even with the tight handcuffs and the chains locking the cuffs to the floor of the van, it wasn’t the toughest situation Teddy had found himself in. But as Teddy subtly examined the locks and tested his maneuverability, Dale sat unmoving and uninterested. She didn’t seem to have any interest in even trying to escape.

“After our conversation in the elevator I would have expected this to be our moment to shine together,” Teddy said.

“And make it worse? We should have cleaned up better after killing him. I should have cleaned up better after killing him. I know better than that.”

“Are you implying that I don’t know better or that this is my fault?” Teddy asked.

“I’m not implying anything. No, I don’t think this is your fault. This whole thing has been sideways from the beginning and everything I do, everything we do, makes it worse.”

“It only seems that way because we’re skilled enough to dig deep, to show that what seemed simple at first is even more complex and corrupt than we expected. It’s the curse of our particular skill set.”

“It seems a lot like failure,” Dale said.

“Maybe that’s where working in the movie business has given me some perspective. If it weren’t for successes that seem like failures in the movie business, I wouldn’t have any success at all. You have to work hard for every scrap, and so many times the effort isn’t worth the reward. But that’s making movies. This is saving people.”

“Who are we saving? Peter and Ben are already back in the U.S. The police will probably send you back, too, and close down the film festival, and you’ll be okay while I’m left here to take the brunt of the fallout.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Teddy said.

The van stopped before the conversation could continue and two officers came around to the back to unhook them from the floor and take them into the station. Instead of going through the front entrance and heading to the interview rooms, as he’d done on his last visit to the police station, he and Dale were led through the back entrance into the booking area with the street criminals and hooligans.

Teddy turned to find Dale, but she was already gone, being led out a different door. Despite his encouraging words, privately Teddy admitted to himself that Dale was right: this was starting to feel like failure. But as soon as he was about to trade optimism for pessimism, he saw an opportunity developing. He was dumped into a holding cell, and the arresting uniformed officers were replaced with two other uniformed officers who just so happened to be the cops he’d talked to earlier after the production office fire. They had seemed very interested in the movie business.

“Hey there, remember me?” Teddy asked the officer facing him.

“Mr. Big Man Movie Producer. I remember you. Looks like maybe you’re living out too many scenes from a movie in real life.”

“Life has certainly gotten complicated,” Teddy said. “It’s all a big misunderstanding, of course, and I’m sure it’ll be sorted out when all the lawyers and powers that be get together. In the meantime, I wondered if you might be able to help me with a phone call I need to make.”

“You movie people! Your films spread that stuff about guaranteed phone calls in jail — nowadays everyone arrested starts whining about their phone call and their rights. It’s a courtesy in both countries, applied at the discretion of the jail staff.” This was obviously a sore point for the officer.

“Can I hope for your discretion in this matter?” Teddy asked.

“Need to make some kind of big-time movie phone call?”

“The movie business doesn’t shut down just because one of the producers gets caught up in some foreign drama,” Teddy said.

The cop was nodding along as he headed toward the cell, taking out the swipe card that would open Teddy’s cell.

“These sorts of things might not happen to you as much if you had some local police on your set to keep everyone safe and keep those lines of communication open with those powers that be.”

Teddy couldn’t tell if the guy was angling for a legitimate change in career or if he was looking for some kind of juiced up fake position that amounted to a bribe, but Teddy made sure the cop knew he would help any way he could. The officer handed Teddy an older model flip phone, then disappeared. Teddy dialed Millie, hoping she wouldn’t ignore a call from an unknown number.

After two rings, she answered. “This is Millie.”

“I need your help.”

She paused. “I feel like a bartender with a tab that’s never going to be paid.”

“People like us, in this business, we’re family. You want to help family, right?”

“That would make you the weird uncle that only shows up once in a while, right?”

“I’d make a Man from U.N.C.L.E. joke, but I feel like it would be wasted on someone your age.”

“Just get to the favor, old man.”

“I need you to convince Arrow Donaldson to bail me out of jail,” Teddy said.

Millie made a choking sound on the other end of the line and took a second to recover before speaking.

“Your faith in me is heartening.”

“My faith in you is situational. You know what to do.”