Screen Savers

Chapter 17

When the phone rang in my room at five-thirty a.m., I suppose that was my real introduction to the world of movie-making. On most days when production is in full swing, it really does involve early starts and late finishes.

It was fun though; the whole crew had eaten at a long table in the hotel, where I was made to feel, for the first time, not like a curiosity but like a fully fledged member of the team. One or two of the technicians even turned out to be GWA fans, and talked themselves round to asking the inevitable question. ‘Can those guys really fight?’

I had never thought of Mike Dylan as a creature of habit, but for the second night in a row he managed to interrupt my dinner. I was in the middle of explaining to the Best Boy, who was in fact a girl, that Jerry Gradi really was so tough that he could crush walnuts with his arse, when my mobile trembled in my pocket. I had called Prim from my room, so I knew it couldn’t be her, but still, I was surprised when the intrepid detective inspector spoke.

‘I’ve got it, Oz,’ he began.

‘What? Paranoia? Social dysfunction? Genital warts?’

‘No you daft bastard. I’ve got a tap on Stephen Donn’s mother’s phone. My boss signed the application this morning and we were in place by this afternoon.’

‘Congratulations. Does she have a mobile as well?’

‘No, but no problem if she does. They’re simple to tap; MI5 do it all the time.’

‘Comforting to know that,’ I said into my cellphone. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything yet?’

He laughed. ‘Well, we know that the principal of her college fancies her. He called her about six o’clock and asked her if she’d go to the Lakes with him this weekend. She said she’d only go if the guy’s wife called her to say it was all right.

‘Other than that, she didn’t have many calls. Just a couple from women friends, organising a theatre night. We might have to wait for a month before the guy calls her. . but he will. I’m sure he will.’

‘Just a thought, Mike. Does this guy pay income tax? Did it ever occur to you that the Inland Revenue might know where he is?’

‘Teach your granny, Blackstone. Stephen Donn hasn’t paid PAYE since he worked at Gantry’s. He’s self-employed and his papers all go to an accountant in Paisley. We checked there: the bloke told us that Donn comes to see him once a year with his records, then comes back once the calculations are done and gives him enough cash to cover his fee and tax due. It’s a common practice among dodgy people who don’t want to be easily traced.’

‘When’s he due to show up there again?’

‘Not before next April. For my money, the guy’s involved in something illegal; probably the drugs trade, that’s what most criminals are into in Scotland these days.’

‘Ah well,’ I said, sincerely; I could still feel the heat of the explosion. ‘I hope you get a result from the phone thing sooner rather than later.’

I was still thinking of Mike’s phone call as I stepped out of the hire car into Union Street just before seven a.m.. For all that I was amused by Dylan behaving like a real policeman for the first time since I’d met him, I was worried for Susie. She’s a good-hearted girl, and she didn’t deserve to be persecuted by any nutter.

Aberdeen’s City Council was bending over backwards to help us. Project 37 was the first major movie to have been shot in the Granite City in more years than anyone could remember, so nothing for us was too much bother. Union Street, the city’s main drag, was ours until eight-fifteen, when the temporary traffic diversion would end. We had been promised that if the weather was bad, they would do it again another time, but the morning was fine and sunny.

The cameras and lights were all in position by the time we arrived, and a mass of extras were waiting. Miles went straight to work, grabbing a megaphone and giving them instructions. It was a simple job; some of the crowd were told to walk along Union Street east to west, others west to east. A few were cast as public transport passengers, a queue boarding a bus which was drawn up at a stop. We had volunteer motorists too, ordinary drivers who had brought their cars and cycles along to join in the fun. Their instructions were simply to drive along the street, turn and drive back again.

As he split the extras into groups, all of them volunteers recruited by an advertisement and an editorial piece in the Press and Journal, I looked around the sea of faces until I spotted Noosh. She gave me a cool smile and a wave. I beckoned her over and strolled over to Miles.

‘This is Anoushka, a friend of mine,’ I told him. ‘She’d like to be in the movie.’

‘No problem, mate.’ he said. He pointed along the road a little. ‘Anoushka, Oz will be walking along there, east to west, past that shop. You just come in the other direction. Don’t look at him, don’t look at the camera, but just stick to the outside of the pavement and you’ll be in shot.’

‘Thank you very much. I’ve always wanted to do this.’ I’d never seen Noosh Turkel looking like a schoolgirl before.

‘No problem.’ Miles went back to his megaphone. The ‘pedestrians’ were in position, and the car-owners were standing by their vehicles. ‘We don’t have a lot of time here, folks,’ he yelled, ‘so I want to get this shot right first time if I can. We’ll have a rehearsal, then go straight into a take.’

We did our rehearsal walk-through on Miles’ call of ‘Action’, and must have convinced him that we all knew what we were doing, for we went quickly for the real thing. I was impressed by the smoothness of it all, as I walked the line which had been chalked for me on the pavement, through and past the people. The idea was that I was looking for someone in one of the Union Street shops, so every so often I would pause, peer through a doorway, then move on. My stopping points were marked with big chalk crosses, but I told myself that I was out for an ordinary walk in an ordinary street and it worked. The camera was following me, out of my line of sight, and our volunteer motorists were cruising past me, so it was easy to maintain that illusion.

I was only vaguely aware of Noosh coming towards me. She was following Miles’ instruction to the letter, walking so near to the edge of the pavement that I was almost on the road. At that moment, I became aware of the noise too; one that hadn’t been there on the run-through; the sound of a motorcyclist revving his engine hard. I couldn’t help it; I looked along the street and saw him in the distance, a biker in heavy black leathers and a sparkly red brain-bucket with a dark visor.

As I looked at him he let in his clutch and sped away from the kerb, heading in my direction, accelerating hard. There was something wrong, I knew; no way was this in the script. The gap between us closed, and as it did, I saw him reach inside his leather jacket. He had levelled off his speed when I saw the pistol in his hand. I should have been scared shitless, I suppose, but I’ve had a gun pointed at me before, and I knew that this one was being aimed at someone else.

No, unmistakably, the rider was homing in on Anoushka, as she walked along, her back to him, unawares. This has to be part of the movie, I told myself. Some fucking stunt Miles chose not to tell me about. Whatever it was, I decided on the instant to play it for real. I broke into a run, heading for Noosh.

‘Look out,’ I yelled as the gap closed between us, sending a pedestrian extra sprawling sideways. Her eyes widened and they caught mine as I dived for her. I saw the gun levelled at her head as I hit her, saw the muzzle flash as I bore her to the ground, saw the biker swerve to avoid us as we lay in the roadway, and saw the fumes from his exhaust as he speeded up and roared away, swinging into Market Street and out of sight.

As we lay there panting, gasping for breath, a shadow fell across us. ‘That was great cinema, mate,’ Miles drawled, with a touch of wonder in his voice, ‘but what the fuck was it all about?’

I glared at him as I got to my feet, helping Noosh up too. ‘I thought you’d be telling me that. You mean you didn’t set it up?’

‘Set what up?’

‘The arsehole on the bike!’ I shouted at him. ‘He took a shot at Anoushka.’

Miles is a damn good actor, but he can’t fake the sort of astonishment that showed on his face.

Anoushka looked as bewildered as he did. ‘He shot at me?’ she gasped. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Dead bloody certain,’ I snapped. ‘As dead as you’d have been if I hadn’t taken you down. The guy was out to kill you. Now, what’s it all about?’

She was trembling and looked tearful as she shook her head. I was sorry at once for my show of temper. ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured. ‘I suppose it could have been something to do with my time in St Petersburg. There were bad people there; a lot of them.’

‘Okay,’ said Miles. He called over to his assistant. ‘Bernie! Call the police. Get them here fast!’

‘Does that blow the shoot?’ I asked him, a professional to the last.

‘Not necessarily. I may have enough in the can. I didn’t tell anyone, but I ran the cameras during the rehearsal.’

‘You may have something else in the can too,’ I told him. ‘Like a shot of that biker.’