The Tin Collector

Chapter 36

It was ten-thirty when Shane got back to the 110, heading downtown toward the Spring Summer Apartments. His pager buzzed. He pulled it off his belt and read the printed message on the LED screen:

911 to IAD A. H.

A. H. Alexa Hamilton. She wanted Shane to go to the Bradbury Building immediately. He wondered what she wanted, or whether he should even trust her. Maybe the warrant was there and she was drawing him in so he'd be served and end up spending the night in jail. He picked up his cell phone, dialed her cell number, and got a not-in-service recording. He tried her apartment, no answer. Despite his suspicions, he had almost no choice. He had to take a chance on her. He knew the switchboard at the Bradbury was closed, so he fumbled in his pocket for the number of the Spring Summer Apartments. He dialed and after a minute got Longboard Kelly on the phone.

"Yeah," the surfboard shaper said softly.

"It's Shane. Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Again, a whisper.

"What's wrong? How come you're whispering?"

There was a long moment, then: "Chooch is asleep."

"Look, I've gotta go run an errand on my way home. It's only a few blocks outta the way. Are you guys cool?"

"Yeah."

"See you in about an hour. If that changes, I'll call."

" 'Kay," and then Longboard was gone.

Longboard Kelly sounded strange. He was usually a nonstop talker. Shane wondered whether he and Chooch had started toking together. He almost called back, but then he had to change lanes to make the off-ramp on Sixth Street. In a few more minutes he was downtown.

It was just before eleven and Schwarzenegger was back.

???

"Sorry, absolutely nobody gets through on Sixth. We're shooting a big stunt," the motorcycle cop said. "Back up, go four blocks over to Wilshire."

"I gotta get to Spring and Third," Shane said.

"Can't. It's inside the restricted area. You'll have to park it here and walk. This area has been posted for three or four days." The cop was another old-timer, a forty-year veteran, in his mid-to late sixties. He was standing on Spring Street, behind his yellow barricade, glowering in his knee boots and dark blue shirt with its thirteen hash marks, each one representing three years of service. The entire eight-block section from Wilshire to Seventh had been closed. There was a helicopter sitting in the middle of Sixth Street; klieg lights and a condor had the buildings lit up almost like daylight. Stunt people were milling about. A Brinks armored truck was parked in the middle of the street, near a camera on dolly tracks. The director and some assistant directors were pointing at extras with briefcases, directing them where to stand.

"When are you guys gonna be outta here?" Shane said darkly.

"Don't know," the motor cop replied. "But we got special permission tonight for this big shot, 'cause we had to land the bird in the middle of the street and then do the chase with the armored car down Spring. It's some lash-up," he said proudly, eager to display his film expertise. "We're using Tyler mounts on the camera ship to photograph the stunt exchange from the picture bird to the roof of the speeding armored truck. Arnie is gonna be on top of the moving truck, do the fistfight with the stunt captain while they're heading down Spring. Then Arnie jumps and catches the bar under the picture chopper and does the car-to-helicopter exchange. We cut, rerig, and the stunt double hangs there on the flyaway. It's a money shot," he said proudly. Everybody in L. A. talks the talk. Arnie had to be Schwarzenegger. It never even occurred to the bragging cop that half of downtown L. A. was ready to strangle this entire cast and crew.

Shane got out of the car and started to move past the barricade, toward the gathering of assistant directors and stunt people standing near the idling helicopter.

"Hey, you can't just walk through here, buddy. It's restricted," the cop warned.

"I'm not parking here and walking a mile."

"You gotta go around. This is a danger area. Nobody can be in there who's not cleared or been to the stunt safety meeting."

"Sarge, I'm on the job. I gotta get to Internal Affairs at the Bradbury." Shane dug into his pocket, pulled out his last business card, and handed it to the cop.

"You got a badge?"

"Left it at home. I was out on a boat when I got the call."

" 'Cept you could a' got this card from anybody," he said suspiciously.

"When did you stop being a cop and start being a movie PA?" Shane was getting pissed. He started around the barricade, and the old cop reached out and grabbed Shane's arm just as an assistant director came running up.

"What's the problem, Rich?" he asked the motor cop.

"Guy says he's a cop. Wants t'drive through." He handed Shane's card to the assistant director, who looked at it.

"We're still a bit away from the shot," the AD said to Shane. "Lemme see if I can set this up. Hang on." He turned and ran back to the group of men huddled near the armored car, handing the card to a tall man in a safari jacket. The man looked at the card, then up the street to Shane, and nodded.

The assistant director waved his arm at Shane to come ahead. The motorcycle cop was pissed off and didn't look at Shane as he moved the barricade.

Shane got back in the Taurus and pulled up the street, right into the activity of the movie set. He was trying to get around the idling helicopter when a man stepped out from the group by the armored car and motioned him to stop, then leaned in his passenger window, smiling.

"Hang on a minute," he said.

Suddenly Shane felt something cold and hard press on the left side of his head.

"Howdy-do," a low, soft voice said with a country twang. "Y'all wanna slowly get out of the car?"

Shane tried to look back, but the second man had positioned himself to the left of Shane and behind him, pointing the gun through the driver-side window, placing it against the left side of his head. Shane didn't have to see the gun to know what it was.

"This is pretty dumb, whoever the fuck you are," Shane finally said.

"Hey, dipshit, we been lookin' all over for you. You're the dummy. I sent you the nine-one-one. We was down here anyway, and you stumble right on in here, nice as can be." Then the man with the gun suddenly shouted at the man in the safari coat.

"Dom," he yelled. "What if, when Arnie leaves the car, we stage Sandra's abduction like this. Lookee here." Then he opened the door to the Taurus. "Out," he growled at Shane. "We're gonna get in that chopper. You're sitting in the back right side."

"You're gonna kidnap me in front of all these people?"

"This ain't a kidnapping, it's a rehearsal," he said. "You're gonna be Sandra Bullock. Don't fuck with me, pal. You make trouble, I'll clock you and carry you over. It'll look like blocking to these idiots." Then he pulled Shane out of the car, led him twenty feet to the helicopter at gunpoint, and shoved him into the back. Shane saw that it was Calvin Sheets.

Waiting in the helicopter was another piece of muscle Shane had never seen before. He was holding a gun low, out of sight. Shane settled in, and the man's cold eyes never left him. Calvin looked back down at the director, who shouted, "Yeah, maybe that could work, Cal. But I gotta deal with this first."

Calvin shouted back, "Hunter just called. We'll be back in half an hour, if that's okay."

"Go ahead," the director shouted. "We're an hour away, but we need the chopper back by eleven."

Calvin waved, climbed into the helicopter, and motioned to the pilot, who revved up the motor.

They lifted up off the pavement, hovered, then veered over the street and climbed away from the movie company.

Shane looked out the window and saw the fully rigged and lit street with the hundred or more movie people who had just witnessed his kidnapping without realizing it. They became miniatures as the chopper rose.

"So this is a Logan Hunter film," Shane said.

"Huh?" Calvin shouted back over the roar of the chopper. "Forget it," Shane said.

Then the helicopter turned north and flew toward the mountains, picking up altitude, leaving the L. A. basin far behind.