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.