Slythe watched the practice jumps from his vantage point next to the catering cart. It was nice to see where the shot would be filmed, though he had no intention of going up there.
It was also nice to see where his quarry was going to fall.
Slythe didn’t recognize either of the actors. He knew one was Billy Barnett, but he couldn’t tell which.
Fortunately, it didn’t matter.
One of the assistant directors, who had been waiting on the ground for the actors to make the jump, came walking up for a jelly doughnut.
“Will they be doing that again?” Slythe said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the jump.
“No, they’re done,” the AD said. “I took them to wardrobe and makeup.”
“Anybody else going to jump?”
“Why, do you want to?”
“No way. But is anyone else?”
“Not likely. You know the type of insurance risk it would be for someone in the crew goofing around?”
“So that’s it till the shot?”
“Should be.”
Slythe finished his coffee. He crumpled his cardboard cup, tossed it in the garbage, and wandered off in the direction of the Porta-Potties. He detoured around them and strolled casually in the direction of the landing balloon.
Up close it was enormous. Slythe couldn’t even see over the top.
Slythe glanced around. Back in the street, the crew was still unloading the trucks. Cameras, lights, and reflectors were being set up. Huge lights on tripods were being braced with sandbags.
No one was paying any attention to him. Still, he was within sight lines. He strolled around toward the far side of the landing balloon.
A policeman was standing there.
Slythe managed a smile. “Hey, how’s it going?”
“Okay. You with the crew?”
“Props. You guarding the set?”
“I’m on traffic control, but there’s nothing to stop until they begin filming. You know when they might start?”
“Not for a while. They’re still setting up. You know, there’s coffee over there—doughnuts, cheese Danish—if you wanna grab something.”
“Not a bad idea,” the cop said.
Slythe watched him go. He reached in his pocket, slid out his straight razor, and flipped it open.
He stepped up to the balloon.
“Tim!”
Slythe froze. His hand with the razor dropped to his side. He turned calmly, a seasoned pro, ready to size up the situation and react.
It was only Jackson. And he didn’t look alarmed.
“What’s up?” Slythe said.
“The director wants to see you.”