Sandy was on cloud nine. The assignments for the shoot had been posted on the wall outside the production office. The production assistants all crowded around to see where they would be working; Sandy was assigned to the set.
“I’m on location!” he crowed. “I knew I was going to be, but you never believe it until it happens. It’s not all seniority. I mean, Michael’s been here longer than I have, and he’s in the studio.”
“I asked to stay in the studio,” Michael said.
Dylan wasn’t surprised. Michael was a computer nerd who was happier programming schedule changes than dealing with real people.
Not that Sandy gave a damn about Michael, but he had other reasons to be happy about the list. Stacy was also on set.
And Dylan wasn’t.
“Bummer, man,” Sandy said, “but it was a lot to expect when you’re so new.”
“Yeah.”
“But it doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate,” he added, with the gracious largesse of a winner. “We’re all going out. Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”
“I wouldn’t want to be a wet blanket,” Dylan said. “I’m beat, and I’m going home.”
Dylan had to get away and call Sylvester, though he was dreading it. Sylvester would go through the roof. On the other hand, Sylvester was already mad about losing Billy Barnett, so how much worse could it be? Dylan figured he might as well give him the bad news all at once.
While the other production assistants trooped out the door on their way to the bar, Dylan slipped down the hall and jerked his cell phone out of his pocket.
“Yes?” Sylvester snapped, so viciously that Dylan almost reconsidered his plan.
“We got production assignments for the shoot. Bad news: Billy Barnett will be on the set, but I won’t.”
“You what?!”
“I’m not on the set. They assigned me to the studio. They’ll be filming in downtown L.A., but I’ll be at Centurion. But it’s all right. I’ll be on top of things, and I’ll be able to tell you exactly where they are.”
“I don’t want to know where they are. I want to know where Billy Barnett is. I want a firsthand, eyes-on account of exactly where the guy is every moment he’s there. Is that clear?”
“It’s clear, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Swap with somebody.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It isn’t done. The production manager wouldn’t let me.”
“Why does he need to know?”
“He’s the boss. He knows where we are and what we’re doing.”
“Would he take a bribe?”
“No, he would not. If you try something like that, you’re just going to make him wise.”
“Too bad. You’re just going to have to get someone to switch.”
“No one is going to be willing to switch, it’s a plumb assignment. Look, I’m doing the best I can. If you’re not happy, I’ll give you back the five hundred dollars you put up for my fine just as soon as I get paid. But there’s nothing I can do. I’m tired, I’m pissed off, and I’m going home to get some sleep.”
Dylan hung up the cell phone and turned it off. He’d had it with these guys. He was willing to do anything within reason, but this was beyond all bounds. It was an unfortunate set of circumstances. He couldn’t see any way out. Maybe if he just stopped his mind and got some rest he’d wake up with a new perspective on life and be able to figure out something to do.
Dylan came out the main gate of Centurion. He considered splurging on a taxi but decided he couldn’t do that, not if he wanted to save up the five hundred bucks to pay for his fine. Instead, he took the three long bus rides it took to get home to his one-room, third-floor walk-up apartment. He trudged up the stairs, probably the glummest young man who had ever spent the day hanging out with two beautiful actresses. He unlocked the door and went in.
Strong arms gripped him from behind. A hand was clapped over his mouth. He was lifted off the floor, there was pressure on his chest, and it felt as if his lungs had collapsed.
A light clicked on. Dylan found himself gasping for breath in the clutches of two huge goons.
Sylvester stood in front of him. He didn’t look angry. He looked calm.
It was the most chilling thing Dylan had ever seen.
So,” Sylvester said, “we seem to have a problem. That’s all right. Problems come up, then they have to be solved. You disagree. You seem to think problems are to be lived with, that they absolve you of your responsibility. You are wrong. Problems give you the responsibility of solving them. Now, tell me about your problem. You were not picked to be on the set?”
“No.”
“Who was picked instead?”
“Sandy.”
“Who is Sandy?”
“A guy I work with.”
“Then the situation is easy. You will take Sandy’s spot.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“He won’t give it up.”
“Actually, he will. I can help you out in that respect.”
“You’re going to threaten him?”
“Certainly not. Our presence cannot be known.”
Sylvester took out of his pocket a small glass vial full of liquid. He handed it to Dylan.
“What’s this?” Dylan said.
Sylvester smiled. “I’m glad you asked.”