CHAPTER 65
FIFTY FEET AWAY from the avocado grove, the director’s assistant called, “Quiet please. Let’s have quiet.”
Someone clapped the boards, said, “Take one.” And the AD said, “Four, three, two and…action.”
The camera was focused on the front door, Danny coming out of the house followed by Piper. Danny turned to Piper, saying, “You gotta understand, that guy is crazy.”
“Cheesecake. I mean fruitcake,” Piper said in an Italian-accented voice.
They got into the car, Whitman saying, “Try to keep it straight, okay?”
Winnick said, “I know; cheesecake is girly pictures and fruitcake is cuckoo. And keep my head down.”
The star said to his movie girlfriend, “I’m fruitcake to let you come with me. If anything happens to you, Gia—”
The girl laughed, said, “Stupido,” as Danny started the snazzy car. He gunned the engine. Piper yelped and flew back against the seat as the sports car shot toward Sisar Road.
It was traveling way too fast.
That was not in the script.
The crew and the bystanders stood and gaped as the car blasted through the open gate and kept going. The director yelled, “Cut,” but the car didn’t stop.
Instead, Danny took a hard left onto the two-laner, and the car became a vivid blue streak, getting smaller until it vanished from view and they couldn’t hear the engine anymore.
The director yelled, “What the fuck? What the fuck is going on here?”
Schuster, standing next to Del Rio, was punching numbers into his cell phone. Merv Koulos did the same.
“Danny. It’s Merv. Damn it,” said Koulos. “Danny, call me. This isn’t funny.”
“He’ll be right back,” Scotty said to himself. He turned to Del Rio. “He just likes the car and the girl. He’s going to turn back in a second. He’s just goofing around.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Del Rio.
Del Rio’s contentment was gone, replaced by a feeling like a cold wind blowing through his rib cage. He opened his cell phone, dialed Justine, and when she answered, he said, “We’re on the job for one hour and we lose the damned kid. Yeah, right, Danny. He took off at a hundred twenty in a three-hundred-thousand-dollar sports car. Brace yourself, Justine. He took the girl with him. Piper Winnick. No. Nope. If he said where he’s going, no one here got the memo.”