“This late? Well, I know how that is. Come on, I’ll get you back. I feel good about this. I think we got something done tonight.”
Ben heard them cross the room and then the light went out and the door slammed. He breathed out, the blood coming back, and realized he was sweating. He nudged the screen back, trying to do it silently. Give them a few minutes. He looked around the dark office. He’d have to use the window after all.
He leaned against the wall, waiting, thinking about the conversation. Their jobs. He was going to get the studios to do it for him. And they would. Buying time, feeding him one piece at a time, staying 100 percent American. Even Bunny, who understood, would have to give him somebody, a face to start with. He thought suddenly of Bunny’s face as it had been, guileless, a Freddie Bartholomew tear running down his cheek. An orphan. If you were fired at one studio, you’d never work at another. It would be understood, the way Minot wanted it.
Some headlights went by outside the window. Minot’s or just another car? Not yet. He looked at the files. Any one of them. And then he knew who it would be, the pragmatic choice. The file was right here, easy for him to take. Would it make any difference? You could reconstruct a file. If you remembered the sources, knew the cross references, had the time. And Minot now was in a rush. Danny had tried to help her once, never reported a thing. She must have meant something to him. Ben glanced at the file drawer again. Right here. Be Danny one more time.
He went over to the files and flicked through the tabs. Miliken, Millard, Miller. He took it out, bulky, and put it in his jacket, feeling his blood rush again. He glanced around, a thief’s involuntary gesture, then closed the drawer and went over to the window, trying to estimate the drop. Not far, the first floor, but you’d have to dangle a second before you dropped or risk your ankles, just the second a car might be passing. But everything seemed quiet. Wilshire was always busy, but the side street mostly took the outflow of the parking lot. He waited another minute, listening, then opened the window and swung out. When he was over, still hanging from the lintel, he tried to reach up with one hand to bring the window back down, but it jammed and putting his weight on one hand made it begin to slip, so he brought the other back and let himself down, dropping slowly until he was a few feet from the ground. Now. He hit the ground just as a pair of headlights swung around from Wilshire. He was wincing from the dull shock of the jump, but forced himself up before the light could reach him. A crouch would be suspicious. Your body told the story. Somebody walking, heading for the lot. The car passed.
Liesl was still down the street.
“I didn’t know what to do. It was Bunny, wasn’t it? What was he doing?”
“Fixing things. He thinks. Drop me at the studio. I told him I’d be there.”
“He saw you? What did he say?”
“Nothing. He was more upset that I saw him. Kind of thing you like to do by yourself.”
“What?”
“Make deals.”
She was quiet for a minute, moving them into traffic. “What’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know.”
She fixed on the windshield, shivering a little. “It’s like before. Today, at the studio, I felt it. The way it was before the war. The quiet. Nobody talks. Everybody knows and nobody talks. So it’s like that again.”
There were a few lights on in the Admin building, but Bunny’s office was dark so Ben headed over to the screening room. He touched the letter in his jacket, aware suddenly of the shadows and the deserted alleys between the sound stages, a perfect place to wait. No shots, another crack on the head, fatal this time, Carl oblivious at the gate while someone went through Ben’s pockets.
Bunny was alone in the screening room, running a picture.
“Just a minute,” he said, motioning Ben to sit. “Watch this.” Not rushes, an old feature, Claudette Colbert in a gold lamé evening dress, clearly gold even in black and white. “Watch her wiggle in the seat.” A society party, people listening to a classical singer. “She got in with a pawn ticket and now they’re onto her. Barrymore knows. Look at the way they size each other up.”
But Ben was watching Bunny, his face soft with pleasure, living in the picture even as he talked.
“Now Hedda makes the announcement. See the one with her back to us? That’s Polly.”
“Polly?”
“Mm. Her greatest performance. Hedda gave her her start, with the column. Watch Barrymore’s eyebrows. Nobody could ham like that. The way they play off each other. Her eyes. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”
Claudette was getting up, summoned by a butler, and Bunny picked up the phone.