Tracking Shot by Colin Campbell (best book reader .TXT) 📕

Larry gave an insincere laugh and threw up his hands. “The guy shot five people.”

McNulty nodded slowly. “In daylight. We hit him with the arcs at midnight, he won’t be able to see shit.”

“Oh, great. A blind gunman. That’s so much better.”

Engines started over by the industrial units and somebody shouted “Action” through a megaphone. They both looked toward the driveway as the chase got underway. Tires screeched. Engines roared. The trash bin exploded with that sparkly effect that only happens in the movies. McNulty turned back to Larry.

“That’s why you ordered Kevlar vests.” He paused for a moment, then lowered his head. “You did order Kevlar vests?”

This time the hands went up in a placating motion. “Yes, yes. I got the bulletproof vests.” He lowered his hands. “Head shots aren’t just eight by ten glossies, you know.”

McNulty shrugged. “He’s not going to shoot anyone on camera.”

“He did before.”

“He didn’t know. Before.”

“And he will this time?”

“He’s coming because he thinks I’m downloading the CCTV.”

Larry held his hands up in exasperation again. “There is no CCTV.”

McNulty rummaged in his pocket. “No, but…” He brought his phone out and smiled. “…he’ll be looking right into this.”

TWENTY-FIVE

The car chase went off without a hitch. Almost. The trash bin exploded on cue. The cars hit the marks for their final positions, but they also hit each other in an unscripted collision that spun the rusty old car all the way around before continuing on its course. Larry’s palpitations went into overdrive when he heard the sound of crunching metal. He rushed back to the set.

“What the fuck am I paying stunt drivers for?”

He walked over and checked the cars. Most of the damage was to the villain car, crumpled rear fender and offside wing. The light cluster was cracked but the glass hadn’t fallen out. The Crown Vic had a dent along the wheel arch and some scraped paintwork. McNulty came up behind the producer but didn’t mention the body shop under the interstate. F.K. checked the camera then came over.

“That looked great. Added realism.”

McNulty leaned in and spoke softly. “Maybe I was wrong. You do make real movies.”

Larry pointed at the damage. “Well those are real dents. And they aren’t in the close-ups.”

F.K. made a viewfinder shape with his hands and replicated the camera angles from earlier. He lowered his hands and came over to stand with Larry. “Most of the fight is from the opposite side. I think we can minimise the coverage in the edit. It will be fine.”

Larry didn’t look convinced. “Except now we’ve got two dented cars and no backup.” He looked at McNulty. “It’s the no backup part I’m worried about.”

Bringing the conversation right back where McNulty didn’t want it. He glanced at the damaged fender then moved away from the set. Larry took a last look at the damage then followed him. “Maybe we should tell the police. About tonight.”

McNulty stopped once they were far enough from the crew. “Maybe we should tell them about your involvement in the porn trial.”

That shut Larry up. McNulty looked at his producer. “You have got your subpoena now, haven’t you?”

Larry kept his voice low, glancing over his shoulder to make sure there was nobody within earshot. “That subpoena is bullshit.”

“Bullshit for which side?”

Larry took a deep breath then looked at McNulty. “They’re calling me for the prosecution.”

McNulty considered that before replying. “Meaning you’ve got something on these guys?”

Larry shrugged. “I may have done some work for them. Way back.”

McNulty shook his head. “Your credits back then. Matter of public record. Must be more than that.”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Prosecution must think so.”

“Well the prosecution is wrong.”

McNulty frowned. “Muddy the water, perhaps?”

“These guys don’t like muddy water.”

McNulty thought for a moment then stepped in close and lowered his voice. “So, maybe the message isn’t for the judge.”

Larry jerked back as if given an electric shock. “Me?”

McNulty kept steady eyes on him. “It was your movie set.”

Larry snorted a laugh that sounded far from convincing. “They’re pornographers. They aren’t going to shoot five people to leverage a case they’re going to beat anyway. That’s insane.”

“Not all the lunatics are in the asylum.”

Larry raised his eyebrows. “All the orphans aren’t in the orphanage either. Doesn’t make you a bad person.”

McNulty clamped his mouth shut and breathed through his nose.

Larry held his hands up in a placating motion. “Sorry. Just rolled off the tongue. Bad choice.”

McNulty breathed out slowly to calm himself down. When the burn of anger and shame eased, he spoke softly. “We all make bad choices. That’s how we learn to make the right ones.”

Larry saw his chance to change the subject. “Yeah, well. What I said before, about changing showers.” He nodded toward the cluster of production vehicles where Amy was packing away her makeup. “That’s a right choice. Right there.”

They wrapped the day’s shooting with half an hour of good light to spare. The crew went into overdrive, striking the set and loading the stunt cars. The set dressers removed the fake signs while the heavy mob dismantled the lights and reflectors. This was the last day at the Cambridge Reservoir location. Their contract with Fresenius Medical Care stated that Titanic Productions had to leave the parking lot in the same condition as they’d found it.

Larry was the first to leave, juggling his worries about giving evidence in court with his fears for the night action he couldn’t talk McNulty out of. The location caterer went next, a luxury that Larry had funded only after the success of their first Alfonse Bayard cop-thriller. Amy Moore was packed and ready to go long before anyone else, but she was the last person there. Apart from Vince McNulty.

“You haven’t lost your powder puff have you?”

Amy watched the last of the location vehicles pull out of the parking lot then came over to McNulty. “I’ve always been a slow packer.”

McNulty felt heat spread up his neck. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. “No. You were pretty fast. Methodical,