‘Oh.’ Now Judd is despondent — and it’s Corey’s turn to place a mollifying hand on his shoulder.
They pass through the terminal’s sliding doors and step outside. The dry heat slaps Judd across the face. LA: one season, all year around.
Corey searches the roadway.
‘What are we looking for?’
‘A blue Bimmer, seven series — there it is.’ Corey points at the navy BMW as it approaches, Spike in the front passenger seat. It pulls up beside them and they slide into the back seat. Judd pats the ugly white dog on the head and takes in Bowen, who sits behind the wheel.
The agent is on the phone, a Bluetooth gadget jammed in his right ear. He turns, holds up a single ‘one minute’ finger and continues to talk on the phone: ‘Why? ‘Cause my guy’s the one you need on this. Sure, his last movie was a hundred different cliches celebrating a reunion and yes, it was too long — I wanted to tap it on the shoulder and ask, “Hey, shouldn’t you have ended fifteen minutes ago?”, but it made six hundred and fifty million international.’
Bowen pulls out from the kerb, turns and looks back at Judd, mimes a ‘nice to meet you’ that ends with a wink, then continues talking on the phone: ‘And that’s the point — it was awful and it opened everywhere because my guy is a star. He was a star thirty years ago when he started out, he’s a star right now and he’ll be a star the day the sun explodes and you can’t say that about anyone else. Think of him as insurance against that Russian first-timer you hired to direct.’ He listens for another moment, then, ‘It means this: you can’t polish a turd, but you can roll it in glitter — and my guy’s the glitter. I want your answer ASAP, as in www-dot-you-got-fifteen-minutes-dot-org.’
Bowen hangs up and looks back at Judd and Corey with a grin. ‘Well, lookee here, I got me a car full of bona fide heroes! Oh my Lord. I’ll instagram it as soon as we get out.’ He focuses on Judd. ‘I must open with a heartfelt thank you. For what you did for our country. It’s greatly appreciated. It’s an honour to be on your team. It’s the highlight of my career.’
Bowen keeps talking and Judd takes him in. With the exuberant overstatements, hollow platitudes and folksy inflection, the agent is just as Judd expected. In his late forties, Bowen is short but good-looking in that I-was-once-a-child-star way, which he was. Judd remembers him from First Son, a hit sitcom that ran for seven years on CBS during the eighties. He played James, a smart-mouthed, liberal-minded teen who had an almost Svengali-like control over Barry, his dimwitted, ultra-conservative father — who just happened to be the President of the United States.
From what Corey’s told him, Bowen never considered himself anything more than a low-rent Michael J. Fox and despaired at the thought of being unemployed like all the other young actors he knew, except Michael J. Fox. So, when First Son was cancelled he started his own talent agency to represent those actors and give himself some career security. He was only twenty-four, but using everything he’d learned from his time on the sitcom, B&A. quickly became a premier boutique agency in Beverly Hills.
As Bowen drives he brings Judd up to speed on The Atlantis 4 movie, or Atlantis 4 as it is now called, because apparently ‘it’s a much stronger title without the “The”.’ He then tells him how Fox is looking to commit to a sequel before the first movie is even released and want to talk money soon.
Money. It’s never held much interest to Judd — if you want to be rich you sure as hell didn’t become an astronaut — but he is excited that a successful movie, or series of movies, might help the program win over the non-believers who think the NASA budget is an extravagance and the Mars mission frivolous. He’s happy to be involved in anything that will rekindle America’s love affair with the space program.
Corey turns to Judd. ‘Mate, nearly forgot, the studio needs us to choose a song for the bit when my character swoops in and saves your arse at the end. We can have “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon or “Baby Come Back” by Player.’
‘Can we have something from this century?’
‘It’s meant to be nostalgic and ironic.’
‘I remember the “fight this feeling” one but how does the “baby goes back” one go again?’
‘Oh! I know!’ Corey puts up his hand, excited.
‘You don’t have to raise your hand, just sing it.’
Corey puts his hand down and sings it: ‘Baby come back! Da da da da da da da and then something, something something something something — baby come back!’ He stops with a grimace. ‘That sounded horrible.’
‘I have even less idea now.’
‘Sorry. Anyway, download them and have a listen. We need to make a decision before Monday.’
Judd nods and looks out the window as the dirty grey freeway whips past. He turns and takes in the skyline, notices sunlight reflects off the black glass windows of the distant CNN building, their destination this afternoon. Behind it, in the distance, his eye is drawn to a dark helicopter that cuts across the horizon. It’s one of the big ones they use for firefighting. What are they called again? That’s right — it’s an Air-Crane.
11
Kilroy guns the Prius.
The bridge of his nose stings like a bastard, the right side of his chest throbs from where the bullet hit the vest, but neither hurt as much as his pride. Alvy Blash, the geekiest of scientists, a tubby, pigeon-toed hairball, brought him down with a metal tray, stole his gun, shot him with it and then escaped.
It’s so humiliating he can’t bear to think about it. He should have taken more care, shouldn’t have assumed Alvy would be an easy target. He could tell Bunsen was über-pissed about it, even though he barely said a word on the phone. And why wouldn’t he be angry? This is exactly the kind of distraction they don’t need today, of all days. Kilroy glances at his Tag Heuer. The Tyrannosaur will be airborne by now. He’ll need to be quick to get this mess cleaned up before Phase Two begins.
Kilroy can see Alvy’s faded blue Corolla ten cars ahead as it navigates light traffic on Cosmo Street in Hollywood. He has no idea where it’s heading, just knows he must deal with it now.
He can’t underestimate that chubby scientist again.
Alvy needs to lose Kilroy.
He scans the road before him. Where’s a cop when you need one? He hasn’t seen a police station or a police cruiser since he made his getaway.
He glances in the rear-view mirror, takes in Kilroy’s Prius, a good ten cars behind. He needs to warn the authorities about the Swarm, then get himself to a hospital, but he can’t do either with the pony-tailed son-of-a-bitch on his six. He’s managed to escape Kilroy once today but he doesn’t like his chances of a repeat performance. He’s sure if he stops the car he’ll be dead before he gets out — though he might not have to worry about Kilroy killing him if he doesn’t get some medical attention ASAP. His head feels even lighter than before as blood pools on his seat from the wound on his thigh. He keeps pressure on it as best he can but it doesn’t stop the bleeding.
A police cruiser. Driving on the opposite side of the road. Two officers inside. That’s it. That’s what he needs. He makes a decision.
Alvy yanks the Corolla’s steering wheel, sends the vehicle careering into the opposite lane and braces for impact.
Crunch. It’s much heavier than he expected. The police cruiser ploughs into the front of the Toyota and destroys its grille and bonnet, sends a shudder through the chassis that cracks the windscreen and triggers the driver’s airbag. It whacks Alvy in the face and he feels even groggier than before.