“He wouldn’t do well in jail.”
“I know.”
“I don’t suppose I would, either,” she said.
30
How’s it going,” Jesse said.
“As you might expect,” Crow said.
They were drinking coffee alongside the craft service truck, a sort of fast-food place on wheels that provided snacks and between-meals goodies for the movie personnel.
Marisol was in the nearby makeup-and-hair trailer. Crow’s attention was totally focused on the people entering and exiting it.
“What’s she like?”
“She’s very demanding. She wants things her way. She becomes agitated when they’re not. On the other hand, she’s extremely self-centered.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“I suppose she’s not a bad person. It’s just that she’s preoccupied with herself. But she’s probably no different from high-profile politicians and corporate bigwigs.”
The two men drank their coffee.
“Have I mentioned that she’s also an amazing pain in the ass?” Crow said.
“How disillusioning.”
“She’s never satisfied. Nothing suits her. She complains constantly.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“She’s frightened.”
“Still?”
“She admitted that she did something she knew would piss him off.”
“Dare I ask?”
“She bounced a check on him. Now she’s afraid he’s in a financial bind and that’s why he’ll come after her.”
“Do you believe it?”
“That he’ll come after her?”
“Yes.”
“Never take any threat lightly.”
The door to the trailer opened, and a middle-aged woman wearing a ball cap and a smock stuck her head out. She looked around until she spotted Crow.
“She wants you,” the woman said.
Crow waved to her.
“My turn in the barrel,” he said as he headed for the trailer.
“Try not to hurt yourself,” Jesse said.
—
Ryan had rented the cabin through Craigslist and had arranged to pick up the keys at a post office box in Salem. They had been left in the name Buddy Fairbanks.
He drove ten miles to the cabin, located on the outskirts of South Hamilton, a short distance from Paradise, hidden in dense tree cover. It was equipped with a kitchen, satellite dish, and worn but comfortable furniture.
He carried his groceries inside. He dumped his duffel bag in the bedroom. He ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, showered, and climbed into bed.
So far, so good, he thought. In more than three days of travel across the width of the United States, no one had seen him. No one knew his whereabouts. He was a ghost.
He rolled over, closed his eyes, and slept.
31
I’m not exactly certain why you’re here,” District Attorney Aaron Silver said.
He was sitting at his desk, facing Marty Reagan and Jesse, who were seated opposite him.
“The hearing,” Jesse said.
“What about it?”
“It’s scheduled?”
“For Thursday,” Silver said.
“With Judge Green?”
“Yes.”
“Are you planning to recuse yourself,” Jesse said.
“Why in the hell would I do that?”
“Because it would be the right thing for you to do.”
“You’re out of line, Jesse.”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“What’s with this guy,” Silver said to Reagan.
Reagan shrugged.
“We’re done here,” Silver said, standing.
Jesse remained seated.
“I said we’re done.”
“If I have to, I’m prepared to scream bloody murder all the way to the Supreme Court.”
“What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Richard Cassidy is one of your biggest campaign contributors. If you don’t recuse yourself, you’ll be creating one hell of an ethical dilemma for yourself.”
“You’re questioning my integrity?”
“Come off it, Aaron. Appoint Marty to stand in your stead and get the fuck out of the way.”
Silver didn’t say anything.
“And while you’re at it, take Judge Green with you.”
“You’re off your rocker, Jesse, you know that,” Silver said.
“Everyone knows you two are joined at the hip. She’s your go-to judge. Get her to recuse herself, too. Don’t stink this up, Aaron.”
“You are one piece of business coming in here and talking to me this way.”
“So you’ll do it?”
Silver was silent. He swiveled his chair around and stared out the window for a while.
Jesse glanced at Reagan, who briefly made eye contact with him before looking away.
“All right,” Silver said, his back still turned to Jesse.
“Wise choice,” Jesse said, standing.
“Get the fuck out of here, Jesse,” Silver said.
Jesse said nothing as he left.
—
So tomorrow you start shooting,” Jesse said. “Are you nervous?”
“Opening-night jitters,” Frankie said.
“What could go wrong?”
“Most likely nothing.”
“So what are you nervous about?”
“Comes with the territory.”
They were sitting on Jesse’s porch, having just eaten an extra-large meatball, garlic, and onion pizza, which they washed down with Sam Adams ale.
The sun was bouncing its last rays of the day off the restless waters of the bay. Crickets had begun to chirp their night songs. The fall air was brisk, absent humidity. It smelled of the sea and the encroaching chill of winter.
They were sitting together on Jesse’s love seat, separated only by Mildred Memory, who had insinuated herself between them.
“This is nice,” Frankie said. “Almost makes me forget why I’m here.”
“The reason you’re here is to overeat, suffer unspeakable bouts of lassitude, then recover in time to engage in super-human feats of gymnastic-style lovemaking.”
“I knew that.”
“What time tomorrow do you start?”
“First shot should be off by six-thirty.”
“In the morning?”
She looked up at him.
He looked at his watch.
“My God,” he said. “We’d better speed through this lassitude part.”
“If only there hadn’t been meatballs,” she said.
“It’s always something.”
She looked up at him. She inadvertently dislodged Mildred when she put her arms around Jesse’s neck and pulled him to her.
“This is great fun,” she said just before she kissed him.
32
The first day of shooting generally sets the tone for the entire movie.
Everyone on the set takes special note of how well the director interacts with the actors, the cinematographer, the crew, and the staff. The quality of that communication sends out signals as to whether or not the production will prove to be smooth sailing or rough going.
“If the fish stinks from the head,” Frankie said, “people will smell it almost immediately.”
Standing alongside Carter Hansen and a handful of other local dignitaries who were also watching the proceedings, Jesse realized anew how tedious the process of filmmaking actually was.
Frankie had described what was taking place as a tracking shot. The camera was mounted on a wheeled dolly that was pulled rapidly backward along a specially constructed section of what resembled train track. The moving dolly would precede the action, allowing the camera to photograph the scene from in front of it, all the while moving rapidly apace with it.
They were rehearsing the first scene. A young camera assistant stood beside the dolly mount and placed the clapper board directly in front of the camera. It displayed the title of the film, the name of the director, the scene number, and the time of day.