The people going up were gathered by the construction elevator. There weren’t many—just the two stuntmen, the director, the cameraman, and Jackson on squibs.
Slythe was there, too, but he wasn’t going up.
“Okay, guys, let’s check those guns,” Slythe said.
The stuntman who was presumably Billy Barnett handed over his snub-nosed revolver. Slythe popped the cylinder and checked the blanks, though he couldn’t have cared less about them.
“Fine,” he said. He snapped the gun closed and handed it back.
“And yours.”
George handed over the gun. Slythe popped the magazine. It was full, except for the shell in the chamber. He ejected the shell. It was the blank he’d loaded a half hour before. He palmed it and substituted one of the live rounds he’d stolen from the hardware store. He shoved it into the magazine. He popped the magazine into the gun and chambered the live round.
He smiled and handed the gun back to George.
“All set,” he said.
80
Kenny took them up in the elevator. He’d taught George how to run the elevator for the shot, but union rules said the key grip had to bring up the crew. Otherwise there was no reason George couldn’t have done it. The mechanism was simple: a handle stuck out the top of a semicircular casing and you pulled it to the right to go up; you pushed it to the left to go down.
This time everyone got off on the fourth floor. It was a little more finished than the fifth, but mostly just steel girders.
“Okay,” Peter said. “This is where we all start. Dennis is on the camera. Jackson, you’ll be right beside the camera with me. It’s open air, no obstruction, you can set off the squib from there. Kenny, you’re kind of trapped up here. Stay next to Jackson.
“Starting positions for the actors are George in the elevator, and Mark clinging to the side. But don’t take them until we’re set. George, do you want to take the elevator up and down a couple of times before we go?”
“I think I’ve got it.”
“Do it anyway. I don’t want to have four cameras rolling and have the elevator go down when it should go up.”
“Okay.”
George took the elevator up and down and announced that he was comfortable.
“Great,” Peter said. “Let’s try one.”
Peter had a walkie-talkie. “Okay,” he said to the first assistant director, who was on the ground. “Lock it up.”
“Lock it up,” the first AD yelled. “Lock it up!”
The sound mixer rang a bell as loud as a fire alarm. That was the signal for everyone to stop what they were doing and be quiet for the shot. It was also a signal for the policemen to stop traffic and keep the crowd back.
“Are we ready?” Peter said. “Okay, places, please. George into the elevator, Mark onto the side. All right, this is a take, we are going for picture. Roll it!” he said to his cameraman and into the walkie-talkie.
On the ground the first AD said, “Roll it!” to the other cameramen.
The sound mixer said, “Speed,” meaning his tape was rolling. The sound man was down below. The only microphone topside was a directional mike attached to the camera.
The cameraman clacked the slate in front of the lens. “Two-twenty-three double Papa, take one.”
“And, action!” Peter cried.
George took a deep breath and blew it out. He pulled the lever to the right and the construction elevator rose to the top. He slowed it slightly, and stopped it level with the floor as Kenny had showed him.
George pulled the door open and stepped out.
A breeze was blowing. He hadn’t noticed it before. He wondered if it had been there.
George moved out on the platform.
Teddy jumped down from the elevator.
George heard the sound and turned. He saw Teddy. Glanced around. There was no place to go.
George ran to the girder on the right. He stepped out on it and kept going.
Teddy followed. It was slightly windy, but he had no problem keeping his balance. He hoped George was all right. He hit his mark at ten feet. He stopped, looked down, and decided he wasn’t going any farther. He raised his gun at George’s back and fired.
The sound of the blank was loud.
The bullet presumably whistled past George’s head.
George kept going.
Teddy fired again.
And missed.
He fired again.
George ducked into the 180-degree spin move. It was perfect. He aimed the Sig Sauer straight at Teddy and fired.
The bullet glanced off Teddy’s ribs and knocked him backward off the beam, blood streaming from the blood bag and the wound. He fell in an awkward, helter-skelter heap.
Teddy knew he’d been shot. The thought raced through his mind, What a great take this is going to be for Peter.
Then everything went black.
81
Teddy came to in a hospital bed. He was vaguely aware of where he was. He blinked and tried to focus. There were a zillion tubes attached to him dripping fluids in and out. They restricted his movement, not that he was going anywhere. He hurt all over, a muted, dull pain. He figured one of the drips must be morphine. His pain was localized in his left leg, his head, and his chest. Just as he’d envisioned, the sniper had blown him off the beam. He should have trusted his instinct. Well, next time.
Tessa’s face appeared through the haze. “You’re awake! Thank God!”
“What are you doing here?”
“I was worried about you.”
“Why aren’t you on the set?”
“I’m done. Peter’s shooting your scenes now.”
“What?”
“When Peter found out you were going to make it, he called the stunt double, and he’s shooting him.”
“Is it working?”
“It’s working fine. Peter caught your fall on film—it was perfect, by the way—and so all he needs to shoot is the low beam. Peter knows camera angles, and he’s doing it with a stunt double.”
“Does he need me to shoot close-ups?”
“You couldn’t, even if he wanted you to. Your leg is broken, you were shot, and you have a concussion. Your head is wrapped in bandages. You look like a mummy.”
Teddy reached up and felt the bandage.
Tessa shook her head. “I begged you to use a double for the stunt.”