Toby was listening, his eyes fastened on Landry. “What happened.”
“Caruso’s goons took a meat cleaver and cut off the guy’s prick. They soaked it in gasoline and set it on fire while the guy watched. Then they left him to bleed to death.”
Toby remembered Caruso saying, Open up his pants, and the hard hands fumbling at his zipper, and Toby broke out in a cold sweat. He felt suddenly sick to his stomach. He knew now with an awful certainty that there was no escape.
Josephine found an escape when she was ten. It was a door to another world where she could hide from her mother’s punishments and the constant threat of Hell-fire and Damnation. It was a world filled with magic and beauty. She would sit in the darkened movie house hour after hour and watch the glamorous people on the screen. They all lived in beautiful houses and wore lovely clothes, and they were all so happy. And Josephine thought, I will go to Hollywood one day and live like that. She hoped that her mother would understand.
Her mother believed that movies were the thoughts of the Devil, so Josephine had to sneak away to the theater, using money she earned by baby-sitting. The picture that was playing today was a love story, and Josephine leaned forward in joyous anticipation as it began. The credits came on first. They read, “Produced by Sam Winters.”
12
There were days when Sam Winters felt as though he were running a lunatic asylum instead of a motion-picture studio, and that all the inmates were out to get him. This was one of those days, for the crises were piled a foot high. There had been another fire at the studio the night before—the fourth; the sponsor of “My Man Friday” had been insulted by the star of the series and wanted to cancel the show; Bert Firestone, the studio’s boy-genius director, had shut down production in the middle of a five-million-dollar picture; and Tessie Brand had walked out on a picture that was scheduled to start shooting in a few days.
The fire marshal and the studio comptroller were in Sam’s office.
“How bad was last night’s fire?” Sam asked.
The comptroller said, “The sets are a total loss, Mr. Winters. We’re going to have to rebuild Stage Fifteen completely. Sixteen is fixable, but it will take us three months.”
“We haven’t got three months,” Sam snapped. “Get on the phone and rent some space at Goldwyn. Use this weekend to start building new sets. Get everybody moving.”
He turned to the fire marshal, a man named Reilly, who reminded Sam of George Bancroft, the actor.
“Somebody sure as hell don’t like you, Mr. Winters,” Reilly said. “Each fire has been a clear case of arson. Have you checked on grunts?”
Grunts were disgruntled employees who had been recently fired or who felt they had a grievance against their employer.
“We’ve gone through all the personnel files twice,” Sam replied. “We haven’t come up with a thing.”
“Whoever is setting these babies knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s using a timing device attached to a homemade incendiary. He could be an electrician or a mechanic.”
“Thanks,” Sam said. “I’ll pass that on.”
“Roger Tapp is calling from Tahiti.”
“Put him on,” Sam said. Tapp was the producer of “My Man Friday,” the television series being shot in Tahiti, starring Tony Fletcher.
“What’s the problem?” Sam asked.
“You won’t fucking believe this, Sam. Philip Heller, the chairman of the board of the company that’s sponsoring the show, is visiting here with his family. They walked on the set yesterday afternoon, and Tony Fletcher was in the middle of a scene. He turned to them and insulted them.”
“What did he say?”
“He told them to get off his island.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“That’s who he thinks he is. Heller’s so mad he wants to cancel the series.”
“Get over to Heller and apologize. Do it right now. Tell him Tony Fletcher’s having a nervous breakdown. Send Mrs. Heller flowers, take them to dinner. I’ll talk to Tony Fletcher myself.”
The conversation lasted thirty minutes. It began with Sam saying, “Hear this, you stupid cocksucker…” and ended with, “I love you, too, baby. I’ll fly over there to see you as soon as I can get away. And for God’s sake, Tony, don’t lay Mrs. Heller!”