“But …”
“I can tell from the kinds of questions you were asking a few minutes ago that you want to talk to the police. This business about sex, for instance. From the police investigation of this case, I think you’re on the right track. But I’m not at all sure it’ll come up during the trial.”
Turner exuded triumph. “See? I told you, Teddy: It’s a police story. If I said it once, I said it a million times: It’s a police story.”
Good, Kleimer thought. One of the idiots is happy. Now to make sure the other one doesn’t go away angry. “Actually, this approach may make your job easier. I suppose one of your problems is that the real life story isn’t over yet.”
Kleimer had not recovered from his initial amazement that they would attempt to portray an event whose conclusion was still unknown. He suspended disbelief for the moment. “You know your business far better than I, but it seems to me you’d be doing yourselves a favor by starting your film with the police work on this case. Then time would be on your side. You could work right into the trial. Like I said, you know your business better than I, but this procedure does seem logical.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Turner was enthusiastic. “It’s a police story.”
Kleimer was drawing the obvious conclusion that Walberg was a court nut while Turner loved police work.
“Well …” Walberg had lost an edge on his self-assurance. “… you are going to convict, aren’t you … the priest, I mean?”
“Put your bottom dollar on it.” Kleimer smirked.
Good-byes were said with promises to get back together as this venture proceeded. The odd couple left.
No sooner were they gone than Kleimer was on the phone.
“I know this isn’t the kind of return favor we talked about, Quirt, and we’re still in the ballpark of working on a promotion for you. But I’ve got something that will tide you over for a little. Are you alone?
“Well, then, find a place where you can be alone. You’re about to get some visitors who just might change your life. I’ll tell you all about it…”
With Kleimer’s forewarning, Quirt was preparing himself.
First he secured an interrogation room, guaranteeing privacy for himself and his prospective visitors.
Then he used his electric razor, patted down his thinning hair, and tightened his belt several notches until he had a real problem breathing comfortably. Finally, he made sure someone would greet the visitors and have them cool their heels for a while. He didn’t want to seem too eager.
All was ready. Quirt was prepared. At the last moment, he decided to let them wait just a little longer.
Armand Turner looked about with ill-concealed disgust. “This reminds me of the sign you’ve got on your desk.”
“Which-oh, you mean ‘This Mess Is a Place.’”
“Exactly.”
“You’re right, of course. But isn’t it perfect?”
“It doesn’t look like any police headquarters ever seen on TV. Most of them look as if someone has at least mopped within the previous five years.”
“Forget TV for a moment, Mondo. This quite obviously is reality.”
“Screw reality! Audiences will never accept such a tawdry scene. Our headquarters will have to measure up to what the audience expects.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Remember our budget. What if we can get them to let us film here? We’ve got to keep thinking economy. Already I’m thinking about that church … what was it?”
“Ste. Anne’s.”
“Ste. Anne’s, right. I’m sure they’ll let us use the interiors. Save us a wad not having to build those sets. Add a measure of reality, too. We can use this kind of stuff in the teasers: ‘The actual room where the bishop was clubbed to death,’ ‘Where he prayed before being martyred’ … that sort of stuff.”
“You’ve got a point, Teddy. I must admit I wouldn’t be unhappy losing these vomit-green walls.” His face brightened. “But hey, now that we’re talking budget, just what do we have? I mean, just to recapitulate. The event?”
“The cold-blooded murder of a Roman Catholic bishop by a Roman Catholic priest.”
“That does have a ring to it. The TV players?”
“Gold Coast Enterprises and a cable network.”
“Right. The reaction time?”
“A month or less. There’s a very definite limit to audience attention span when it comes to murder in Detroit. Even when both the victim and murderer are Catholic clergymen.”
“Right. The payoff?”
“We can look for a ceiling of about two seventy-five. So far we haven’t had to pay off anyone. But that’ll begin soon enough.”
“The problem is, everybody thinks TV pays like the big screen where six figures are what’s served for breakfast.”
“Let’s just hope our detective-what’s his name?… Quirt … doesn’t think he’s worth auctioning Disney Studios for.”
“Moving right along: the story spin?”
“How ’bout, ‘Changing Church explodes as priest kills bishop.’”
“Mmm … a little weak … but okay for beginners,” he concluded. “And, lastly, the problem?
“No ending.”
“The price you have to pay for being first on the scene.”
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Mondo, I just remembered something. It just dawned on me why I thought this place was so perfect. Beverly Hills Cop! Remember?”
“How could anyone forget Beverly-oh, I see: The opening was filmed in Detroit. Right here in these rooms, wasn’t it? Okay, so I guess if the movie had the ‘typical Detroit headquarters,’ viewers would wonder why Detroit had cleaned up its act. We almost have to use these interiors, for the simple reason that Eddie Murphy did.”
“And” — Walberg rubbed his hands together-” think of the savings!”
Quirt entered the hallway. Self-introductions were made. The lieutenant ushered the moviemakers into the small room ordinarily used for interrogations.
“We were admiring your decor.…” Walberg waved his arm in an encompassing way.
“Our what?”
“The colors, the furnishings.” More gestures.
Quirt’s eyes popped. He leaned forward. “This shit?”
“We were thinking of it more in terms of vomit,” Turner said.
“Yeah,” Quirt agreed, “puke is more like it.”
“You must’ve been here when they filmed Beverly Hills Cop, weren’t you?” Walberg asked.
Quirt nodded.
“Did you have to vacate the premises while they filmed?”
“What?” Quirt looked mock-astonished. “They didn’t shoot here. They couldn’t. This is a pretty busy place. They had to build their own sets.” He nodded. “But they did manage to capture the pukey atmosphere all right.”
“Well, Teddy …” Turner turned to his partner in slime. “At least it won’t be very expensive to recreate this place. And it’ll be an appropriate setting for the language.”
“The language?” Quirt’s brows knotted questioningly. “You gonna have cops wandering around using the F word the way they did in Beverly Hills Cop? I gotta tell you guys, that ain’t real. I mean, our guys are not unfamiliar with the word. They just don’t talk like that … especially on the job.”
Turner sighed deeply. “We’re not in the business of teaching viewers about reality. We give them what they’re familiar with.”
“But” — Walberg changed the subject-” speaking of business, I guess Mr. Kleimer called and told you what we wanna do.”
Quirt nodded enthusiastically.
“We want,” Walberg continued, “to tell the tragic story of Bishop Diego’s murder, and help people understand why it happened.”
“Why it happened?” Quirt repeated. “Even we don’t know that for sure. We think Diego pushed the priest-Carleson-too hard.”
“Don’t worry,” Walberg said. “We’ll find more than one reason.”
“Was there any sex?” Turner asked.
“Sex?”
“Were either of them-or both-gay?”