Kelly looked at Riordan, a thanks for the envelope. “I’m doing all right.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Riordan said.
“I can find it,” Ben said. “You’re busy.”
They watched Kelly drive away.
“So who were they? In the letter,” Riordan said.
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t say.”
“They wanted to find you in a hurry.”
“You know what I think? They don’t know. They were looking to me to tell them.”
Riordan made a face, skeptical. “Communists?”
“Haven’t you got enough?” Ben said, cocking his head toward the office.
Riordan didn’t bother to answer. “Maybe we’ll run into each other some time. Lunch at the Market.”
Ben headed for his car, then turned, watching Riordan go in. So who were they? Friedman. Someone the San Francisco operator didn’t have. A few names lodged somewhere in the back of his mind, the rest in a drawer, unavailable. He looked at the building, the guarded back door. Minot’s office would face the side street. He followed it toward the front entrance on Wilshire, trying to guess which windows were Minot’s. There, both open now, but locked tonight. High enough to require a jump to catch the sill. And then what? He saw himself dangling in the street, pulling himself up, breaking the window, the sound of smashing glass-impossible, something even the Partners would find absurd. The way into any office was through the door.
He skirted the building, going in through the Wilshire entrance. Also locked at night, presumably part of Frank’s rounds. He walked down the long hall to Minot’s office, then stood near the door. Behind the translucent glass he could hear voices, Dennis and the secretaries. Did they all go out to lunch together? But then they’d lock it. He looked at the doorknob, the keyhole in the middle. Something Frank could open with a master key, but not Ben.
A man came out of the next office and crossed the hall to the restroom, looking at him. Ben took the knob, pretending to enter, until he heard the men’s room door close, then noticed Frank turning the corner down the hall. He jerked his hand away and went into the next office. Statewide Insurance. An outer room with three secretaries.
“Yes? Are you here to see Mr. Herbert?”
“No, I–I think I’ve made a mistake. Congressman Minot?”
“Next door, on your right.”
“Thanks,” he said, hesitating, listening for Frank, then saw that she was waiting and that he had to move. He opened the door, and looked down, hiding his face. But Frank had passed. He hurried back to Wilshire, the files still behind him.
At the studio, people already knew Minot was going to make a move. The power of Hollywood gossip, Ben thought, impressed again, no warning flares needed.
“Bunny’s been with lawyers all day,” Hal said.
“But nothing’s happened.”
“It’s going to. Polly’s got a column tomorrow. She says it’s about time.”
“For what?”
“Housecleaning. Makes you think of a duster. Joan Leslie doing a little tidying up.”
Ben glanced at him, surprised at his tone. “But you’re all right. I mean-”
Hal nodded, smiling a little. “But you had to ask, didn’t you? Take a walk around the lot. You can feel it, people just waiting to see.”
Bunny came in without knocking.
“Oh good, both of you. How’s your head?” he said to Ben and then, at his expression, “You made the papers. Well, the burglar did. Some building.”
“Still a little sore.”
“Can you work? We need to get this wrapped up.”
“Sure. Why?”
“You think you’ve got a headache? Wait till the messengers get here with their little papers. Tomorrow? The next day? The suspense is killing us. Except it’s not going to. We stay on schedule.” He turned to Hal. “Two things. The overrun was not authorized. It’s an Army film, let Fort Roach do the processing.” He stopped, taking in Ben, too. “We bring it in on budget or we bail. I mean it. Second, I need to see you. In the office.” This to Hal, his voice lower.
“Me?”
“I want you to talk to the lawyers.”
Hal took a step back, his whole body a question mark.
“What’s going on?” Ben asked for him.
“You know Schaeffer, over at Fox?”
“We made a picture together,” Hal said, suddenly hoarse.
“Well, they’re going to want to know everything he ever said to you. The lawyers need to prep you.”
“Slow down a minute,” Ben said. “What’s going on?”
“A run-through,” Bunny said. “Rehearsal for taking on the majors. Minot wants to show them how disruptive this can be, what it can do to your business. Encourage them to be friendly. Just like we’re going to be,” he said, looking now at Hal. “All friendly witnesses. We understand the gravity of the situation. And he goes away and we close the door and we’re still here. Then it’s Jack’s turn and Zanuck’s and-and they won’t even have to be told. They watched him do it to us. Now, okay? My office. They’re waiting.”
Hal left without saying a word.
“Who else is going to be called?” Ben said.
“We’re not sure. We’re trying to anticipate.”
“Talk to him. I thought you were pals.”
“And what would I offer him? You? I gather you annoyed him. Even wounded.” He pointed to Ben’s head.
“I don’t want to make trouble for the studio. Do you need me to take a walk?”
“You’re not making trouble, he’s making trouble. We’re easy, the first bite. Small enough to chew and spit out. He thinks. You notice he’s not taking on Warners. Or Metro. Yet. Just somebody he can push around.” He looked up at Ben. “He wants to tear this industry apart. To make himself a star. So we help him. And then we help him move on.”
“You’re going to cooperate.”
Bunny glanced at his watch. “Now look at the time.” He raised his head, Ben’s eyes still on him. “I’m going to keep things going. Call Liesl, by the way, and get her in here. Sick day. We send somebody over there, and she’s off on some joyride with you. Don’t bother.” He held up his hand. “It wouldn’t even be good. The point is that we have to move up the picture. Tick, tock. We may have a hole in the schedule. We can’t go into Christmas without an A.”
“Why would you? Have a hole?”
“In case a picture’s in trouble,” Bunny said, turning away. “In case we had to shelve it.”
“If someone were testifying.”
Bunny looked at him, then put both hands to his temples. “Didn’t I tell you? It’s already starting. Why don’t you help and just save the questions?”
“Want an aspirin? You’ll feel better.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Bunny said, heading for the door.
“Bunny? Before you go?”
“I can’t hear you.”
“Studio have a locksmith?”
Bunny stopped, surprised.
“I’m having trouble with my door.”
“That’s all? Lucky you. Rogers. Carpenter shop. Two hundred and forty-one.” No detail too small.
Rogers, like everyone else, wanted to be in the movies.
“What kind of lock?”
“Like this,” Ben said, touching the doorknob, similar to Minot’s. “The scene calls for the guy to pick the lock. Trouble is nobody knows how it’s actually done. So I figured you-”
“You don’t need a pro for that. Anybody could pick that. Get a Yale. Maybe a dead bolt. You can stretch the scene.”
“But this is what we have.”
“You only find these in buildings like this. Standard spring, the guards are the security. Hotels, sometimes. They’re cheaper. The door chain’s your real lock. This is a heist? They’d have to pick something a lot stronger.”
“No, just an office. So maybe he’s not a pro. How easy is it?”
Rogers took a slender rod from his tool belt and, holding the door ajar, inserted the rod, flicking it up in one quick motion that released the lock.
“That’s it? Show me.”
“This groove here. Put her in there, all the way to the right, then up. You’re going to do this in close-up? You’re better off with a Yale.”
Ben tried it twice before it worked.
“Can I borrow this?”