But the film club was Reyn’s baby, he was its president, and though he understood the importance of what they were doing, he was not willing to get society members involved without their consent. So he came up with the idea of honestly explaining the situation and comparing it to a similar predicament in a film. Gary, Reyn and Stacy were all fairly well versed in cinematic history, but they still had a difficult time coming up with an appropriate parallel. As Reyn said, they not only had to engage the students on a real, personal level, but they needed to pick a film that would speak to them on a snobbish intellectual basis. They needed something from a director with enough cachet to lure them into action.
They’d finally settled on calling Gary’s dilemma “Hitchcockian.”
“You’re Cary Grant in North by Northwest,” Reyn enthused. “You’re Robert Cummings in Saboteur, wanted by the criminals and the police, with nowhere to turn.”
“And there’s a woman in jeopardy,” Stacy said, putting a hand on Gary’s arm to soften the words.
“Okay,” Gary had agreed.
Now the three of them stood, along with Brian, at the head of this warm, windowless room, turning the real events of his life over the past week and a half into a suspenseful narrative for an audience of movie fans, trivializing the life-and-death stakes of Joan’s situation in an effort to convince people who didn’t necessarily know or care about her into helping them capture an Outsider.
A couple of them did know her, and Gary could see on their faces expressions of shock and horror, along with the determination to do all they could to help. But among the others there were questions. One young woman wearing thick black-framed glasses and a scowl said, “You brought us here under false pretenses. This has nothing whatsoever to do with our mission or with film. I was under the impression we were going to be planning our series for this semester.”
“Fuck off,” Brian told her.
Reyn raised a hand to calm them both down. “Kate,” he said gently. “I know this is a little unorthodox, and you’re right—it’s not something that directly concerns the film society. But it is an emergency, I’m involved with it, and of course when I needed help, the first people I thought of were all of you.” He gestured toward the group before focusing again on her. “Although I completely understand if you don’t want to get involved.”
She sat down without offering a response, but she did not walk out and leave.
“It sounds like it’s going to be dangerous,” worried Max Lezama. Gary knew him slightly. He had the physique of a young Don Knotts and some of the same skittish mannerisms.
“I don’t think so,” Gary said. “Yes, we are going to try and detain one of them for questioning”—he realized that he sounded like a cop—“but that would not be your job. We just need you to stand around and look threatening, maybe block their escape route or kind of herd them in the right direction so we can apprehend them.”
Max nodded his understanding.
“What if it doesn’t work?” another student wondered.
“Why don’t you just call the police?” Kate wanted to know. She was still scowling. Gary thought it was probably her natural expression.
“I hate that chick,” Brian whispered next to him.
“If it doesn’t work… well, we’ll have to come up with something else,” Reyn said. “As for why we don’t call the police, I think we’ve already explained that.” He raised his hands for silence. “I think you all know what we need. There’s no reason to keep debating it. Those who want to help, come up here and talk to Gary. He’ll fill you in on the details. The rest of you? I’ll see you next week for our first regular meeting.” He looked at Kate. “We will be planning our fall film series.”
Kate picked up her books and left. Max and another student, as overweight as Max was underweight, guiltily sneaked out together, but the eight students who remained were ready and willing to help.
“What do you need us to do?” asked Ed Eisenberg, a tall, athletic guy who’d joined the film society last semester and had an aesthete’s taste for Antonioni’s ennui and a lowbrow love of American action flicks.
“I don’t think the Outsiders will do anything in public,” Gary said. “Not after everything that’s happened. And I doubt they’ll strike unless they’re sure it will be successful. So we have to give them the illusion of isolation and make them think I am completely vulnerable. I’m thinking of that memorial path, the one that goes through those pine trees and is nowhere near any buildings.” He looked from Reyn to Stacy to Brian. “I’m going to e-mail each of you and tell you how much I need solitude after my ordeal. I’ll also call each of you during the afternoon, on cell phones and landlines, and tell you how much I like that path and how I like to walk there at night.”
“Do you really think they’ll show up?” Stacy asked.
Gary shrugged. “Who knows? I hope so. If they really want to get to me, this would be the perfect opportunity.”
“There’s one thing I don’t get,” Brian said. “Sheriff Watt. If he’s in on this, why did he let you go? Why didn’t he keep you there and hand you over to those Outsiders instead of sending you back here so they can go through that whole kidnapping thing again?”
“I have no idea,” Gary said.
“It’s a mystery,” Reyn conceded.
“Maybe we’ll find out when we interrogate those guys.” Gary turned to the film society students. “What we need to do now is go out to that path and figure out where everyone’s going to hide and what their role is going to be. We need to have at least one person staked out there all day, in case they come to check the place out themselves. We don’t want them beating us to the punch. Is everybody free right now?”
There were nods all around.
“Then let’s do it.”
As a group, the twelve of them passed through the center of UCLA, heading toward the hilly north end of campus. Gary kept his eyes peeled as they walked, checking sidewalks and stairways, buildings and open areas for anyone wearing primitive, hand-sewn farming clothes. He saw no one suspicious, though he hadn’t expected to, and that was no surprise. What was a surprise was how perfect the memorial path turned out to be for their purposes. He’d remembered it from a walking tour of the campus he’d taken as part of freshman orientation two years ago, but he hadn’t been there since, and while his perception of the place was that it was remote-seeming and removed from the main body of the campus with its crowded walkways and buildings, he hadn’t expected it to so closely fit their needs. Not only was the narrow, winding path lined with trees, but there were bushes and boulders, a carefully constructed imitation of wild nature that offered plenty of hiding spots and multiple vantage points.
And very few lights along the way.
They walked slowly up the wooded trail, scouting locations along its half-mile length. Gary made it clear that he wanted every segment of the path covered, though he let each individual choose a hiding spot that was most comfortable for him or her. Because there were only twelve of them, and because there were parts of the path so curvy that adjacent segments could not be seen ten feet away from each other, it was decided that the long, straight sections at the beginning and end of the trail need not be covered. The entrance was close to the university’s physical plant, which meant that there would probably be other people nearby, and the walkway ended at a parking lot, which would also be pretty public.