The 16mm Caper

Chapter 36

Peter pulled up in front of the Hughes building and parked in one of the guest spots near the entrance. He checked the mirror for the taxi they had seen following from Dylan's house and saw it cruise to a stop down the block on the opposite side of the street. A light rain began, and the windows spotted quickly.

"She's here."

"Let's hope to hell we can do this deal fast." Dylan grabbed the bag from the back and followed Peter to the door of the building.

Inside they paid little notice to the chrome and glass décor and the huge abstract paintings that hung like mobiles from wires anchored in the ceiling several floors up. And they ignored the free hanging granite steps that curved up to the reception area. Both men were totally focused on seeing Ralston Hughes and seeing his cheque for half a million dollars.

"May I help you?" A young, nervous looking woman perched daintily behind a massive polished teak desk, with an ice white computer keyboard and a headset, the only décor a crystal vase of roses.

"Peter Rabb to see Mr. Hughes."

The woman tapped a few keys and announced Peter then indicated the only door leading from the reception area. "Through there. Mr. Ralston will see you inside."

Dylan gave Peter an eye shrug, and they pushed through the big door into a very conventional office area with standard desks and equipment. At the end of a short corridor another timid looking woman stood, hands clasped and a weak, welcoming smile.

"Right this way gentlemen, please." They followed her into the end workplace and stopped as Ralston Hughes finished driving a real golf ball into the padded wall at the back of his office.

"Looks like everything is out front with this guy," Dylan murmured.

"I dunno, check out the TV, and those clubs are not from Walmart."

Ralston turned and leaned on his driver, examining the two men. "Who's this?" He lifted a square chin toward Dylan. The woman stuttered their names and waited to be dismissed, which she was, with a wave of the club.

"You have the material?"

"You have the money?" Peter replied.

Ralston stood his club in the corner and sat behind his desk. "I'll give you that one 'cause you have never done business with me before, but one is all you get. Now, have you got the material?"

"Right here." Peter held up his bag.

"Let's have a look. Last time I got screwed for a copy."

"I assure you this is the original of both the film and the poster art."

Ralston accepted the bag, taking out and unrolling the poster. "Crappy design."

"Consistent with the era," Peter offered. Ralston snorted, tossing the poster on his desk and opening the film can. "I'd handle that with extreme care, sir; it can't be replaced."

Ignoring the warning, Ralston stretched out a foot of film and held it up to the light, snorted again and then replaced it in the can. "Right." He opened a file folder and shoved some papers across the desk. "Sign these."

"What are they?" Peter picked one up and began reading.

"Guarantees."

Peter handed the papers to Dylan to read. "I'd like to see a bank draft or a certified cheque for the amount you offered before I sign anything."

Dylan held up a hand. "Excuse me a sec. This bit in here about all rights and privileges. We've already entertained bids from other major parties. Secrecy is out of our hands."

"Guess we'll have to reconsider our offer then."

Peter swore and leaned his knuckles on the desk. "We had a deal. You knew you weren't the only player in the game. This is bullshit!"

"When I'm in the game I am the only player, Sport." Ralston sat up and traded Peter glare for glare.

"C'mon, Dylan, we're outta here." Peter picked up the film can and the poster and turned toward the door.

"Hold on." Ralston stood and came around his desk. "You got balls, kid, I'll give you that. Not many would turn down that kind of money so easily." He took a piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to Peter.

The figure of one half million dollars captured Peter's eyes like glue, and he stood speechless, holding his breath then slowly handed it to Dylan who mirrored his performance.

"Why the hassle then?"

"No deal should be like buying milk at the supermarket," Ralston huffed good-naturedly. "You have to have a little conflict, a little abrasion. Let everybody feel they fought the good fight."

"Marvellous. What about your papers?"

"Just the part about this being the only version and surrendering all future claims will do; I'll cross out the rest and initial it. We both get a copy."

Dylan looked at Peter and shrugged. Peter looked at Ralston and nodded. The changes were made, the papers signed and after a brief handshake, they left shaking, the bank draft clutched in sweaty hands. Down on the street passing pedestrians gave the whooping pair a wide berth, unsure whether to join in their display of joy in the sputtering rain or depart with haste.

"Party time, boys?" Peter and Dylan stumbled together as they came face to face with a smiling Vera. "Your meeting must have been a success."

"I don't know what your problem is lady, but you are too late, we just sold the film, so this business is finished." Peter slipped the draft into his pocket and stood, tensed.

Vera folded her arms and shifted her weight to one leg. "You think I really care about your film? I have other priorities to salve."

"What are you talking about? What priorities?"

"Repayment for getting stabbed in the leg and sprayed in the face." She smiled at his discomfort.

"What about the beating some of us took from you? I'd say we were all even." He waited a moment and then grabbed Dylan's arm. "C'mon, we have things to do."

Vera blocked his path and rested a pair of fingers on his shoulder sending a tingle of pain down his arm. "Don't move, or it will be permanent." Peter gasped and slumped slightly. "Who has the film?"

"I thought you didn't ca--" He groaned as the pain shot down his arm.

"Ralston Hughes," Dylan blurted. "Now let him go."

Vera turned her feline smile on Dylan and let her eyes linger on his. "Nice family you have . . . Dylan." She let her hand slide from Peter's shoulder and he groaned again. "We should all do dinner sometime." Dylan grabbed Peter's arm and steadied him as they watched her stroll away and into the Hughes building, oblivious to the increasing rain.

"Let's get the hell out of here." Peter let his friend help him to the car.