The 16mm Caper

Chapter 9

The weather was stubbornly trying to stay cool and damp, but a persistent sun kept popping out of the clouds and bumping the temperature ever higher. Peter found that his leather jacket was too warm, and he unzipped it, letting the breeze get at his body. He had about two hours work at the theatre arranging for rentals and replacing inventory then he was free until the first show at seven that evening.

In the meanwhile he was going to hound dear old Harv until he had an answer to his question.

Mary wheeled into her parking place at the agency, scraping the bottom of the front bumper on the cement barrier and taking time to curse loudly before opening the door and rushing inside. There were a few catcalls about the reason for her tardiness as she hurried down to her office and she grimaced good-naturedly, skidding to a halt beside her desk.

A large pink slip sat on the blotter with a message reading: Meeting at nine!!! Mary checked her watch and saw that she was ten minutes late. She tossed her stuff on the chair, grabbed her notepad and hustled down to the boardroom.

"Nice of you to drop in, Miss Wendlestat, we were almost afraid to start without you since you are the recently celebrated flavour of the month."

"I'm sorry, I have no excuse you'd care to hear about. I'll make it up somehow."

"Indeed you will, Miss Wendlestat. Projects have already been assigned, so you are relegated to liaison support this quarter."

Liaison support meant general gopher for all the project leaders; it was the equivalent of hell. Mary's face collapsed in dismay as the other team members avoided eye contact, gathering their papers and leaving quietly.

"But it was only ten minutes, Christopher, how could all the assignments have been made in ten minutes?" Her voice was pleading and she hated the sound.

"Not only are you late, Mary, but your timepiece must be following the same example. We started forty-five minutes ago."

Her boss closed his notebook and came around the table, holding a guiding hand out for her to precede him out the door. "Just the breaks of the business, nothing personal."

She stood slumped, watching his jaunty retreat.

******

"You can say what you like, pal, I did not tell anyone about our business. As a matter of fact, if you read the form you signed you will notice that we have a confidentiality clause printed right on the form."

"Look, Harv. You were the only guys to see it, what am I supposed to think?"

"How did you find us?"

Peter bit his tongue and muttered an oath. "The Film Institute. Shit. But He didn't know what it was or anything about it."

"Hang on a sec." Peter heard the phone bang on the desk and then loud talking in the background. A minute later he came back on the line. "Somebody wants to talk to you."

"Hello?" The voice sounded nervous and upset.

"Who's this?"

"Cheryl. I made out the form, remember?"

"Oh yeah..."

"I'm the one who told." Peter didn't answer. "A friend of mine at the institute promised me a reward if I passed along any interesting information on our work here. Your film fit that description."

"Who's your friend, Cheryl?"

"Freddy Fisk. He's the guy you spoke to there. I'm really sorry, Mister Rabb. I'll probably get fired now."

"Thanks for telling me, Cheryl. Give me Harv back."

"Yeah."

"Unless you have other reasons, don't be tough on her. I'll chase down this Fisk guy. Sorry about the accusation."

"He's a greedy little prick. Cheryl's a good kid; I'll just use this to scare her for a while. We square?"

"Yep. See you, Harv." Peter hung up, a twinge of sympathy for the girl appearing and disappearing just as quickly.

The Film Society office was all entrance and reception, designed to impress only. Freddy Fisk arrived through a small door at one end of the elaborate room, his head tilted in curiosity as he crossed to where Peter waited.

"Can I help you?"

"We spoke on the phone a while ago. My name is Rabb, Peter Rabb."

Freddy clasped his hands and tongued the roof of his mouth. "Aah . . ." A sudden recollection of his encounter in the parking lot flashed painfully in his mind.

"Yeah, aaah. You told someone about the call I made to you about a film restorer, and don't bother to deny it. I've already talked to Cheryl."

Freddy danced backwards bent slightly at the waist. "Uh, I'm afraid--"

"With good reason, Freddy. You either tell me who you told or I go to your supervisor. Right now, no bullshit."

Without a beat, he responded. "It was a man named Ralston Hughes. I have his number in my office." His demeanour was one of total defeat and supplication. "I'll get it and come right back."

"You'd better." Peter hitched his pants like James Cagney after knocking down the bad guys.

Freddy was back before Peter could sit down again, and when he saw the number on the card he nodded as if having finally solved a conundrum.

******

Peter stood and waved as Mary came into the restaurant. He stayed on his feet until she reached the table and they sat together.

"You still upset about work?" He waved to a waiter and poured her a glassful of the house wine. "You didn't get in trouble did you?"

"No, I just got a shit job for the next three months because I was late."

"Is that agency talk for an unpleasant task?" She screwed up her face at him. "Listen, I found out how the creepy person got onto us."

He explained what had happened and what he had done, embellishing his intimidation of Freddy the Fink as they ordered their food and then what he planned to do, as they ate.

"Do you think you should be confronting these people? I mean what if they get- you know- violent?"

"Mary. I work with movies, remember? Things like that only happen on the screen. Why would anyone get violent for heaven's sake?"

"You were the one that told me that the Cat Woman seemed sinister. And now you just finished relating how you terrified some film fink or whatever."

"Right, okay. But when I tell them that the film is not for sale, that'll end it."

"If you say so. What have you done with it?"

"The film? It's in Harv's safe for now. My DVD copy I'll stick in my office safe at the theatre."

She wiped her mouth and checked her watch. "What time are you, this was wrong when I got to work." He told her and she began gathering her things. "Gotta go, Rabb. Can't be late again, I'm liable to get another 'unpleasant task'."

"That would be shitty." He smiled as she pecked his cheek and hurried out of the restaurant.

Douglas sat up and watched as she came out and headed for her car. The engine of the big limousine growled to life.