Chapter 11 #2
Perkins looked at me as if he thought I might not be a man of my word, even after all the time we’d spent together. I was insulted. I mean, for Christ’s sake, even publicity men have some standards. I just hoped Mann wouldn’t ask me in too much detail about what happened that day.
“What now?” I asked.
“The limousine driver,” Perkins said.
“What about him?”
“I want to talk to him.”
* * *
Max was not in the bar, or in the restaurant. I asked around while Perkins waited impatiently. One of the teamsters said Max had gone to the Snake Eyes Bar. I knew where that was.
The Snake Eyes was a teamster favorite. I should tell you that the teamsters on a movie company are not part of the general group.
They do all the transportation, but they belong to a powerful union that is mostly non-movie, and they are a sort of different breed anyway.
They tend to hang out among themselves, separate from everybody else.
And they liked the Snake Eyes. It was a go-go bar frequented by cowboys and other rugged local customers.
I had been there once, the first week of production, and hadn’t liked it much.
Going back now, I still didn’t like it. It was a rude place, air-conditioned too much.
It was so cold in there that the girls wearing little buckskin bikinis had goose bumps on their arms and legs.
The rest of the place was dark and bare—a few wood tables, a wood floor with sawdust. It was almost like a cheap imitation of the cheap imitation saloon we had on the set, except for the go-go dancers. We found Max hunched over a beer.
Perkins sat down and ignored the dancers. He had his back to them, while Max was facing them and never took his eyes off the girls all the time they were talking.
“I want to know about your trip to the airport to deliver the shot film to the plane.”
Max shrugged. “It’s the same every day. I leave around seven thirty. I put all the magazines in the trunk and drive to the airport. Then I come back.”
“Alone?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes somebody has a reason to go to the airport, and they hitch a ride.” He shook his head. “Look at the knockers on her.”
“Let me buy you a drink,” Perkins said. “What’ll you have?”
“I’ll have a highball,” Max said, and beckoned to the waiter. “Bourbon and ginger.”
“Two,” Perkins said, without the slightest grimace at all.
“Scotch and water,” I said.
“I usually drink bourbon and ginger or Seven and Seven,” Max said.
“Very smooth drinks,” Perkins said. “Now, on Tuesday night, was someone with you?”
“Yeah, Mr. Mann. He wanted to go to the airport.”
“Uh-huh. Had he ever gone with you before?”
“No.”
“Why did he go that night?”
“He said he had to check on some plane tickets for actors.”
“Did you buy that?”
“Well, I tell you,” Max said, smiling at the thought. “Mr. Mann could have sent somebody else to do it. But lots of times he does things himself because he’s suspicious, you know?”
“Yes, I know,” Perkins said. “How was he that night?”
“A little edgy.”
“You make any stops on the way?”
“Well, here’s the thing,” Max said. “I needed gas for the limo, and I told him. I wanted to get it on the way back because it was around seven forty, and I didn’t want to miss the flight for the film.
He said okay, but then he said he had to hit the john, so he made me stop at the next station.
And I figured, hell, I’m already here, so I got her gassed up. ”
“You stayed with the car?”
“Sure. Well, I went to the can myself after he came out.”
“So you were away from the car for a few moments.”
“Well, you know, long enough to take a leak.”
“Do you remember which station it was?”
“Yeah, it was Harry’s Exxon. Just about halfway between here and the airport, maybe nine miles from here, on the north side of the highway.”
“Thank you,” Perkins said, standing up.
The drinks came. Max looked a little confused.
“You drink mine for me,” Perkins said, and he left, and I went running after him, as soon as I’d paid for the drinks.
“Hey!” Max called to us, just before the door closed. “How can you walk out on knockers like that?”
* * *
By now it was eight thirty at night, and I was very tired and hungry, but Perkins was energized. He wanted to go to Harry’s Exxon, and he wanted to go immediately.
So we drove out, and Harry’s was still open, but they were getting ready to close.
Perkins jumped out of the car and went directly for the trash cans, which were big old oil drums painted white and located behind the washrooms. Perkins was wearing his spiffy clothes as usual, but he was rummaging like a bum in the trash.
“What’re you looking for?” I asked.
“Aha!” he said, and then he came up with a can of film in his hand. It was sealed, and it had the studio emblem on it. This was obviously the missing can of film.
“We’re lucky they didn’t pick up the trash in the last two days,” he said. “We’ve saved the company some reshooting.”
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Mann must have taken that film and tossed it away while Max was in the bathroom. But what was the point?”
“No point, as it turned out,” Perkins said. “It was all a mistake.”
“What do you mean?”
“He threw out the wrong can.”
* * *
By around nine thirty, I was getting really hungry, but Perkins said he wanted to go out to the shooting location.
“Now?” I asked.
“Yes, now.”
“But it’s late at night.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “We have to go prevent another murder.”