Chapter Two Thousand One Hundred Forty-Six
13th June 1972
Los Angeles
Getting a call from Brad Bennett was unexpected. Ritchie had not talked to the Producer in over a year and had assumed that he wasn’t interested. Today though, he had called Ritchie at home out of the blue and offered to pay him a consulting fee just for showing up. Considering how Ritchie knew that money was tight at the moment, getting paid to spend half an hour talking to that shark and then having nothing come of it again wouldn’t be too great a hardship. Arriving at film set that was made to look like a barroom covered in broken glass and shattered furniture. Ritchie had seen scenes like this many times in real life, except there was no evidence of the work of Paramedics, blood, or broken bodies anywhere. It was an example of the oddly bloodless, consequence free world of Network television and a reminder of why Ritchie didn’t watch a whole lot of those shows.
“Ritchie!” Bennett called out, “Good you made it.”
He was immediately there shaking Ritchie’s hand. Like always Ritchie was concerned that he might come up a digit of two short afterwards. He had to almost run to keep up with the Producer as Bennett started walking in the direction of the trailers parked just outside the filmset.
“You are paying me” Ritchie replied, and Bennett laughed.
“Straight to the point” Bennett said as he opened the door on one of the trailers and stepped inside. “That is what I like about you.”
Stepping inside, Ritchie noticed that the air-conditioning was on full blast. It was easy to see why someone like Bennett would need refrigeration, he thought to himself. For the same reason that the warehouse in the Los Angeles Morgue was refrigerated. That was something else that was unlikely to ever be seen on television. People thought that it would be antiseptic with stainless steel drawers and whatnot. They would probably be horrified that it was entirely too big an operation for that sort of thing and that the Coroner, and his large staff ran it like any other industrial operation around the clock. That included forklifts and shelving units.
“I got beer, water, or soda” Bennett said rummaging around in the gally kitchen of the trailer. “Want one?”
Seeing the expensive brands of water in the refrigerator, Ritchie made the choice that he figured was least likely to leave him beholden to Bennett.
“I’ll take a soda” Ritchie said.
“Good call” Bennett replied, handing Ritchie a can of Coke.
“Just what did you want?” Ritchie asked.
“It’s all about this” Bennett said as he fiddled with video equipment. A moment later, a recording from a helicopter filled the screen. It was nighttime and the City was brightly lit up like always. The camera focused in on the highway below and a dozen police cars in pursuit of a single car in a highspeed chase. Ritchie recognized it from the events of a couple weeks earlier.
“And look at that” Bennett said, as another patrol car raced down a ramp and just blasted past the cars already in pursuit. “You made them look like if they were barely moving.”
Exactly how Bennett had gotten the tape and learned of Ritchie’s involvement were two questions that instantly came to mind.
“This is the best part” Bennett continued, as the car being pursued raced ahead even as the cars pursuing him were slowing down as fast as they could, right into a sharp left-hand turn while going around three times the speed limit. “He just ate it there. Yeah, I know it’s a tragedy and all, but everyone knew that guy was an asshole.”
Ritchie didn’t find the matter the least bit amusing, someone had died stupidly. Los Angeles being what it was, the fact that particular someone happened to be a washed up, drug addicted former child actor made it huge news.
“This is what you called me about?” Ritchie asked.
“Sort of” Bennett said, “I saw this and wow, you cannot pay for this sort of action, and this gives you loads of credibility.”
“Your point is?” Ritchie asked.
Bennett looked a bit annoyed that Ritchie didn’t seem the least bit interested in getting buttered up. “Alright” He said, “As you know the corporate parent of this company makes big budget movies, not just in America but for an international audience. Recently, an expert in the German Army took a meat axe to a script when they are hoping to get official support on the production. He went to the German Imperial War Museum and got written accounts of the events in question. Seriously, who the fuck does that?”
Bennett threw his hands up in exasperation. Ritchie knew how Screen Writers, Producers, and Directors often played fast and loose with things, not allowing little things like actual history or facts to get in the way of telling a story. It seemed that someone on the other side of the Atlantic was a bit more of a stickler than they figured they would have to deal with.
“So, we have the Writers freaking out and the Studio is pissed. The German Army is backing their guy because he obviously did his homework and suggested that they are withdrawing their support unless all the revisions are made. Someone made the mistake of calling the German Expert and discovered that they have no idea of how to talk to someone like that” Bennett continued, “I told them that I knew someone who could, that we had an expert of our own.”
“You are hoping that I can speak to this Military Expert?” Ritchie asked, “You are aware that I don’t work for you?”
“I am aware of that” Bennett replied, “I figured we would work something out.”
“Getting me to fix this mess for you will not be cheap” Ritchie said, “Even by your standards.”
