Page 72 of All That Glitters
“What happened with the footage you already shot?” Tony asked, trying to assess just how catastrophic this setback was.
Craig reached into his battered denim jacket and pulled out a hard drive about the size of a paperback book. “Got it all right here. They can take our lights, they can take our cameras, but they can’t take our footage.” He patted the drive like it wasa cherished pet. “Been downloadin’ it every night, just in case somethin’ like this happened.”
Tony felt a surge of relief. At least they hadn’t lost everything.
“What’re you guys gonna do?” Tony asked.
A dangerous glint appeared in Craig’s eye, a flicker of the old fire. “Suppose it’s time me and the boys had a talk with this Preston fella.”
Tony knew exactly what that meant. It wouldn’t be a talk; it would be an ultimatum delivered with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “A talk?”
“Maybe ‘negotiatin’s a better word,” Craig clarified, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.
Tony laughed, shaking his head. He got it.
In the background, Elvis finally struck gold. He began tugging at something in the hole he’d been digging, his whole body wiggling with effort. With a final, triumphant yank, he pulled a long, bony object from the earth and tore off across the cemetery with it. Steve gave a weary sigh and started chasing after him.
“Just be careful,” Tony advised. “You don’t want to make things worse.”
Craig spat on the ground. “Don’t rightly see how things could get any worse than this.”
Just then, Elvis raced past them with a dirt-caked, yellowed skeleton arm dangling from his mouth. Steve was right behind him, hopelessly outmatched.
“Elvis, drop it! Heel! Drop the arm, boy!”
One of the police officers looked over at them, his expression one of complete disbelief. He watched the dog trot past with the human remains, then looked at the motley crew of filmmakers, then back at the dog. He slowly lowered his clipboard, his mouth hanging slightly ajar.
“You know what?” the cop muttered to himself. “I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t see that.” He turned his back on them and became suddenly interested in the contents of the rental truck.
Chapter twenty-eight
Bad Dates and "Guy Brains"
A cherry-red Trans Am sped across the screen in the San Diego multiplex theater, its tires squealing as it ripped around a corner. Two police cars barreled after it. The Trans Am swerved past several cars then suddenly spun out, crashing head-on into a semi-truck. It exploded in a massive fireball.
In the audience, Jeff was on the edge of his seat next to Debbie.
“Yes!” he shouted, a little too loud. “Did you see that? That was like a quadruple-barrel roll into a reverse-detonation! Classic!”
All around them, people in the audience shot him annoyed frowns and shushed him. Debbie slid down in her seat, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. The evening had gone from bad to worse, beginning with the bad theater hotdog that had her stomach in a full-scale revolt.
Of course, she couldn’t let any of that show. Tony had to believe she was having the time of her life. She pulled out her phone and forced a bright smile.
“Okay, selfie time!” she announced, leaning in close to Jeff. This was her fifth one of the night. She was building an airtight alibi of fun.
“Again?” Jeff asked, but he grinned for the camera. She snapped the picture.
Debbie immediately began cropping and filtering the image. “Hmm, should I go with Valencia or Nashville? Which one says ‘I’m having so much fun I might actually explode’ better?”
“Are you actually asking me, or—”
“Nashville it is!” She tapped away at her screen, adding a string of emojis that would suggest to anyone looking that she was having a great time.
To: Tony. Guess who’s having THE BEST time EVER? #NoRegrets #BestDateEver @JeffSlew
She hit send, then looked up at the screen, where a new car chase had begun.
“After this is over,” Jeff whispered, only slightly quieter this time, “we should sneak into the theater next door. They’re showing Faster and Furiouser.”
