Krewe of Hunters The Unseen (22 page)

“That’s great,” Kelsey said. “I’m happy for you, Corey.” IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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He gave her an enthusiastic hug. “And to think! If it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have stayed on here!” Ricky interrupted them. “You can go into the saloon now. Quietly, I’ve been told. They’re running film. Jeff Chasson wants his practice filmed, in case it’s better than any of the takes.”

“We won’t make a sound,” Kelsey promised.

She led the way, Logan close behind her. They entered the saloon on tiptoe and walked around the seating area in a wide arc.

Bernie Firestone, standing near one of the cameramen, turned and waved to them, urging them in.

Sandy, who was seated at one of the saloon tables, waved as well, inviting them to join her.

They slid into seats at her table.

One of the other bartenders was dressed in the vest, cotton shirt and string tie that a bartender might have worn in the mid-1800s.

Jeff Chasson leaned against the bar like a rugged frontiersman on the day of the Alamo.

He was blond and clean-shaven, but he did look convinc-ing as he stood there, a hat on the bar, beside a long rif le.

“It was here that the men came when they needed re-spite. Remember, the defense of Texas fell into the hands of a mixture of people—old settlers and new settlers, those who came hoping for land and glory. They were a ragtag band, not a regular army. So, while many a rancher, Ranger and drifter passed through, their station in life didn’t really matter. We’re in the old Longhorn Saloon. Famous for the best whiskey in the area and the prettiest girls. Among them was the legendary Rose Langley. She sang, and she IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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served, and she f lirted—the most coveted of all the girls.

But she’d come to San Antonio with one of the roughest men to ever draw a bead on Texas. He died in the fight for independence, or so it’s assumed, but he was hardly one of our heroes. Before he disappeared, part of the massive death toll that brought Texas independence, Matt Meyer became enraged with the beautiful Rose, and strangled her right here at the inn, up in Room 207.” The narrator turned dramatically to indicate the staircase. “Up those stairs. Room 207. And the history and the legends live on,” he added ominously.

Kelsey saw the horror on Sandy’s face.

“Rose was strangled, but in the aftermath, in the years that followed, like the legend of the Alamo itself, the legend of the Longhorn was destined to continue. So will we ever know? Is the Alamo really hallowed ground, drenched with the blood of heroes? Is it haunted by the men who died there? And is the historic Longhorn just as haunted, with spirits—old and new—drifting along that staircase?” Chasson let the sentence fade away.

Sandy was tense, waiting for what he’d say next.

Then he settled back at the bar. “Jeff Chasson at the Alamo, now and then.”

The knowing smile left the man’s face as he pushed away from the bar and started toward Bernie Firestone. “That’s bullshit, pure bullshit. We need to add the part about the murder of Sierra Monte. The Alamo now and then—” he snorted. “We’ve talked about the massacre in Goliad and what happened in San Antonio. It’s bullshit not to mention the murder last year! We can sell this thing ten times over if we talk about blood dripping through the woodwork.

Not then but
now.
”

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Sandy was distressed. She got to her feet, wanting to protest, clearly not knowing how. Kelsey leaped up, too, and Logan, afraid that Kelsey would try to defend Sandy first and use diplomacy second, decided to take the matter into his own hands.

He winked at Sandy, then walked over to the director and Chasson.

“Excuse me,” Logan said. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” he began.

Chasson turned and stared at him in irritation. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“I’m a friend of Sandy’s, and I’m also a Texas Ranger, Mr.

Chasson,” Logan said politely. He went on before Chasson could ask what business he had interfering. “I should warn you that you’re in the Longhorn due to the largesse of the owner. The events that occurred here in the 1830s are well-known, but for you to sensationalize the presumed death IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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of an innocent girl is in extremely bad taste. If you simply present known facts, that’s one thing. But you’re doing a documentary on the Alamo, not on unsolved murders in Texas. You could be setting up this production for a major lawsuit—by the owner, by the victim’s family—and you’d be named right along with the production company. Or Ms. Holly might determine that the production should be thrown out and you could be banned from ever stepping foot in the Longhorn Saloon again.”

He smiled as he spoke. He’d lost his temper with Ted Murphy, and he wasn’t going to do that again. He was really getting his life,
himself,
back; dealing with arrogant assholes like Chasson in a smooth and politic way was actually far more satisfactory than losing his temper.

Chasson scowled at him before turning back to Bernie Firestone. Firestone had been grinning, but he tried to appear stern when Chasson looked at him for help.

“I’m sorry, Jeff. You said you wanted to film here. And if we’re filming here, Ms. Holly does have a say. You didn’t tell me you planned to talk about Sierra Monte.”

“But—” He stared over at Sandy. “But it’s history!” Kelsey walked up to them, Sandy beside her.

“It’s Sandy’s property now, Mr. Chasson,” Kelsey said.

“And she has the right to call the police and have you evicted if you’re breaking an agreement.”

“I didn’t agree to anything,” he said angrily.

“You can leave,” Sandy offered, apparently delighted with the way things were going.

“We…we paid to film here!” he sputtered indignantly.

“However,

I

was
given script approval,” Sandy said.

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Jeff Chasson might have been a jerk, but he knew when he was outnumbered. He smiled again, the practiced smile he gave the camera. “All right, forgive me. I wasn’t aware of your script approval, Ms. Holly. But if that’s the case…

You see, the documentary traces the history of the Alamo, along with that of Texas. We follow the Alamo through to the present time. Ms. Holly, the Longhorn is a huge part of that. Now, we can leave, and I can say anything that’s fact, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“That’s true,” Sandy murmured.

“Or you and I can work on a script together, ensuring that the truth is told, but that you’re happy with what I say.” Sandy looked uncertain at that. Her eyes darted to Kelsey, who shrugged. “Sandy, it’s totally up to you.” She still hesitated. Chasson placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please, Ms. Holly? It looks bad if we avoid the truth.

Bernie, what’s the schedule? This is all we had for today, isn’t it? Could I have a few minutes with Ms. Holly?” Bernie Firestone nodded. “Whatever Ms. Holly decides.”

“Or did you want a larger check?” Chasson asked.

Sandy straightened regally. “I made a deal. I’m not re-neging because of money.”

“Fine. Sandy and I can hammer this out. It won’t take us more than twenty minutes,” Chasson said.

Guiding Sandy to another table, Jeff Chasson withdrew a pen from his jacket pocket and a cocktail napkin from a longhorn-shaped holder.

Bernie shook his head. “I knew better than to take on this project.”

“Jeff Chasson calls the shots?” Logan asked.

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“Not all of them,” Bernie said wearily. “On some of the narration. Like I told you, he really wanted this project, and the executive producer really wanted him. To be honest, he looks good on camera, he’s got credibility and he has a great voice. This is my first real snag. A lot of the film is action, reenactments of what happened, based on the historical record.” He paused. The cameraman, no longer filming, had taken off his headset, set it over the tripod and waited with weary patience. “I’m not sure you met earlier.

This is Earl Candy. An amazing cameraman.” Kelsey and Logan shook hands with him, introducing themselves.

“I wait around a lot,” Candy told them with a good-natured shrug.

Kelsey laughed, and Bernie Firestone f lashed her a smile.

“Your cousin Sean is an important part of the process.

There are dozens of maps spread across the screen as the narration goes on—he does those. And he’s a whiz with film, working with shots that look like hell until he’s added his smoke and black powder or blazing sun.”

“What about the cast?” Logan asked in what might have sounded like a non sequitur but wasn’t.

“You saw today. Most of them have been a dream. Very professional.”

“And you’ve hired on a real cowboy,” Logan noted.

Bernie nodded. “The guy’s got the look, you know.” He smiled at Kelsey again. “I’d love to have you in a few shots, all dressed up like a saloon girl. And, Raintree, you’d make a damned good Alamo defender.”

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Kelsey immediately demurred. “I don’t think it’s for me, but it sounds like Corey Simmons is pleased and excited.”

“Yeah, I’ll just have to work around the rodeo schedule.

There’s always something. And we’re supposed to wrap this up by next week. That’ll be a miracle.” Jeff Chasson rose and returned to stand before Bernie.

“I’ve got everything settled with Sandy. We’ll film the last part in Room 207. She’s approved the script.”

“What?” Earl Candy asked. Logan saw that his camera was big and heavy; there were also lights and screens, along with sound equipment.

Logan saw that Kelsey was frowning, silently echoing his own reaction.

“Kelsey, do you mind?” Sandy asked, hurrying over to her excitedly. “He’s going to introduce me as the new owner up in your room. We’ll be quick—we have to be. I need to reopen the bar area soon.”

“You did a wrap-up on the practice tape,” Bernie said.

“And you can edit it, and I damned well know that,” Jeff Chasson snapped. “Come on. Sandy and I have this all worked out, and it’s going to make for a better piece. Our market is the history and learning channels. You have to offer them something new. Something out of the ordinary.” Chasson turned away, starting for the stairs with Sandy.

Bernie Firestone glared after them. “Yeah. How about history?” he muttered. But Chasson didn’t hear him, and Sandy had apparently become his best friend.

“Want me to carry some of the camera equipment?” Logan asked. “I don’t know much about it, but I can haul and take directions.”

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Bernie and Earl Candy looked at him with gratitude.

“Wait, I’ll get you more help!” Kelsey said cheerfully.

A moment later, Kelsey was back with Corey Simmons, who was happy to assist with the equipment. Kelsey grabbed a couple of the screens, and with all of them participating, they were able to take up the entire video and sound en-semble in one effort.

When they reached the room, Sandy was applying what had to be Kelsey’s makeup and trying to move Kelsey’s belongings out of the way. Logan watched Kelsey’s eyes as she surveyed the scene; she held her temper and stepped forward. “Sandy, I can shift my belongings into the bathroom and closet for now. Finish your makeup and let me clear everything away.”

Chasson had already studied the room, and he started giving directions. “Bernie, get the room, and then me, with the curtains just so, like that, looking out on the street.

We’ll have Cameron play with the film and get some mist going. And shadows. That’ll be great.”

Logan held still. It was up to Sandy. If she wanted to go along with the arrogant weasel, that was her choice.

“I’ll set it all up,” Earl Candy said. “Don’t mind me,” he added a little bitterly.

“Let me just, uh, get out of the way,” Corey Simmons said. He’d put down the heavy camera he’d carried, looking torn. He’d run screaming from this room, Logan remembered.

“I’ll be back in the kitchen for now, in case y’all need me!” Corey said next. Maybe he was expecting the direc-IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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tor or Jeff Chasson to ask him to stay. Neither did. Logan wasn’t sure if Corey was relieved or disappointed.

“Thanks, Corey,” Logan said. The others hadn’t really seemed to notice him, once his function had been fulfilled.

“I’m here, if you need me,” he repeated. Then he left, heading back down the long stairway.