Nothing but Trouble (13 page)

“I still think we could use the rodeo scenes,” Johnny said, when Usher closed the lid to his laptop. “Maybe in a slightly different way.”

“How so?” Usher asked, looking at Johnny over the rim of his reading glasses.

Johnny leaned back against the couch. “You’ve been talking about plot points all night long. How the film has to move the action along. So, I’ve been thinking about the opening scenes. Except for when the rancher chases the BLM officer and the sheriff’s deputies off the land, there’s not a lot of drama.”

“The tension builds nicely,” Usher retorted.

“Yeah, but where’s the impact? The rancher stands down the cops, who go off to get a court order to force him off the federal land. Meanwhile, the rancher’s daughter goes looking for her brother, who’s on the pro rodeo circuit, and doesn’t come back with him until the day before the cattle drive.”

“How in the hell does a rodeo fit into any of that?” Usher asked.

“We do a scene where the daughter finds her brother competing at a rodeo,” Johnny said. “Maybe he gets thrown and busted up at bit. He’s short of cash and down on his luck. So is his buddy.”

Usher raised an eyebrow. “You’re talking Steve McQueen in Junior Bonner.”

“Yeah, a great movie. Anyway, the brother and his buddy agree to help out, because they don’t have enough cash between them to pay their expenses and enter the next rodeo.”

“And the rancher has issues with his son,” Usher added, “because he never came back to take over the ranch.”

“Just like it’s in the script,” Johnny said. “Except now the son comes home because he’s broke, not because he wants to make amends with his old man.”

“We’d need a real rodeo grounds to film it.”

“There’s a nice one just over the state line in Duncan, Arizona, a little more than a hour’s drive from here.”

“It might work,” Usher said, “if we used tight shoots to film your boys, Tyler and Clint, saddle bronc riding, and edit in some crowd background noise and a booth announcer’s voice to set the scene. We could put the girl at the arena railing with your Hispanic cowboys, Maestas and Lovato, to establish her presence, and then shoot a dialogue scene with her talking to her brother next to a horse trailer.”

“Do you like the idea?” Johnny asked.

“Can we get the rodeo grounds?”

“For a song, guaranteed. It sits unused most of the year except for a short horse-racing season in the spring and a community rodeo in late summer.”

Usher pushed the laptop away and reached for a tablet. “Are you up to pulling an all-nighter?”

Johnny laughed. “Hell, besides rodeoing, that’s what I do best.”

Up and ready to go at four a.m., Kerney checked the second bedroom for Johnny and found it empty. At the mercantile building the caterers had breakfast ready and Johnny and Malcolm Usher were sitting together, chowing down on scrambled eggs and bacon.

With his breakfast plate in hand Kerney walked toward an empty table, only to be waved over by Johnny. He sat down with the two men, both of whom had circles under their eyes and slack looks on their tired faces. “Long night?” he asked.

Johnny managed a smile. “You could say that, but we got a lot of good work done.”

Usher nodded in agreement.

“Why the early wake-up call?” Kerney asked Usher.

“We’ve got daybreak and early-morning scenes in the script,” Usher replied. “We can’t plan for them correctly unless we know what the light will be like at that time of day. The same applies to our evening and nighttime shoots.”

“We may be doing the rodeo scenes after all,” Johnny said.

“That’s good news,” Kerney said.

“If Charlie Zwick can find the money in the budget for it,” Usher cautioned.

“Will that be a problem?” Kerney asked. If Johnny got what he wanted, maybe he’d stop bitching about his story idea getting all screwed up.

“I think we’ve worked it so it won’t be,” Usher replied.

Kerney nodded. “If you’ve got a minute, can I ask how you plan to use me on the film?”

“You’ve read the screenplay?” Usher asked.

“Several times.”

Usher laid his fork beside his plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs and bacon. “Your job is to tell me what real cops would do. Anything that has to do with police procedure is your domain. If you see me planning to do something that’s completely screwball, tell me or my assistant director. Examples might be how the police would position themselves or restrain somebody-that sort of thing. The fewer glitches we have when we’re shooting, the smoother things will go.”

“That sounds easy enough,” Kerney said.

Usher downed the rest of his coffee. “But please don’t get upset with me if I don’t use every suggestion you make.”

“It’s your movie,” Kerney said. “I’m not here to argue.”

“How refreshing,” Usher said, giving Johnny a pointed look. “Enjoy yourself, Chief Kerney. I think you’ll find it fun to see how movies get made, although sometimes it can be real boring.”

Usher left and Johnny leaned back in his chair and broke into a big grin.

“You look pleased with yourself,” Kerney said.

Johnny drained his coffee. “If the rodeo scenes get overhauled the way Usher and I brainstormed them, I’m going to be a happy camper. Maybe you did me a favor yesterday after all. The more exposure my clients get in the film, the better the chances that I can get them bigger product endorsement deals and more acting jobs.”

“Are you trying to becoming a movie mogul?” Kerney asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Johnny replied. “There’s a lot of money to be made in motion pictures.”

“Well, you’ve got your foot in the door,” Kerney said. “But from what I’ve heard, making movies is a risky business.”

Johnny dropped his napkin on the table. “It’s no more risky than anything else I’ve done. Hell, you can’t get anywhere if you don’t roll the dice.” He pushed his chair away from the table. “Our first stop is at the ranch. It’s quite a spread. Old Joe has sunk a fortune into it. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

“I was there yesterday,” Kerney said, “and had lunch with your parents and Julia.”

Johnny’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I haven’t had a chance,” Kerney said as he walked with Johnny out the door.

“Did the old man talk to you about me?”

Kerney shook his head. “No, he didn’t.”

“That’s just as well,” Johnny said with a laugh, “since he doesn’t have much good to say about me anyway.”

On the drive to the Granite Pass Ranch, Kerney sat in the backseat of an SUV with Charlie Zwick, the producer, who quietly wrote notes to himself. When Zwick put his pen away, Kerney asked what arrangements had been made for standby emergency personnel during the filming. Charlie explained that full-time medical services would be on-site and that the unit production manager, Susan Berman, would coordinate with the local volunteer fire departments for ambulance services to be made available. Private security officers would handle all traffic and crowd-control issues.

They arrived at the Granite Pass Ranch road, where the day’s work began. In the predawn light Kerney stood with the crew and listened as Usher sketched out what he wanted for two scenes that occurred early in the movie. The first one would be a shot of police vehicles on the road to the ranch house. Usher, his assistant director, a young man named Marshall Logan, and the cinematographer, a guy named Timothy Linden, talked about starting with an establishing shot that would show the police cars coming into view, and using a following shot as the vehicle passed by on the way to the ranch. They’d need a camera dolly and a crane to make it work.

As the first touch of pink coated the underbelly of the clouds on the eastern horizon, Usher had made his camera decisions and talked to his lighting specialists, Buzzy and Gus, about how he wanted the scene lit.

Interested to learn that exterior daytime shots needed artificial lighting, Kerney eavesdropped and found out that the angle and intensity of the sun created problems that had to be controlled in order to get the proper effect on film. In addition, lens filters might be needed to either heighten or dampen the sunrise effect.

While Usher was busy with Buzzy and Gus, Roger Ward, the transportation captain, staked out an area for the various equipment vehicles that would be brought to the location. He told Kerney at least a half-dozen trucks and the police vehicles to be used in the scene would be at the location several hours before the cast arrived, so the crew could set up.

After the art decorator and construction coordinator selected the placement for a wrought-iron ranch sign that would be erected, Usher did a three-sixty walk around the site. When the sun had fully crested the mountains, he assembled the group and asked if anyone saw problems that needed to be addressed.

“We’re going to have problems with dust on this road,” the photographer said.

“We can dampen it down with a water truck,” Susan Berman, the unit production manager, replied.

“Maybe we don’t need to do that,” Usher replied. “The dust could be a nice contrast to the serenity of the opening shot. Emergency lights flashing, cutting through the haze. Sirens wailing. The morning sun cresting the mountains.”

“They wouldn’t approach with lights flashing or sirens wailing,” Kerney said.

“Why not?” Usher asked.

“To retain the element of surprise,” Kerney answered.

“So how would the rancher know the cops were coming?”

“The dust would give them away,” Kerney answered. “Any rancher worth his salt always keeps one eye on the weather.”

Usher grinned. “Excellent.” He flipped through his shooting script. “Although I think we’ll keep the flashing emergency lights for dramatic effect. But instead of the rancher hearing the sirens, he sees the dust cloud from the road and emergency lights as the cop cars approach.”

“That would work,” Susan Berman said, checking her script.

“Okay,” Usher said, “let’s run through everything we need here one more time and then move on.”

What Kerney thought would take no more than a few minutes to accomplish took almost an hour. Usher’s attention to detail was impressive, as was the amount of work that would be needed to get a one-minute scene on film.

He asked the art director, a portly, middle-aged Englishman named Ethan Stone, if such thoroughness was normal.

“With Malcolm it is,” Stone replied in a clipped British public-school accent. “Some directors are far more freewheeling, of course. But no movie ever gets made exactly as planned. There are too many variables: cost, weather, equipment failure, the decision to improvise. You’ve seen The Wild Bunch?”

“Several times,” Kerney answered.

“Remember the scene where William Holden attempts to free a member of his gang? Sam Peckinpah shot that on the spur of the moment and it worked brilliantly.”

Ward, the transportation captain, waved everyone toward the vehicles. They were ready to move on.

“So, even with all this careful planning,” Kerney said as he walked with Stone to the cars, “the actual filming can change.”

“It’s bound to,” Stone replied with a chuckle. “But too much change will have Charlie Zwick tearing his hair out.”

At the ranch headquarters the group was met by Julia Jordan. Joe and Bessie did not join them, although Kerney caught a quick glimpse of a figure standing at the living-room window inside their house.

Before Usher started working on the next location setup, the catering vehicle arrived, and everyone broke for coffee. Julia, who’d glued herself to Kerney’s side, shook her head when he asked if Joe and Bessie were planning to come out and watch the goings-on.

“Dad wants nothing to do with this. It took Mom browbeating him for weeks to get him to let Johnny use the ranch in the movie.”

“Why is that?”

“Dad doesn’t like the fact that Johnny is using other people’s money to pay back a tiny portion of what he’s borrowed from him over the years. He doesn’t think it’s the same as paying the debt yourself.”

Kerney couldn’t think of a polite comment on such a grim assessment of the relationship between father and son. He watched Roger Ward take a folding card table and several chairs out of the back of a vehicle and set them up for Susan Berman and Charlie Zwick, who sat and busily got to work.

“Looks like you’ll be here for a while,” Julia said.

“All morning,” Kerney said, handing her his copy of the scouting location schedule. “Six different exterior scenes are to be filmed here, over a period of three days. For each sequence they have to map everything out and decide exactly what they need. Then they move on to the cattle drive.”

Julia scanned the schedule. “My, don’t you sound like an expert.”

Kerney laughed. “Hardly.” His cell phone rang. The screen flashed an unfamiliar number, and when he answered Flavio Sapian identified himself. “Hang on for a minute,” he replied.

“The wife?” Julia mouthed silently.

Kerney didn’t rise to the bait. “Will you excuse me?”

Julia frowned briefly, then grinned and stepped away.

“What’s up?” Kerney asked.

“We can’t ID the victim,” Flavio replied, “but the autopsy revealed that he was heavily sedated on barbiturates at the time of death. The pathologist says the vic was definitely unconscious when he was thrown from the vehicle.”

“I see,” Kerney said as he watched Johnny gesture to Julia to join him. She waved and smiled winningly at Kerney before hurrying off.

“Plus,” Sapian said, “he had ligature marks on his wrists, which suggests his hands had been tied prior to the time he was dumped.”

“Anything else?” Kerney asked.

“According to the autopsy the victim wasn’t a teenager, and probably not a Mexican national. The pathologist pegged him to be in his early to mid-twenties. Based on his dental work he was most likely either a U.S. citizen or a permanent resident. It seems like you were right, Chief, this was a homicide.”