Full Black - Brad Thor [19]
“Chip,” said Salomon.
“Who were they?”
“They were working on a film project with me.”
“You said it was a documentary?” asked Ralston.
The movie producer nodded, but didn’t elaborate.
“Why was everything set up in your office at home? Why weren’t you working at the studio?”
“Because this was a private project.”
Ralston’s antennae went up. “Private?”
“Yeah,” said the producer, somewhat absentmindedly, as he stared into his coffee cup. “Personal.”
“Larry, we’re pretty good friends, wouldn’t you say?”
Salomon nodded.
“So why don’t you come clean and tell me what you’ve been up to. Let’s start with who Jeremy and Chip are.”
The producer took a sip of coffee and set the mug back on the table. He was still very upset. “They were friends of mine. Chip is a blogger and political activist and Jeremy is, or I guess I should be using the past tense, Jeremy was a film student who had teamed up with Chip to make a short film.”
“A short film about what?”
“Endowments.”
Ralston wasn’t sure he had heard that correctly. “As in financial endowments? Like at universities?”
Salomon nodded.
“Not exactly the type of summer blockbuster you’re known for, but everyone in Hollywood has their pet projects, I guess. What I don’t understand is why you were working on this out of your house?”
Hank McBride looked away from the TV and over his shoulder at Salomon. “Short film isn’t code for porn, is it?”
Ralston held up his hand at the man.
“I’m just saying,” replied Hank as he went back to monitoring the television. “Something doesn’t sound right. You don’t get a visit from a wet work team for making documentaries.”
“And you probably don’t get it for making porn, either,” argued Ralston.
“You do if the Russians are involved somehow,” countered Hank.
He had a point. Turning his attention back to Salomon, he said, “Let’s back all the way up. Is there any reason someone would want to kill you?”
The producer shrugged.
“That’s not a no, Larry.”
“The film we’ve been making might not be too popular,” Salomon responded.
“Do you think it’s something worth killing over?”
“Maybe.”
Ralston was taken aback. “Then we really do need to start from the beginning. What’s the film called?”
Salomon mumbled his response and Ralston had to ask him to repeat it. “Well Endowed,” he said.
“I was right,” said Hank without turning away from the TV. “Making skin flicks.”
“Do you mind?” asked Ralston.
Hank shrugged and went back to clicking through the muted channels, searching for any stories about what had happened at the producer’s home.
Refocusing on Salomon, Ralston said, “Was this project your idea, or did somebody bring it to you?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, it doesn’t look like you’re going to be going anywhere for a while,” said Hank as he stopped on a channel that was streaming helicopter footage from above a hilly, wooded area. “Your house is in Coldwater Canyon, right?”
“Yes,” said Salomon.
“Then I’d say the window for when your story would make the news just got slammed shut.”
CHAPTER 11
Realizing he wasn’t going to be going back to bed, Hank McBride disengaged from the TV and offered to cook breakfast while his two guests, or the two “fugitives,” as he had referred to them until Ralston told him to drop it, continued their conversation at the table.
“It’s all very complicated and convoluted,” said Salomon as he held his mug out for Ralston to top off. “It’s like a shell game the way foundation money gets moved around. In fact, Shell Game had been Jeremy and Chip’s working title for the project. I thought Well Endowed was a little more provocative and would help the film get more attention.”
“Sell the sizzle,” said Ralston, reflecting on an old advertising adage he had often heard Salomon use, “not the steak.”
“Precisely. Documentaries are a tough sell anyway, but a documentary about endowments? Forget it. The only way we were going to get people interested was to sex it up.”
Ralston had his reservations about whether a pithy double entendre would make much of a difference,