The Wolf of Los Angeles

[Chapter 15: Two Birds with One Stone]

A black sedan drove toward the Salt Lake Theater, while Damian, keeping an eye on the roadside, made a phone call and reported the license plate number.

George, completely clueless about high-stakes business competition, only wanted to get back at Eric.

The other party had ruined his screening, and he planned to ruin theirs in return. With a ready-made example right in front of him, George didn't need to think twice; he was just going to imitate what he had seen.

"He didn't come in through the front; he went to the back," someone informed Hawke over the phone.

...

In the hallway, Hawke received the call. With a handheld camera in hand, he rushed toward the backyard, telling the scruffy-bearded guy and Larson, "He's here; hide."

The scruffy-bearded guy chuckled, "I won't drink your black coffee for free."

Hawke stood in front of the rear window, turned on the camera, adjusted the lens, and began filming the backyard.

Eric didn't understand, "Is this also part of setting the movie-watching atmosphere?"

"You'll see a good show." Hawke made a shushing gesture.

The money hadn't been collected yet, and customer satisfaction was crucial.

After a moment, Eric watched two objects fly over the low wall of the backyard, followed closely by his nemesis George, who jumped the wall and landed badly.

George picked up a wooden baseball bat and removed the safety pin from the fire extinguisher.

He swung the bat, knocking down a discarded Christmas tree that was blocking his way, and raised the extinguisher as he strode toward the utility room's ventilation window.

The scruffy-bearded guy circled around from one side of the utility room, creeping up on George for a wild tackle.

With a thud, George fell onto the ground.

He let out a strange, pained scream, his hands releasing the bat and fire extinguisher as he rolled around, clutching his backside as if undergoing horrific torture.

The scruffy-bearded guy looked bewildered, raising his hands in confusion: "It wasn't me, I didn't do it."

George regretted it immensely, wishing he hadn't agreed to put in the bald guy's butt plug all day.

At that moment, he felt as if he were about to die.

Hawke turned off the camera and called the theater owner, Mason: "We've got a jerk who's trying to sabotage your utility room, and we've caught him."

George was still rolling about, utterly tragic in his predicament.

Eric grabbed Martin's hand and laughed heartily, feeling elated: "Awesome! So great! Man, you just helped me vent some frustrations!"

Hawke added, "Let me use the camera for a bit longer; I need to extract the footage."

"You like it? Then it's yours," Eric joked, clearly not kidding, pointing at the still-rolling George. "You have to take it; this is just the beginning; this camera isn't enough!"

At that moment, the pressure released, and Eric relaxed, even brushing off the mere existence of the movie and added, "Even if we can't sell the film rights in the end, I'll pay you another cut here, 2% of production costs."

After all, it wasn't his money; he could endure a few extra nights of licking.

Mason arrived soon after, asked a few questions, and made a call to the police.

Hawke reminded him, "Keep it confined to the backyard. Don't let it spill over to the front."

Mason managed to extract another fee from Eric, cooperating exceptionally: "Don't worry, the cops are all good guys."

In this small town, there were relationships everywhere.

Hawke borrowed Eric's computer to transfer the video onto the storage drive he provided.

When they returned to the backyard, the police and an ambulance had arrived.

Hawke provided the video as evidence, and Mason pulled out a temporary security agreement he had signed just ten minutes before for the theater.

The scruffy-bearded guy was in no trouble at all.

The wailing George lay on the stretcher as he was lifted into the ambulance.

"What happened?" someone asked.

The paramedics held up their hands: "It's terrible, expected at least seven inches deep, all the way in; God help him."

As the ambulance and police car drove away, a female reporter with a press badge rushed over, blocking the door and asked Mason, "What's going on?"

Mason shook his head: "Jenna, you're too late; the story's already gone cold."

Hawke glanced at the cameraman behind them, then his eyes drifted to Jenna's press badge, saying to the others, "You guys head back; I'm going to talk to her for a bit."

Jenna shook Hawke's hand, revealing her press badge: "Jenna Ingram, local, Channel 7 in Salt Lake City."

Hawke shook the handheld camera, "I've got a huge scoop here; some jerk tried to sabotage the theater's utility room..."

Jenna quickly replied, "Fifty bucks; I'll take the footage."

"Can you let me finish?" Hawke continued, "This jerk is a director, and he has a feature film in this festival; he's envious and jealous of his peers' better works, and came here to ruin their screening."

Jenna caught wind of a bigger news story.

Hawke added, "Such a scandal happening at the St. Denis Film Festival would cause quite a stir in the film industry, even the entire entertainment world. My time is valuable. If you don't want to pay a thousand bucks, I'll just contact journalists from Fox or CBS."

Jenna nodded to the camera, "Let me take a look first."

Hawke took her to the computer, played the earlier footage, specifically highlighting the horrific seven inches deep plug.

Simply put, George's attempt to sabotage the theater's distribution box was worth maybe fifty bucks at best. But with his director status and the St. Denis Film Festival angle, its value sky-rocketed tenfold.

In eighteen years since its inception, it was the first time such high-stakes business competition occurred at the St. Denis Film Festival.

Jenna called for confirmation, temporarily borrowing a thousand bucks from Mason to buy the footage from Hawke.

Back in the theater's lobby, Brandt, who had been following the whole scene, couldn't care less about his sore jaw as he quietly remarked, "I realized I never really knew you, Hawke; you've practically scooped everything you could."

Hawke smiled, "We're partners; there's a cut for you in all of this."

Brandt sealed his lips, deep in thought.

He had a feeling that if he could learn just half of Hawke's skills, things like student loans would be a non-issue.

...

At the Crystal Theater, four cars pulled up and parked by the roadside.

Bruce Richmond, dressed in a wool coat, arrived with his assistant and four subordinates at the theater entrance.

The last car, a BMW, carried Katherine, who stepped out and made herself comfortable at the foot of the stairs.

No one from the crew was there to greet them, only a man in a cowboy hat who paced back and forth by the steps.

Bruce Richmond frowned, looking slightly displeased.

Due to the theater's power outage, multiple production teams faced contract defaults, and the frustrated owner saw so many people showing up and impatiently said, "The theater's without power; there won't be a screening today, go watch a movie somewhere else."

Bruce Richmond turned to his assistant.

The assistant promptly said, "Let me make a call."

Bruce Richmond waved his hand dismissively: "No need, we're leaving."

At that moment, one of his subordinates approached, pointing down the steps: "Sir, Katherine has been waiting here for a while."

Bruce Richmond paused, approached Katherine, and spoke amiably: "Just like your father, you never quit until you reach your goal. Alright, lead the way."

Katherine acted as if nothing had happened and smiled, "Uncle Bruce, this way. It's not far; just a few minutes drive."

The four cars drove away, heading straight for the Salt Lake Theater.

All the way there, the assistant was extremely cautious, not daring to say a word. He could tell that his boss was not pleased with him.

The assistant loathed that intermediary.

In stark contrast to the emptiness at the Crystal Theater, a few people from the Salt Lake crew were eagerly waiting by the roadside when the convoy arrived.

Katherine introduced everyone on both sides as Bruce Richmond scanned the entrance of the theater, where audiences were steadily filtering in.

He remarked, "Nothing else matters; let's catch the movie first."

*****

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