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[Continuing chapter ten]
"Hey, Casey." Casey turned around to find Desiree grinning at him. I’m glad you’re in a good mood, he thought. The only good thing about today is that it wasn’t quite as painful as last night. "I've been released for the day," she said. "Let's get out of here and do something disreputable." She looked at his grimy hands and stained overalls. "Actually, that costume is far more disreputable than anything I could think of to do. Say, are you still working?"
"No so's he's of any use," Mitch said. "Big baby couldn't even help me push this ship into the hangar." He patted the red-painted Travelaire. "And all because his ribs is all bruised, poor thing."
"Better watch how you're talking to me," Casey said, forcing a smile. "I'm a movie star now." He turned to Desiree. "I'm just about done. All that's left is to drain the petrol and oil from this Tommy. Oh, and find a film magazine case that fell off Hogan’s DH-4 this afternoon."
"And I can do all of that myself," Mitch said. "And do a better job than Doug Fairbanks here. Even if he wasn't a cripple."
"I can out-fly you any day," Casey said, "and don't you forget it." He wiped his hands as clean as he could get them, then stripped off the overalls. When he was sure his shirt and trousers were untouched by oil or dirt he said, "Let me wash my hands and I'll be right with you."
"You all set for tomorrow?" Desiree asked him as they walked to her car. "Or are you going to do the smart thing and have somebody else do that crash? I saw the way you were moving in the hangar. You're hurt more than you're letting on."
"I would have been fine if I hadn't had to deal with that bruiser last night," Casey said. "And I feel better today, thanks for asking." Which was a lie, but it was the sort of lie you told all the time when the alternative was to be grounded. Besides, he had suddenly started to feel better.
"Hey, Casey."
Casey looked around to see Hal Telford walking toward him. Telford's walk was more or less straight and steady, which was unusual for this time of day. "Hello, Hal," Casey said, slowing down. Desiree kept walking.
"I was wondering if you could do me a favor," Telford said. "I can pay you." He was close enough that Casey could smell his breath, a rancid combination of burnt tobacco and the aftermath of bad whisky. The immediate tang of alcohol was missing, though. For once Telford appeared to be sober.
"What kind of favor?" Casey asked.
"I need someone to do a trip for me on the weekend. One of Straebo's bootlegging stunts down to Tijuana." Telford grinned conspiratorially, as though he was divulging some secret instead of telling Casey what everyone in the cast and crew already knew about.
"Sorry," Casey said. "I'm working this weekend."
"But tomorrow's the last day out here."
"I'm going to be at the studio all day Saturday," Casey said. "They've given me a small part in the picture. I do my first scene on Saturday morning. I'm sorry I can't help you." That was the truth, and he hoped Telford would see it. The idea of flying down to Tijuana—and being paid to do it—was attractive, even if the trip had to be made in that death-trap of a Jenny.
"They're putting you in the movie." Telford's voice had flattened; he sounded like a shell-shock victim. "I can't even get them to let me work on the planes you're using, and in one week you go from being low man on the roster to being in the movie."
"Look, I said I'm sorry I can't help you," Casey said. "It wasn't my idea. I didn't ask for this."
"Go to hell," Telford said. As he turned around and stomped away, Casey heard him mutter something that sounded obscene. The last bit he heard pretty clearly: it sounded like, "of a bitch."
"What was that about?" Desiree asked when Casey caught up with her. "He want you to persuade Jerry to cast him in Connie's role?"
Casey stared at her. "Close enough. How'd you guess?"
"It's not that unusual. This town's full of people who think there's a hidden secret to becoming a star."
"Actually, he hadn't heard about Straebo casting me," Casey said. "Well, not until I told him, anyway. He came over to ask me if I'd fly one of Straebo's bootlegging trips for him this weekend."
"Oh, really?" Now it was Desiree's turn to stare at him. "Why do you suppose he would want to drop a job like that? It's not as if he's got any other source of income. Not that any of us knows about, that is."
"Who knows? I feel sorry for the guy. I would have done the trip for him, you know, if I could. Sooner or later he's got to catch some sort of break, doesn't he?"
"You don't catch breaks, Casey. You make them. Get used to that—if you actually want a movie career, it's the only way you'll get one."
She stepped up into her Packard. "Speaking of breaks, I've got a lead on where we can find that McGrath character. Lily's bootlegger boyfriend, remember?" Casey nodded. "He lives in Venice, according to the notes you copied last night. One of the diary entries said he worked for Tony Cornero. Well, one of the gaffers told me Cornero has a big Irishman making regular deliveries to Canetti's. That's a speakeasy in the basement of a grocery on Windward. It's only a block or so from the pier: we can combine some investigating with a bit of amusement-park fun tonight."
"He's a delivery boy? That doesn't make him much of a bootlegger."
"Everybody starts somewhere," Desiree said. "Count the number of lines you've got in your first scene, Casey. Your head's getting swollen."
"Touché," he said as she started the car.
Next Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten
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