Watching me read, Leonard Friend had gone from shuffling papers to flipping a pen in the air. Now, startled, he sent it sailing behind a cabinet.
“What? Oh, no,” he said, bending to recover it. “Except for … well, you know. Katie.”
“And why didn’t you include it in the book? Afraid you’d be arrested for knowing about a stolen film?”
Leonard shook his head. “Graus changed his mind. Actually, that’s putting it mildly. He demanded I give him the pages back. He swore me to secrecy. Then he … head-butted me.” Leonard pointed to a small scar in his left temple, one that I hadn’t noticed. “You would think he meant to keep it secret so he could sell the film himself. But he really had … as you can see … sentimental reasons.”
Leonard sighed, as if reflecting on his own. At least Graus wasn’t being mercenary in hoarding the film; I almost respected him for it. Almost. And Leonard had been equally moony in holding on to the chapter.
“But still you … disobeyed him and kept it?”
“I had had a Xerox made. I …” Leonard was actually perspiring. “I thought it might impress Katie.”
“And did it?”
The dissipated man seemed relieved to finally unburden himself. “No. She didn’t care much. That’s why I was frightened when she went to work for Graus. I was sure she’d tell him, and he’d come looking for me and kill me. But I guess she never said a word.”
No, but casually, at some point, she must’ve told Johnny, I thought. Someone who was willing to kill for it.
“You won’t … reveal … where you got this?” he asked, suddenly frightened.
“Don’t worry, no.”
He relaxed again. “Good. Now, if you don’t have any more questions … you might give me the information I asked for. Where is Katie?”
Leonard’s tone had changed from the pathetic to the slightly threatening. It reminded me that his mission in life wasn’t benign, that he used his grudges to deprive others. It made me suspect that I couldn’t stall him forever.
Luckily, I didn’t have to.
Behind me, I heard someone enter the office. I turned and saw the pert secretary again. She avoided my eyes completely and looked only at Leonard.
“I’m afraid I went ahead,” she said.
For a second, the guy didn’t understand. Then, surprised, he checked out his window. In the street below, a cop car was pulling up.
I had gotten what she meant right away. Immediately, I had risen. Instinctively, I still held the chapter.
“You idiot!” Leonard yelled at her, face crimson.
I bolted from the room, pushing harshly past the girl. Then I powered my way through the waiting room and out into the hall. As I left, I distinctively heard the intercom buzzer going off. The cops were in the building.
I avoided the elevator, the down arrow of which already shone. Instead I flew into the stairwell, slowing my pace as I started downstairs.
I had been on the third floor. Now, beneath me, I heard someone coming up.
What did I have to be afraid of? I wasn’t sure. Then I felt the chapter in my arms and understood. If I had arrived innocent, I was no longer.
The footsteps were coming closer, only one flight away. Reaching the second floor, I only hoped the stairwell door was open.
It was. I slipped through it, finding myself on a bland hall in the small office building. I stood to the side of the door, hoping whoever was on the stairs—and I assumed it was a cop—hadn’t heard me come or go.
After a sweaty second, the feet passed by and continued up.
I disappeared back into the stairs and quietly took the last two flights. I emerged from the building, the chapter rolled and held inconspicuously in my hand.
I turned onto the Avenue of the Arts, and tried to get lost in the lunchtime crowd. I hoped I could make the walk to Thirtieth Street Station without being stopped. It was in Leonard Friend’s interest, I knew, to keep the cops at bay. His organization teetered on the edge of illegality and would soon, I bet, be pushed over by irate filmmakers.
But, maybe by stealing from him, I was only being interactive.
—
Johnny paid for my ride back to New York. On the train, I thought about what I’d learned.
Graus had been planning to watch Clown, not porn, that day with his newest chambermaid. Johnny had replaced Graus’s copy of Clown with what he thought was mine. Then the young filmmaker tried to kill me. Graus would be next to go, and then Johnny would have the picture all to himself.
Now it seemed that Katie, troubled by my escape, had come to truly fear Johnny and had called to help me out.
None of it explained how Johnny knew all of this, his presence at Troy Kevlin’s house or anywhere else. The story was becoming clearer but wasn’t yet clear.
I only knew that, if I could reach Graus through Katie, I might save the old actor’s life. I could also see his copy of The Day the Clown Cried. When it came to finding films, none of us was altruistic.
It seemed like a simple plan. Thinking of it gave me energy as the train pulled into New York. I headed from Penn Station to my apartment. A big Hollywood movie was being shot in Times Square, and I sidestepped officious, self-important assistants with good humor.
Bounding up my familiar cement staircase, the steps and walls covered with graffiti, I couldn’t deny it: I was happy to be home.
Then I opened my door.
Katie was standing there. She’d obviously been crying for a long time.
