Final Cut (8 page)

While hundreds of onlookers gasped at the fake gunfire and staged fighting, Frank and Joe were caught up in a real fight for their lives.

Joe dove for cover behind a parked car as a bullet smashed the wall right where his head had been a second before. The crowd gasped and pointed but didn't know what was happening only a few feet away. It was just as well, thought Frank, who had knelt behind the shelter of another car. Otherwise the situation could all too easily turn into a general panic.

Joe put his walkie-talkie close to his mouth. "Can you figure out where the sniper's shooting from?" he whispered.

Frank had been scanning the area. "He has to be up on one of the roofs across the street, whoever it is."

Now Joe, also looking from one roof to the next, saw a flash of movement from the one directly across from their sidewalk position. The barrel of a gun suddenly appeared, and somebody's arms and head. But at that distance and angle it was impossible to tell who it was.

"Frank," Joe said softly into his mouthpiece, "did you see the gun?"

"Affirmative," replied Frank. "He seemed to pop up to take another shot, and then realized that we had gone to ground. He knew he didn't have a clear line of fire."

"Let's take him as soon as the scene is done," Joe said, and Frank agreed.

The scene ended, and Kandinsky yelled, "Cut! And print!" as the crowd began to applaud.

The Hardys leapt from their cover and sprinted across the street. Reaching the door of the building where they'd seen the sniper, they ducked inside. The roof was four stories up, and they took the stairs two at a time. At the top of the last flight of steps was the door to the roof. It was standing slightly ajar.

They paused and, with great care, slowly pushed the metal door open. They leapt back as a burst of automatic fire greeted them.

"Looks like we found the right place," said Frank as they crouched behind the door. "Did you see the shooter?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," replied Frank. "It's Sam Freed."

"Looks like he is crazy after all," said Joe. "How do we handle this?"

"How about if one of us distracts him while the other one jumps him?" suggested Frank.

"Great idea!" Joe snapped. "Let's see, he's got an Uzi or something and we have zip. How do we distract him, with funny stories?"

"The building alongside this one is a story higher," Frank said. "You stay here. Give me exactly one minute and then slam that door open with a lot of noise. I'll come at him from behind, off that taller roof."

Joe replied, "You have to run down four flights of steps here, and then up five flights next door. Let's make it ninety seconds. You're not as young as you used to be."

"And you're not as funny as you think you are," responded Frank. "Okay, ninety seconds. Check your watch, starting - now!"

Frank started down the stairs, and Joe remained in a crouch by the door, keeping his eyes focused on his watch's second hand.

As Frank reached the street, he heard Trish call out to him but didn't answer as he ran into the neighboring building.

He pounded up the five flights and rushed onto the adjoining roof. He moved quietly to the edge and looked over. Freed was squatting with his back to Frank behind a large metal ventilator hood, cradling an Uzi.

As the ninety seconds ended, Joe kicked the metal door open. It swung around and crashed into the wall. He yelled, "Here we come, Freed! Ready or not!" Then he jumped back out of the line of fire. Freed swung his Uzi and fired a burst. The bullets kicked up tar and gravel from the surface of the roof, while others smacked into the stairwell wall, barely missing Joe.

As Joe moved, Frank swung over the edge and dropped the single story down to the other building. Freed was focused on the open doorway. Abruptly he sensed someone was behind him, but before he could turn and fire, Frank hit him with a shoulder in the small of the back. The thug was knocked forward, sprawling to the ground.

"Joe!" shouted Frank. "Move it!"

Joe broke from his cover and charged Freed, whose Uzi lay just beyond his outstretched arm. Freed gave the younger Hardy a murderous look and launched himself forward. He grabbed the gun, pointed it at Joe, and squeezed the trigger.

There was a dry click. Either the clip was empty or the gun had jammed.

Frank reached down to grab him from behind, but with surprising quickness Freed whirled around. He reversed the gun and lashed out at Frank with the grip. Frank ducked, but the blow caught him on the shoulder with numbing force, and Freed kicked clear.

Joe was on him instantly. But he hit Freed high, and the tough gunman dropped lower and arched his powerful back, bucking Joe up and over him. Joe hit the roof and vaulted, disappearing from sight.

The Hardys picked themselves up and took off after Freed. The roof Freed had dropped to was one story lower. They were landing on it as Freed raced for the door to the building's stairs.

Before the Hardys could reach the door, Freed had darted through it and slammed it behind him. Joe tried it, but it wouldn't budge.

"He's jammed it or locked it!" Joe shouted, banging the metal in frustration.

They could hear footsteps pounding as Freed ran for the street below.

"Joe! The fire escape!" yelled Frank, pointing to the top of the ladder that faced the street. The brothers started down the slippery metal rungs two at a time, watching the street below for Freed to appear.

Frank was in front, and just as he reached the second story Freed came barreling out through the ground floor door. He took off at full speed, right for the spot where the crew was busy setting up the next shot. Frank catapulted over the side and dropped to the sidewalk, Joe right behind him.

Frank pointed, and the two brothers dashed after Freed, who was tearing straight through the astonished production crew. He elbowed one man out of his way and sent a script girl head-on into a pile of canvas chairs as he forced his escape route through the technicians.

Frank and Joe were faced with a mob of sightseers and film people milling around and making it impossible to run full speed. Helpless and frustrated, they tried to keep Freed in view as they struggled through the crowd. By the time they had escaped the worst of the confusion, Freed was nowhere to be seen. The man had succeeded in vanishing again.

"Which way could he have gone?" Joe demanded urgently. Frank only shrugged, realizing that every second the thug was getting farther away.

"We had him and we let him get away!" Joe exclaimed with a look of disgust on his face. "What a great pair of detectives we are!"

"Take it easy," said Frank, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "He can't be too far away. Maybe somebody saw him."

"Hey, fellas," came a voice from under a cowboy hat. Alvin was in his usual position, sitting in his chair, tilted back against a nearby trailer.

"Alvin!" exclaimed Frank. "You didn't happen to see - "

Alvin pointed with his thumb, indicating a right turn at the next corner. "A man oughtn't to race around like that. It's not healthy, and you can knock folks over when you aren't careful." Alvin carefully adjusted the tilt of his hat. "You know, I'm beginning to take a strong dislike to Sam Freed."

"Thanks, Alvin, we owe you one," said Joe as the brothers resumed their pursuit.

They rounded the corner and entered a side street, but Freed was nowhere to be seen.

"Let's split up and check these doorways and alleys," said Joe.

The two ran to opposite sides of the street and slowly checked each possible hiding place for Freed. Then, halfway down the block, Frank saw an old pickup truck sitting at the far end of the narrow alley with its motor running. There was someone in the driver's seat, but it was too far away to tell who.

He turned and called, "Joe! Come here for - " But before he could finish, Sam Freed sprang out of an entryway and clubbed Frank savagely across the back of the neck with both fists. Dazed and hurt, Frank dropped to his knees as Freed ran for the pickup.

Joe ran across the street and reached the mouth of the alley just as Freed leapt into the pickup. It sped off, reaching the end of the alley, and disappeared.

Joe knelt beside his brother. "Frank? You all right?'

"I think so," Frank answered, shaking his head to clear it. "Freed blindsided me and he took off in that truck. We lost him again."

Joe carefully helped Frank to his feet. "Did you see who was driving the truck?"

"No, it was too far away." Frank slapped the wall and scowled. "This is turning into a totally rotten day. We can't do anything right!"

"Hey, look at it this way. Freed tried to kill us and we're still alive. It's not over till it's over, right?" Joe snapped his fingers. "You know, that truck could've been the one that dumped Fairburn's body. It didn't have plates."

"We'd better call Dad and report in," said Frank, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What about the police?" asked Joe.

"We'll see what Dad says," Frank replied.

At a pay phone they called Fenton and told him what had happened.

After making sure that his sons were all right, Fenton asked Frank, "Could you tell if the driver was a man or a woman?"

"No, Dad," Frank said. It was pretty far away, and the angle was wrong. "Why, you think it might have been Andrea Stuart?"

"I wouldn't rule her out. Was she on the location today?"

"No. Neither was Mel Clifford. But Jim Addison was around."

"Are you sure? All day?" asked Fenton.

"Well ..." Frank thought for a second. "Actually, he got here kind of late, and then he spent a lot of time in his dressing room."

There was a brief silence from Fenton, and then he said, "I don't think we can rule anybody out. All we know for sure is that there's more than one person in on this murder, and that this guy Freed is harder to pin down than we figured."

"Don't rub it in," groaned Frank.

As Frank and Joe walked back to the filming location, Hector Ellerby came up to them.

"Where have you two been? We need you guys. We still have a lot to get done today. Have you seen Freed, by the way?"

Frank said, "Well - "

Ellerby looked at his watch and interrupted. "You can tell me all about it later. Right now we're trying to shoot some close-ups, and we could use you to keep the civilians from pestering Preston Lawrence for autographs."

Ellerby trotted away. Frank grinned at Joe.

"Just as well that he can't wait around for an answer. It saves us the trouble of cooking one up."

As they resumed work, Trish came by and gave Joe a look of concern.

"Are you okay? I saw you and Frank running after Sam Freed a while ago."

Joe grinned at her. "We're fine, but I appreciate your asking. The TV business is turning out to be more exciting than I expected. But don't worry, Frank and I can look out for ourselves."

Her look remained worried. "Well, okay, if you say so. But you just be careful. Oh, by the way, one of my favorite old movies is playing in town tonight. Casablanca, with Humphrey Bogart. Do you want to go?"

Joe's eyes lit up. "Sure, that sounds great! I could pick you up at - "

"I tell you what," she interrupted as Frank walked up to them, "maybe Frank and his girlfriend would like to come along. Frank, what do you think? Want to see a classic movie tonight?"

Frank looked at Joe, and then back at Trish. "Uh - sure, I guess so, it sounds like fun. I'll call Callie when we finish shooting today."

"Fantastic!" Trish exclaimed, and ran off happily.

Frank gave his brother a grin. "Sounds like you're making progress. Hang in there."

Joe shrugged. "Maybe, but I think that if she had a choice between seeing me or a movie, I'd finish a distant second."

Frank clapped Joe on the shoulder. "Well, that's showbiz."

Later that afternoon, as the sun dropped low in the sky, Jerry Morrall squinted at the shot he was setting up.

"Ivan," he called out to the director. "We're losing the light. I think we'll have to wrap after this one."

"Okay, Jerry," the director answered. "We got all the important stuff we needed. If we still want a few little covering bits, we can get them with a second unit, without actors, next week."

The shot was completed, and Hector Ellerby picked up his bullhorn. "That's a wrap, people. Good work today. Let's pack it up."

Technicians began putting lighting instruments away, carefully winding coils of cable and packing up reflectors.

Frank came up to Joe and said, "I just called Callie, and she and I will meet you tonight at the theater. You ready to take off?"

"I'm going to hang around while Trish finishes up here," replied Joe. "Headcase said that he'd give us a ride back to the hotel. We're going to get something to eat before the movie."

"All right," Frank said. "Don't let her talk about movies and TV. Maybe she'll notice she's having a date."

"I'll give it my best shot," Joe assured him. Frank left, driving the rental car they'd picked up.

Joe helped Trish as she passed out the next day's schedule to everyone on the crew. Then he ran a couple of errands for Hector Ellerby. By the time they had finished, it was almost dark.

Headcase called out to them, "You guys ready to go?"

At the same moment another voice called out, "Trish! Phone call for you, in the office."

She called back to Headcase, "I'll just take this call, and then we can all leave."

The company had rented a storefront to serve as a temporary office for the day. It was just around the corner from where they had been shooting. Joe walked Trish over there and waited while she picked up the phone.

"Hello?" she said. And again, "Hello? Anybody there?" She gave Joe a puzzled look.

"Whoever it was must've hung up."

"Well, let's go. Headcase is waiting," Joe said, opening the office door.

They walked in silence toward the corner. Joe heard a car door slam in the darkness. He ignored it, trying to figure how to get Trish to open up a little. Footsteps approached behind them. Headcase got tired of waiting, Joe thought, and turned to say hello.