Philip Kerr - The Shot

‘Okay, that’s enough,’ said Goldman. ‘I think I must have two or three minutes’ worth of film by now.’

Tom placed the rifle on the floor, and rolled off the desk, letting out an exhausted groan. ‘Jesus,’ he exclaimed. ‘I think that’s actually worse than doing it for real. I feel kind of vulnerable doing this job without ammunition. Naked almost.’

‘Not having any bullets is our only guarantee that we won’t get the chair if we’re caught,’ said Goldman, leaning across the desk now to get a last shot of the back of Jack Kennedy’s head, as the Secret Service escorted him through a side entrance of Massachusetts Hall opposite, to escape the students in a dramatic change of plan. ‘Look at that mess,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Another Secret Service foul-up.’

Tom was already replacing the rifle behind the closet, and, once again, he checked that it could not be seen.

‘First time I got paid not to blow someone’s head off,’ he remarked.

‘You’re forgetting Castro,’ said Goldman. ‘You took Giancana’s money to do that job. Anyway, I think you should be proud of yourself.’

‘How do you make that out? This might be bad for my reputation.’

‘If this plan works, we could stop a war.’ Goldman finished shooting and put the big Bolex back in its leather carrying case. ‘Come on, let’s tidy up as quickly as possible and get out of here while there’s still a crowd outside.’

He lifted up the floorboards to put away the radio, while Tom dragged the desk away from the window, and replaced the books and papers that had been lying on it. Goldman screwed down the floorboards and replaced the rug. Then they made the beds they had slept on. Finally the two men stood in the doorway and inspected Hollis Fifteen.

‘The shutters,’ said Goldman, and went to close them. Outside, the student body was grouped in front of Massachusetts, chanting, ‘We want Jack. We want Jack.’

‘Looks the same as it did when we came in,’ pronounced Tom. ‘Spartan.’

‘I think so, too,’ said Goldman, and opened the door.

Outside, in Harvard Yard, chaos still reigned. While the students chanted over and over again for Kennedy to come out and make a speech, Secret Service agents were driving three cars up on the grass in front of Massachusetts Hall, and across the cement walk to the front door.

Goldman took out the Bolex once again, wound it up, checked his exposure and speed, and pushed his way through the crowd to try and get a final shot of Kennedy’s exit. Tom followed, yelling, ‘What are you doing? Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.’

Now, two vehicles took flanking positions on either side of Kennedy’s limousine, which was parked immediately beside the door to the hall. A triple line of police began to surround the cars.

‘What am I doing?’ said Alex, finding a good shot of the crowd and the cars and the police in his viewfinder. ‘I’m making a movie, for Christ’s sake. To do that well, you have to build your movie around a storyline. You’ve gotta maintain interest in your picture by mixing long and short scenes. To get that Lubitsch touch, you gotta lead people up to your central idea. You gotta use a whole variety of shots to build suspense. To bring along your audience.’

There was a huge cheer and Goldman zoomed in on the front door as Kennedy and his agents dashed from the building, and into the waiting cars. ‘That’s my boy,’ grinned Goldman. He held the shot and then followed with the zoom as, a moment or two later, all four cars drove out of Johnson Gate, on to Massachusetts Avenue. Finally, the Kennedy party was on its way to the Loeb Drama Center on Brattle Street. Goldman glanced at his watch. It was one o’clock.

‘Yes sir,’ he said. ‘Everything you shoot has got to be tied into your plot. The trouble with most home movies is that people forget to tell a story. But nothing’s more important than that. Story is everything.’

When they were safely back in the Center Street apartment, Tom made them both some hot coffee and sandwiches and, while Alex developed the cine film, he watched The Guiding Light on TV. For a while he even closed his eyes and dozed a little. He was exhausted. The dummy assassination had been every bit as tiring as the real thing. More so. The sense of anti-climax was almost too much to bear. But it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long way.

An hour or so later, at around two thirty, Alex emerged from the darkroom holding a small spool of developed film in his hand.

‘Here it is,’ he announced triumphantly. ‘Today’s rushes.’

Tom got to his feet and, holding it up to the light, inspected some of the forty or fifty feet of sixteen-millimetre film Alex had shot on the Bolex Rex, and for which they had risked so much.

‘When can we view it?’ he asked.

But Goldman was already unrolling a forty-inch screen.

‘No time like the present,’ he said. ‘Of course, you understand this little film classic is unedited. The lab’ll need to make a copy before they slice this up.’

Tom turned the TV off. Goldman threaded the film on to a Bell and Howell projector, pulled the drapes, and then sat down on the sofa to watch. The two viewed the short film through several times with Goldman continuing to comment favourably on his own camerawork.

‘I reckon it’s come out real fine,’ he declared. ‘Like I was Alfred fucking Hitchcock. Nicely lit, and nicely framed. Even though I say so myself. Damn good camera, that Bolex. I just wish we’d had sound.’

‘We agreed,’ said Tom. ‘The Fairchild was too complicated.’

‘Colour’s good, though. You and Kennedy make quite a pair,’ said Goldman. ‘I always knew he was photogenic, but you look good, too. Maybe you should have been a movie actor, Tom. You’ve got presence, I’ll say that much for you.’

‘A rifle can do that for you. It lends you a certain something.’ Tom lit a cigarette. ‘And what about you? Looks like you’ve missed your vocation, too. Maybe when you get back to Miami you can try your hand shooting skin-flicks.’

‘I might just do that.’ Goldman glanced at his luminous wristwatch. ‘Speaking of skin-flicks, where the hell are those two girls? I thought they’d be back here by now. We’ve got a plane to catch.’

‘They’ll be here,’ said Tom. ‘Relax, will you? There’s plenty of time yet.’

‘Okay. Do you want to look at it again?’

‘You look, Alex. I’m going to take a leak.’

Tom went towards the lavatory, and then halfway along the corridor ducked into Alex’s bedroom where he quickly searched the other man’s coat pockets and briefcase. Instead of the three air tickets to Miami, he found only one air ticket, in Alex Goldman’s name. And a Walther automatic with a silencer. Wherever Goldman was planning to take Edith and Anne, it certainly wasn’t Miami. Tom thought it looked very much as if Goldman was planning to shoot them both in the car, most likely in the parking lot at Logan.

Tom came back into the lounge and stood at the back of the room, in the shadows, watching the flickering film.

‘If you’d actually done it,’ said Alex. ‘If you’d actually gone ahead and shot him, this would be the most famous piece of film in the world, I guess.’

‘I guess it would at that,’ agreed Tom.

‘I wonder if we could have got away with it?’

‘Sure we could. All those students? We’d have been gone with the wind.’ Tom paused. ‘When will you take it to Tampa?’

‘I told Ameijeiras I’d hand him the film the day after tomorrow.’

‘Alex?’ Tom spoke carefully. ‘You will look after those girls, won’t you? Make sure they’re all right when they get to Miami.’

‘Yeah, sure. I’ll take care of them.’