Tom Piccirilli - The Last Deep Breath

Judy handed them one five page scene. It was the one where the hitter catches up to the woman on the run and she tries to seduce him. Kendra seemed to already know this was the scene she was supposed to have rehearsed for, but if she did she’d never mentioned that to him.

Grey didn’t go overboard and didn’t underplay the role. He started off in a chair, but when Kendra began to really get into the part she touched him on the throat and he lunged to his feet, and they played out the seduction leaning up against a wall. He pressed against her and she wrapped her legs around him. The script dropped from his hand. He didn’t know the piece line by line but he remembered the context and improvised. Kendra wound up saying her lines into the side of his neck, where she nipped at his jugular. The hitter was supposed to shove her away and stick the gun in her face one last time before he realizes she’s already got a hold on him. Except nobody had given Grey a prop gun.

He pulled out the .32 and stuck it under her chin. He thought of Ellie. He thought of his one chance to sleep with her passing him by and he was filled with regret, guilt, and self-loathing over it. His breathing grew more and more shallow until he was panting. Kendra glared at him, the terror alive in her eyes knowing it was a real gun but still playing into the role. She grunted. He mashed his lips against hers and she bit his tongue hard enough to make him bleed. He drew his knuckles across his mouth and backhanded her. It made the entire scene perfect.

Grey stepped away, returned the .32 to his pocket, and walked out of the room exactly like the hitter would in the movie.

Ten minutes later Kendra got into the Chevelle. He knew he had to apologize but didn’t know how to go about it. He waited for her to smack him. He waited for her to rail and rage against him. He looked out the window at the palm trees lining the parking lot and thought this town probably made everyone at least a little crazy.

He turned to look at her and she said, “Best audition I ever had. Let’s go home.”

That afternoon Monty called her to congratulate her on acing the audition. They’d offered her the part. They’d looked at sixty women and had given several of them three call-backs each, but Judy wanted Kendra.

Beaming and doing a little rabbit hop of joy, Kendra repeated everything he said. “A six-week shoot. Twenty K a week and a cut off the back end. Start on the 1 stin New York.” Kendra smiled but there was something else clouding her eyes. “What? What’s wrong, Monty?” She listened for a moment and let out a gasp. “What? No. No. You did what? You didn’t, Monty. You couldn’t have.”

She met Grey’s eyes and he got a seriously bad feeling. She almost let the phone fall from her hand but he grabbed it, heard Monty crying on the other end. He looked at Kendra and she said, “He told me he killed his wife. He said he bashed her head in with a 3-iron.”

Grey turned his face from her, focused on Monty on the other side of the phone. Could imagine him there in the fish bowl, sobbing. Major celebrities walking by in the halls peering in at him. The cops would be there soon.

“Monty, listen to me-”

“If only you’d done it.”

“Have you ever heard of a man named John Raymond?”

“You told me to do it! You said I should do it myself!”

Christ, Monty was right. Grey had said it. But who the fuck would’ve expected him to go through with it? Here, everybody he came across looked at him like he was a murderer, and some slick little shit without a plan winds up grabbing a golf club and taking out his wife.

“John Raymond. He called himself a manager. You ever heard of him? He the real thing?”

“You think a brain is solid,” Monty said, “like, I don’t know, like meat, but it’s not. It’s like egg yolk. It runs. It spatters!”

There was a buzz of activity as Grey heard men entering Monty’s office, cops identifying themselves, and Monty being wrestled to the ground. Someone picked up the phone and gruffly asked, “Who is this?”

Grey hung up.

Kendra said, “Is it true?”

“Yes. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He grabbed the .32, went out to the curb out front, and smashed the gun to pieces. Then he got in the Chevelle and drove out to the freeway and scattered them for miles.

Three in the morning Pax called. “Sorry about the time, but this was my only chance to phone.”

“I was up.”

“I’ll be back in two weeks. Wait for me.”

Grey explained about Reno, Kendra, L.A., the Hollywood sign, Killing Time , Harvey, the hot tub, Monty, the murdered wife, and John Raymond.

Pax let his silence talk for him, the same way Grey often did, the way they’d been taught to do as kids.

Finally Pax took a breath and said, “You’ve been busy.”

“Running in circles mostly.”

“It’s not easy finding someone who doesn’t want to be found. What’s your next move?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ellie could be dead, you know. From the knife wound in New York. You never did check the morgue or the hospitals or the police. That should’ve been your first stop. Maybe this Johnny tried to ice her again.”

“She’s not dead,” Grey said.

“She could be,” Pax insisted. “She could’ve died twenty steps outside your front door and you wouldn’t have known it. If it’s true, and she is dead, are you going to be able to handle it?”

The question offended Grey. He wet his lips and his mouth worked for a moment before he found his voice. “You just keep blowing up insurgents, right? Leave family matters to me.”

He drove back to Judy the casting agent’s place. She was auditioning two actors that Grey recognized from a couple of indie films he’d really enjoyed. They were doing a comedy scene about two guys on the road with a stolen gorilla being hunted by neo-Nazis and a pre-op tranny CIA agent. They played to the little tripod camera, screamed and ran around the little area like the gorilla or the chick with a dick was after them. Grey sat in the corner again thinking, Jesus, what these poor fuckers have to do to make a buck.

They finished up and walked past him without a word, their heads hanging.

Judy bustled up and said, “I’m glad you came back. I wanted to offer you the part of the hit man in Killing Time .”

Grey said, “What? I’m not even an actor.”

“You’re a natural. I’ve interviewed more than a dozen men for that role and you were by far the most authentic and appealing. We want you for it.”

“Who’s we?”

“All of us.” She gestured to the empty room like it was full of people. “I showed the digital video to our director and writer and they loved you as well. You won’t even need to do a call-back.”

Grey took a step away, drew his chin in like he was in a fight with enemies all around. “No, no, that’s not what this is about. Listen, have you ever heard of a manager named John Raymond?”

She waved her hands in the air again, doing the nail thing. “Tell me he’s not repping you!”

“No, he’s not, I’m not an actor, but I need to get in touch with him.”

“Who is representing you?”

“No one. Listen, I-”

“I know just the person. Kendra’s agent. Monty Stobbs. Have you met him yet?”

“I have, but Monty, he’s-”

“I think you two will work magnificently together.”

Nobody in this town ever heard a damn word you said.

“Look, about John Raymond-”

“He’s a bottom feeder. Small time with aspirations. He doesn’t protect his clients; he uses and wastes them.”

“He’s here in L.A.?”

“He has offices here and in New York, from what I recall, but please, if this film means anything to you, don’t bring him on board.”