George Martin - Lowball

Jamal set his phone on the table between them. “We’d love to.”

“I am offering my full, voluntary cooperation here,” Berman said. “Mollie, you’re a witness.”

“Wow,” Mollie said, stretching a single syllable into a four-second snarl of sarcasm.

Berman held up his cuffed hands. “May we lose these?”

“What,” Franny said, “you can’t talk without using your hands?”

Jamal laughed. “He’s telling the truth!”

So Jamal uncuffed Berman, who flexed his wrists and got slowly to his feet. “Time for the aria. You may recognize this.”

“Jamal-” Franny said, a bit alarmed.

Jamal just waved a hand. “Watch and listen.” He knew that for Berman, presentation and salesmanship truly over-rode all other concerns, even personal safety and dignity.

The producer faced them, hands clasped, eyes closed.

Then he opened them. “Okay, picture this. A talented, rich, ambitious, handsome young man with a flaw. A very human one … he wants money and power, not just for themselves. But for what they can give him. Which is love, right? What everyone wants. Picture Tom Cruise.”

“Oh, you wish!” Mollie said.

Franny was still nervous. To Jamal he said, “Okay, what is this?”

“He’s pitching !”

“He’s trying to, Detective,” Berman said. He actually seemed angry at the interruption.

“Continue,” Jamal said.

“Thank you,” Berman said. “Let’s give our hero a name-Gene. Gene could never accept that he would be loved for who he was or what he wanted to be … so he went for the money. So, yeah, he’s a bit of an unsympathetic character. But so was Rick in Casablanca . Or Charles Foster Kane. You don’t have to like Gene, you just have to want to see how far he goes … the depths he will descend to.” To Jamal he said, “He makes a lot of money.”

“So I recall,” Jamal said, knowing that Berman was playing him, but not especially concerned. He had always found the producer to be fascinating. How low would he go?

“But no amount of money is ever enough, right? Just like you never have enough love or-” And here he leered at Mollie. “-or sex-” Which made Mollie shudder.

“And earning it through work is ultimately unsatisfying. So Gene begins to gamble.”

“Like every other rich asshole in Hollywood,” Franny said. Jamal laughed: Mr. Police Detective was getting into this!

“It starts with sports, then gets into … more interesting sports. Cock-fighting, then the human equivalent. Fights to the death, especially with jokers. Insane visuals, tragic moments, and large amounts of money changing hands. Then, and here’s where Gene’s arrogance rises to the level of a Greek tragedy-which is pretty highfalutin for a Hollywood pitch, but you’ll see why it works. He bets on his own television series, one of those survival game things in which spy cameras and crazy competitions are edited into episodes week by week, so audiences can vote on their favorites.

“This series becomes hugely popular, and there is betting everywhere, especially in Europe. Now, you can’t just go to Vegas and make these kinds of bets, not for interesting amounts of money. You’ve got to find a place with a Wild West sensibility, or in Gene’s case … Wild East. A casino in Kazakhstan.” Berman glanced behind him. “If I’d had a few moments’ notice, I could show you some visuals.”

“If you’d had a few moments’ notice, we wouldn’t be here,” Franny said.

“Gene goes big for a female winner whose name is probably not important-only to have her walk off the show! There’s a little twist for you … she just changes her fucking mind, typical woman, something Gene can’t control-making a far less-suitable male contestant the winner.”

Jamal cleared his throat. “Less suitable?” He couldn’t let Berman’s comment pass without challenge.

Berman continued to play the game. “Let’s just say, less suitable for our hero’s purposes.”

Jamal wanted to get to the point where Berman actually incriminated himself. “Michael, so far we’re just taking our character down,” Jamal said. “I like a good wallow as well as anyone, if the scenery is good and the dialogue is snappy.”

“Oh, the scenery is fantastic. A bleak landscape in Kazakhstan, and set against it a city of mystery. Known as Talas when it was a major stop on the ancient Silk Road you’ll now see it written as Taraz or Tapa3, but it’s the same place filled with history and secrets. And there are dangerous secrets in this casino palace in the middle of it. Beautiful Russian hookers for eye candy. Handsome Eurotrash men in tuxes. And wild bad guys like Dmitri, who is this huge fat guy, always wears a T-shirt, one of those sleeveless ones, even on the casino floor. Oh, and he chews gum. All the time. What makes him dangerous is his ability to crawl into your head. Fucks with you, makes you afraid. So afraid you freeze up.”

“Noted,” Jamal said. “But Dmitri isn’t the star of your movie.”

Berman smiled. “Nowhere near. He’s just one of many threats. There is one far more dangerous, and the most unlikely villain you can imagine. Picture an elderly woman, call her Baba Yaga-”

“Michael,” Mollie said, warning the producer. She had suddenly begun to pay attention.

He ignored her. “Obviously, given her business, she’s not an ordinary old lady. Terrific casting possibility here, though. I’m thinking of one of those English actresses who were sex symbols a generation ago-”

“Wait!” Franny was laughing. “Your big villain is the world’s scariest seventy-year-old woman? What does she do, whack you with her walker?”

Berman laughed. “Good one, Detective. Actually, no. Baba Yaga is an ace. She … changes people. And not in a good way. We’re talking about furniture. So, at the same time Gene suffers a series of losses-huge amounts of money he can’t pay-rather than transform him into a footstool, which she threatens to do, she comes up with a way he can pay her back: by using his skills and his team to, uh, recruit jokers for death matches at her casino. Next thing Gene knows, he’s in business with a pretty young woman who possesses an amazing talent, one that allows her to move pretty much anywhere. There’s a nice symmetry there too-this girl was also a contestant on our hero’s show but in a later season. Ties everything together, you know? Anyway, this is the end of the first act.

“This team identifies interesting jokers and grabs them. Not by themselves, of course … Baba Yaga wants people she trusts at every step of the process. So Gene and his girl-”

“I was never your girl, ” Mollie snapped.

“I’m talking about the girl in this movie,” Berman said, smoothly. “The jokers would be held in New Jersey until they had enough to fill a van for this talented girl to ship them to Kazakhstan.”

Franny said, “Hey, is that where Father Squid is?”

“Who?”

“A very large joker who looks just the way the name suggests,” Jamal said. “He’s a priest.”

Berman snorted. “He’s not part of the pitch.”

“He’s an important figure in Jokertown,” Franny snarled. “It’s important for us to find him.”

“I can … imagine a joker like that in Kazakhstan. So, sure, he’s part of the cast, part of this new crew. Better fights, more money. Everybody’s happy!” Then he lowered his voice. “Until one stupid cameraman sells footage of the fights.”

Jamal had felt two different emotions as he listened to this presentation. First was amusement at seeing Berman in action-the producer’s version of begging for his life and using the tools that have worked for him all his career.

Second was the satisfaction of having the dots connected for the missing jokers and dead cameraman Joe Frank. “Is there some point in the story where our hero fucks up?” Jamal said. “Where he is confronted by the police and possibly a handsome superstar of a federal agent, and he gives up the cameraman only to learn that he’s been killed?”