F. Paul Wilson - Ground Zero

Inside, the industrial carpeting was worn and the art deco moldings needed refurbishing. To look like he was here to watch a movie, he bought a large popcorn. Soft and chewy—stale. Probably left over from last night, or even the night before.

He asked the gothoid teenage boy behind the counter—were he and the ticket girl a couple?—if he could speak to the manager.

The kid turned and called, “Ernie! Someone to see you!”

Ernie—yes. A good start.

A few seconds later Ernest Goren stepped into the doorway. He’d kept his first name, but probably had changed the second. His eyes narrowed as he frowned at Jack.

“Can I help you?”

Jack walked over and extended his hand. “John Tyleski.”

Goren gave a quick shake but didn’t offer his name.

Knowing his interest in UFOs, Jack had his next line all set.

“I was wondering if you have any plans to show Earth vs. the Flying Saucers. You know . . .” He cupped his hands around his mouth and lowered his voice, imitating the alien announcer. “ ‘ People of Earth ’ . . .”

Goren’s mouth twisted. “That’s not bad. But you missed it by three weeks.”

“Really? Damn! I’ve wanted to see that on a big screen for ages.”

“We ran a UFO festival—double features every night Monday through Thursday.”

Okay, the ice was broken. Now to get on his good side, gain a little trust. Jack didn’t have to feign interest.

“You’re killing me. What did you show?”

Goren ducked back into his office. Jack stepped up to the doorway but didn’t enter. A tiny space. He was surprised to see Alice Laverty sitting in a chair opposite the desk.

“Hello,” he said.

Jack looked for a sign of recognition—after all they’d been on the same plane for almost six hours—but she simply nodded and gave him a polite smile. Well, why should she remember him? Except for one trip to the restroom, he’d stayed in his seat the whole time.

Looked like Goren hadn’t been able to arrange coverage for tonight, but that hadn’t stopped him from spending time with his daughter. Good for him.

Goren pulled a couple of sheets from his desktop and handed one to Jack.

“Take a look.”

Vintage Theatre UFO Festival

MONDAY

Earth vs. the Flying Saucers

Devil Girl from Mars

TUESDAY

Close Encounters

Plan 9 from Outer Space

WEDNESDAY

This Island Earth

Invasion of the Saucer Men

THURSDAY

The Thing from Another World

Invaders from Mars

“Cool,” Jack said. “Except for Thursday, you’ve paired a goody with a turkey.”

“One man’s turkey is another man’s steak.” He handed Jack another sheet. “If you’d have liked that, you’ll love next week’s festival—five days.”

Vintage Theatre INVASION Festival

SUNDAY

Robot Monster

Killers from Space

MONDAY

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

It Conquered the World

TUESDAY

Night of the Blood Beast

The Brain from Planet Arous

WEDNESDAY

I Married a Monster from Outer Space

Teenagers from Outer Space

THURSDAY

Invisible Invaders

The Cape Canaveral Monsters

“Wow. I’m so there. And in chronological order too.”

Goren was staring at him. “You seem to know your stuff.”

“Who picks these?”

“I do.”

Jack folded his hands in supplication. “Can I be you when I grow up?”

“I don’t think this theater will last till then. But let’s see if you can figure this: These ten films have something else in common besides invasion from space. Know what it is?”

Jack hadn’t a clue, but he needed to keep impressing Goren.

“Well, you’ve got a couple of Agars and a couple of Cormans . . .”

“Good, very good, but that’s not it. They were all filmed in part in and around the Bronson Caves.”

“I’ve heard of them. They’re nearby, aren’t they?”

“About five miles as the crow flies.”

“Ever been there?”

He smiled. “Lots of times.”

“Could you show me sometime?”

The smile faded and shutters seemed to drop behind his eyes. “I don’t think so. I have a day job.”

“We can do it on your day off. I’m willing to pay for your time.”

He took a step back into the office. “No, I don’t think so.”

“A hundred bucks for what—a couple of hours.”

Goren shook his head.

“Then give me a pen.”

Goren complied with obvious reluctance. On the back of the UFO festival list Jack wrote “John Tyleski—Bronson Caves” and his Tracfone number.

“You change your mind, call me, okay?”

“You’re missing the movie,” Goren said and closed the door.

Jack knew the guy had to be wary, but he’d come on like a total film geek, and wanting a Bronson tour was in character. What had he done, what had he said to shut the guy down?

10

Jack sat through the end of High Noon and revisited Fort Zinderneuf and the Geste brothers in Beau Geste . He was too restless to enjoy them, but felt he had to stay. Any suspicions Goren had about him would be confirmed if he’d walked out after their conversation. So he hung on.

But he sat in a back row where he could get up every so often and squint through the crack between the doors for a peek at the manager’s office. Goren had opened the door again and Jack could see a bit of the desk. He was banking on him not trusting the teenagers to close up and staying to do that himself.

As the closing credits began to roll after Beau Geste’s bittersweet final scene, Jack took his time exiting with the thirty or so other patrons. As he passed the manager’s office he tapped on the door and stuck his head in. Both Goren and his daughter jumped at the sight of him.

Why were they so spooked?

“Great to see those on a big screen,” he said. “Change your mind about the Bronson tour?”

Goren swallowed as he shook his head. “No.” His voice sounded hoarse and tight.

Jack could only describe Alice’s expression as a frightened glare.

“Well, you have my number if you do. And I’ll up the price to two hundred bucks.”

Baffled by their frightened reaction, he gave a friendly wave and headed out, wondering where he’d gone wrong. Had Alice remembered him from the flight, or were they wary of any stranger who seemed overly friendly? Jack didn’t think he’d been overly anything but geeky. Had he let too much of his inner movie geek shine through?

Well, since Godot would probably call before Goren, Jack would have to follow them home. But first to check for possible escape routes.

On his way in he’d spotted an alley along the building’s left flank. He checked that out now and was relieved to find it blind. Exit doors, litter, a Dumpster, a beat-up motorcycle chained to a standpipe, and high walls all around.

Two ways out—the front or the alley—both onto Melrose. Excellent.

He slipped behind the wheel of his car down the street to watch and wait. He got his first inkling that things might go sour when the two teens left the theater and walked away. He’d assumed one of them owned the motorcycle.

Then the entrance went dark, followed quickly by the marquee. A few minutes later the motorcycle with two helmeted riders—the passenger obviously female—roared out of the alley headed east on Melrose. Jack hung a U and followed.

For a guy living off the books and trying to limit expenses, a motorcycle made a lot of sense. Even more sense if the legendary L.A. traffic jams lived up to their hype. The junker at the airport probably belonged to the driver. No room for luggage on a bike. Must have dragooned a friend into picking up his daughter.