Page 36 of All That Glitters

Chapter twenty-seven

Skeletons and Equipment Trucks

The first sign of trouble was the two cop cars parked just outside the cemetery gate.

As Tony’s truck pulled up, he saw a crew of timid-looking workers from the rental company lugging lights, camera rigs, and sound equipment over to a large truck and loading it in the back.

Three uniformed police officers stood nearby to supervise.

Craig and the other inmates could only stand to the side and watch helplessly as their dream was packed up and carted away. With the cops there, there wasn’t anything they could do to stop it. Tony hopped out of his truck and joined the funeral gathering.

“What’s going on?” he asked, though the answer seemed painfully obvious.

“These fellas here is takin’ back our equipment,” Craig grumbled, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked like a volcano that was moments away from erupting.

“Said some guy named Preston Jordan — you know, the fella you was tellin’ us about with the wife and shotgun — weren’t gonna work with ‘em no more if they continued to work with us.”

“Oh, crap,” Tony said, the pieces clicking into place. This was Preston’s revenge. He should have seen it coming.

“Them’s my words too,” Craig nodded grimly. “Only with a few more adjectives.”

“So why are the cops here?” Tony asked, glancing at the officers, who were maintaining a professional distance as if they were dealing with a biohazard spill.

“Apparently, them rental guys thinks we’s scary lookin’,” Craig said with a sneer. “Called for an escort. Can you believe that? Us?”

Tony looked at the assembled executives of Rif Raf Produkshuns.

With their dumb, bewildered expressions, they looked less like a menacing biker gang and more like a casting call for a Three Stooges reboot.

As if to prove the point, Todd nonchalantly picked his nose and then, finding no other available surface, wiped his finger on the sleeve of Roy’s leather vest. Roy responded by shoving him clean off the tailgate of a nearby truck.

Todd landed on the grass with a soft oof.

“Oh, come on!” Todd whined from the ground. “That’s the third time today!”

“Then stop wipin’ your boogers on me, ya nasty little ferret,” Roy growled, wiping at his sleeve like it was contaminated.

In the background, Steve idly watched as Elvis the Labrador, blissfully unaware of the production’s collapse, enthusiastically dug a hole next to an ancient, leaning tombstone.

“What happened with the footage you already shot?” Tony asked, trying to assess just how catastrophic this setback was.

Craig reached into his battered denim jacket and pulled out a hard drive about the size of a paperback book.

“Got it all right here. They can take our lights, they can take our cameras, but they can’t take our footage.

” He patted the drive like it was a cherished pet.

“Been downloadin’ it every night, just in case somethin’ like this happened. ”

Tony felt a surge of relief. At least they hadn’t lost everything.

“What’re you guys gonna do?” Tony asked.

A dangerous glint appeared in Craig’s eye, a flicker of the old fire. “Suppose it’s time me and the boys had a talk with this Preston fella.”

Tony knew exactly what that meant. It wouldn’t be a talk; it would be an ultimatum delivered with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “A talk?”

“Maybe ‘negotiatin’s a better word,” Craig clarified, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.

Tony laughed, shaking his head. He got it.

In the background, Elvis finally struck gold.

He began tugging at something in the hole he’d been digging, his whole body wiggling with effort.

With a final, triumphant yank, he pulled a long, bony object from the earth and tore off across the cemetery with it.

Steve gave a weary sigh and started chasing after him.

“Just be careful,” Tony advised. “You don’t want to make things worse.”

Craig spat on the ground. “Don’t rightly see how things could get any worse than this.”

Just then, Elvis raced past them with a dirt-caked, yellowed skeleton arm dangling from his mouth. Steve was right behind him, hopelessly outmatched.

“Elvis, drop it! Heel! Drop the arm, boy!”

One of the police officers looked over at them, his expression one of complete disbelief. He watched the dog trot past with the human remains, then looked at the motley crew of filmmakers, then back at the dog. He slowly lowered his clipboard, his mouth hanging slightly ajar.

“You know what?” the cop muttered to himself. “I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t see that.” He turned his back on them and became suddenly interested in the contents of the rental truck.