Page 10

There were five names on the list, one of which was Martin Yeo. Having already interviewed the CEO, Con decided to cross him off—for now.

The other four names included the director, the main editor, and two other executive producers, all of whom had worked on three pirated films.

Con wasn’t yet up for speaking to another Martin Yeo clone, so he opted for the director. According to IMDb, Adon Guerrero, born in Mexico City, had roughly a dozen titles to his name. His first few titles were Spanish short films, but his big break seemed to come about halfway through his catalog: a movie called Whirlwind , which, judging by the poster, appeared to be a rip-off of the mid-nineties film ‘ Twister’ .

From there, the man’s rise was meteoric, an apparent industry darling, producing four massive blockbusters including the three films that had been pirated. A rough calculation indicated that Adon had grossed over three and a half billion dollars for Imperial Productions.

That was a hell of a lot of cash.

Con’s first instinct was that someone in Adon’s position would have to be an absolute moron to jeopardize his career by creating pirated copies of his own movies.

All for no personal gain.

But he’d seen stranger.

A quick call to Imperial Productions revealed that Adon Guerrero was on the set of his newest film, a live-action remake of a fairytale classic. After identifying himself, he was given the address of a studio in Hollywood.

Con hated Hollywood.

Like the movies that they put out, it was all fake.

At least no one gave him any trouble getting through the gates. While his interaction with Hollywood over the years had been limited—thank God—he’d heard of some agents being hampered by red tape, having to go through publicists, or some other bullshit to get anywhere near someone in charge. But, evidently, despite Martin’s fears of having another of their films pirated, they didn’t seem to care if someone leaked the fairytale movie.

It wasn’t as if you could spoil an age-old tale, Con supposed.

He was directed to the movie set, which was effectively a giant warehouse made of corrugated metal—one of dozens of identical buildings.

Con was stopped outside the building by a man wearing an orange vest and holding two red cone-shaped sticks like the ones used to direct airplanes across a runway.

He rolled down his window, told the security guard who he was looking for, and the man instructed him to drive right up on account of it being so hot outside.

Con thanked him and parked next to the warehouse door. He entered quietly just in case they were in the middle of filming.

Which, he realized immediately, they were.

The interior of the building was surprisingly drab and industrial—just concrete floors and exposed I-beams. It was also dark—production clearly wanted to carefully control the lighting with spot and fill lights.

Con desperately wanted a cigarette.

He paused just inside the door and waited for the feeling to pass while at the same time taking in the surroundings.

Con also prepared himself to speak with Adon.

In order to get the most out of interviews, whether it be with a suspect, witness, or even a colleague, you had to quickly figure out the best approach. If you pushed a man who didn’t want to be pushed, they would invariably grow defensive and push back. Act too soft and the interviewee might interpret this as weakness and spend their time trying to manipulate you and not the other way around.

But this was Hollywood. These people made a living telling lies, the foundation of the films they peddled.

Con strode forward.

There were camera operators everywhere, people setting up craft tables for lunch, but the main focus was at the very back of the building.

A set had been constructed, depicting a snowy scene. The entire area was bathed in soft blue lighting.

Con acted as if he belonged, walking with his eyes locked straight ahead. As he neared the set, it became evident that the fairytale remake was Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

“All right, last time. In three… two… one. And… action .”

The man who spoke had to be Adon Guerrero. He was seated in a director’s chair in front of a large monitor. He had shaggy, jet-black hair.

On action, the actors did their thing.

Con was only tacitly interested in the scene but did note that the dwarfs who broke into song were actual dwarfs. As they sang, the seven of them circled a woman lying motionless on a large rock slab.

After about forty-five seconds of this routine, Adon yelled cut .

Clearly displeased by what he’d just witnessed, the director shook his head as he rose. Adon’s handler, a young woman who was more prototypical in appearance to Snow White than the woman on the slab, handed him a coffee.

“Marissa, honey, I need a break. Keep them prepped, keep them happy. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

The woman nodded and Adon started toward Con. Their eyes met, and Con was about to say something, but the director lowered his gaze and rushed past him without a word.

Okay, so he thinks he’s important, Con thought.

Taking this information in, he hurried off after Adon.

“Mr. Guerrero?” he said. The man didn’t turn.

“Talk to my publicist.”

“Can you spare a moment?” Con kept his tone airy and light. Just shy of reverent.

Finally, Adon stopped and looked at him.

“Talk to my publicist,” he repeated, gesturing to someone behind Con to come forward.

To save him.

“I—”

Marissa suddenly appeared.

“Sir, I’m not sure how you got in here, but if you’re interested in a meeting with Mr. Guerrero, you’re going to have to—”

Con flashed his badge.

“FBI,” he said sharply.

Marissa reacted exactly how Con expected her to. She pulled back a little, her thin eyebrows arching.

“Oh, I didn’t know. I didn’t—”

“I need to talk to Adon.”

It wasn’t a request, it was a statement, and the woman treated it as such.

She let him go and Con found Adon outside, foot against the corrugated wall, smoking a cigarette. He frowned when Con appeared but said nothing even as Con pulled out his own cigarettes and put one in his mouth.

Then he patted his pockets, pretending to have forgotten his lighter.

Adon grunted and handed his over.

“Look, I don’t mean to be a dick, but if you want an interview, you have to go through the regular channels.”

“I’m not a reporter,” Con said. “I’m with the FBI.”

The man tried to hide his surprise, but Con detected a slight change in the man’s posture. He was incredibly tanned, clean-shaven, and short.

Handsome.

“I’m here on official business, but I’m actually a big fan, too,” Con lied.

“Oh, yeah?” Adon said skeptically. “What’s your favorite film of mine?”

Cond hesitated.

“ Rise of the Titans . I really liked the Rise of the Titans ,” he said, recalling what Chris had told him earlier. “But—but I was a bit disappointed by the lack of a post-credit scene.

Adon grunted.

“We had a post-credit scene, but production cut it. Said that if we kept it in, the fans would expect the sequel sooner rather than later. And we’re still working out financing for the follow-up film.”

Con hooked a chin toward the door.

“I only caught a glimpse, but Snow White seems a little different from your regular stuff.”

“Yeah,” Adon said with a sigh. He flicked his cigarette and they both watched the ash tumble to the ground. “Contractual obligation. But that’s it, this is the last one in my current contract. I finish this shitty movie and then I get to make what I want.”

“No kidding? Interesting choice in casting Snow White, by the way. Not exactly how I remember her as a kid.”

The man stared at him for so long that Con thought maybe he’d pushed things too far. But he hadn’t.

He’d read the man perfectly.

“Not my choice. You know, everyone’s so fucking scared of being canceled, of some asshole on Twitter or X calling you out. You know that they made me hire seven actual dwarfs for this production. Seven! You know how many dwarfs in Hollywood can actually act? There’s that guy from Game of Thrones —he passed, go figure—and a couple of others, but the rest… they’re terrible. With CGI nowadays we can turn anybody into a dwarf but no . And get this, not only did they have to be actual dwarfs, but production told me that one of them had to also be trans .”

Con scoffed.

“A trans dwarf? In Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either. But they forced me to do it. Doc was born a woman. And it had to be Doc. It couldn’t be Happy or Grumpy—they complained that this would reinforce stereotypes. As for the main actor, she’s good, but Snow White is a reference to the pale color of her skin and not just the setting. Talk about a lack of integrity. The studio gives me this list, right? A list of the types of people that I need to include. Boxes I need to tick.” Adon made a check mark gesture with his cigarette. “Trans, non-binary, Black, Indigenous, and one race that they refer to as ‘indistinguishable’. Tell me, what the fuck is an ‘indistinguishable race?’”

“I have no idea.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Adon took a heavy drag. “But I’m guessing you didn’t come to see if I conformed to all of these ridiculous rules and regulations.”

“I didn’t,” Con admitted with a shrug. “I actually came to ask you about the pirated films— Titans, Eclipse, and Quantum Guardians .”

Nothing in Con’s tone had changed—despite his own surprise at being able to recount the titles—and everything, to this point, was going as planned. He’d let Adon think that he was the one guiding the conversation and allowing him to vent immediately struck up a rapport.

But upon mentioning the pirated films, Adon suddenly lost interest in talking. He butted out.

“Not this again.” He sounded annoyed— more annoyed. “I don’t get why Martin gives a fuck about pirated videos. I really don’t. But that’s all over, anyway. They took the films down.”

“Well, he’s still worried. Wants to make sure that his newest release isn’t leaked.

The man’s thick eyebrows lowered even more.

“Snow White and the Seven Little People?”

The change in title caught Con off guard.

“Really? They changed the name?”

“They changed the name.”

“ Huh . Not that one—the big blockbuster… Shadowstrike , I think it’s called. You directed that one, too, didn’t you?”

“I did. They also gave me an exec producer tag. They’re trying to butter me up, make sure that after this piece of shit,” Adon thumbed the warehouse, “is done, I don’t go to one of their competitors.”

“I see.”

“Like I told Martin, I have no idea how the film was leaked but I can assure you it wasn’t me. As much as I loathe the current production, I can’t complain about the money. And, like I said, my next contract is going to include points. And that’s where the big money is.”

Con figured as much. There was such a thing as punching a cash cow in the mouth, but it was another to drag it to the abattoir and fire a steel rod into its brain.

“Anyways, sorry to waste your time, Agent…”

“Constantine Striker.”

“Right. I gotta get back.

Con held his hand out and Adon slipped his much smaller mitt into his.

“Good luck with the film,” Con said, reverting back to his earlier tone. “And as I said, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

“Thanks.”

With that, Adon turned and headed back inside. Con finished his cigarette before returning to his car.

He had half a dozen messages waiting for him, all from Hale.

As Con held the phone, debating whether or not to read the texts before deleting them, it rang in his hand.

It was his partner.

Against better judgment, Con accepted the call.

“Yeah?” he said, starting the car. The AC started to blast, and he was forced to turn up the volume on his cell.

“Oh, Agent Striker, I’m glad you picked up.”

“What is it, Agent Hale?”

“I think I found something.”

“Really? What?” For a man who never stopped talking, Chris suddenly seemed at a loss for words.

“ Wellllll , I’m not sure it means anything, but in one of the films, in Quantum Guardian , when Captain McGraw is speaking to one of his soldiers, they—”

“Just get to the point.”

Con waved at the man with the runway cones as he drove past.

“Well, they mentioned something about pirated movies. Only it was in reference to some sort of software code. Captain McGraw says, and I quote, Pirating movies is a cheap way to make a buck, but it’s unsustainable in the long run .”

Con waited.

“Agent Striker? You still there?”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah. I just thought it was weird because—”

It’s not weird, Con thought, it’s completely irrelevant.

“Just watch the movies again, Agent Hale. Watch them all again from the very beginning.”

“But I’ve already seen—”

“Just do it.”

Con hung up before his partner could complain any further.

Marcus Allen had refused to reassign Chris Hale. He’d refused to cut him loose, refused to even listen to what Con had to say.

Their partnership simply wasn’t going to work. Con knew it and if Hale had half a brain in his head, he would know it, too. True, Con was being an ass, no doubt about it. But was this really worse than leading Agent Hale on? Pretending that one day they’d get along, work the way Con and Tate had all those years ago?

Investigate real, relevant crimes? Crimes that mattered?

Con shook his head.

No, that was never going to happen.

As Con lit a cigarette, he came up with an idea.

Maybe Chris Hale didn’t have to die a slow, painful death.

Like with suspect interviews, you had to know when to push and when to pull.

And if Marcus Allen wouldn’t push Chris Hale out, maybe the man’s previous employer, the LAPD, could be convinced to pull him back in.