Wolf,” Dave said. “I’ve never had an experience like this on a film. Maybe we ought to work this way all the time.”
“God forbid,” Jane said. “Now, what have you got for me?”
Wolf consulted the stopwatch in his hand. “I want you to take four minutes out of the film without fucking up Dave’s score. We haven’t got time to rerecord.”
“ Four minutes? ” she wailed.
“Centurion would ask for it anyway, and they’d be right. It moves just a hair too slowly, and four minutes will trim it to an hour and forty-five minutes exactly. The distributors and exhibitors will love us for it—they can turn over the house every two hours on the hour—I bet we’ll pick up an extra fifty screens on first release.”
“Okay,” Jane said resignedly. “When do we start?”
“ You can start now,” he said. “I’ve got to be somewhere.”
“ By myself? ” Jane erupted.
“You can do it,” Wolf said, squeezing her hand. He didn’t let it go. “You know this movie as well as Jack or I do by now, and you’ve got great instincts.”
“By myself,” she muttered.
“When you’re finished, hand-carry the print to the lab and stand over them until you’ve got an answer print you can live with.” He turned to Hal. “ Then you can take it to Centurion. And don’t leave without their signed acceptance.”
When the others had gone, Wolf sat in his study and stared at the telephone. Last chance , he thought. Tell Hal to raise all the money he can, then get in the airplane and head for Mexico—no, Central America, maybe even Brazil—someplace with no extradition treaty . Finally he heaved a deep, fearful sigh and picked up the phone.
“The Eagle Practice,” a woman’s voice answered.
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Eagle,” Wolf said.
“Whom may I say is calling?”
“A friend of Mark Shea. I believe he’s expecting my call.”
There was a moment’s pause and a deep, rich voice drawled, “This is Ed Eagle.” The tones were the pure, oddly accentless speech of the American Indian, almost regardless of tribe.
“Mr. Eagle, I believe Mark Shea called you about me.”
“He did,” Eagle replied laconically. “Who are you?”
“I would prefer not to give you my name until we can meet and see if we can establish a client-attorney relationship,” Wolf said.
“Well, sounds like you’re a lawyer,” Eagle said. “When do you want to come by here?”
“I don’t think it’s wise for me to come to your office at the moment. Could we meet somewhere else privately? After office hours?”
“Why don’t you come out to the house this evening? Say, about seven?”
Wolf looked at his watch: a little before five, and L.A. was an hour earlier. “I’m not in Santa Fe at the moment,”he said. “I don’t think I could make it there much before eleven.” He didn’t want to reach the city until after dark.
“That’ll be all right,” Eagle replied. “I’m usually up late. You know where I live?”
“No.”
“You know Tesuque?” He pronounced it Teh-SOO-kee .
“Yes.”
“Drive past the Tesuque Market, and take your first right. I’m about four miles up the road in the hills. You’ll see the sign on your left.”
“I’ll get there earlier if I can.”
“See you this evening, then, Mr. Willett.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Eagle.” Wolf had already hung up before he realized that Ed Eagle had known his name.
CHAPTER
10
W olf landed at Santa Fe Airport half an hour after the field closed. Once in the Porsche he became downright paranoid, working his way to the north side of town by back roads and side streets, nearly fainting when a police car pulled up beside him at a traffic light, then ignored him.
He turned right after the Tesuque Market, as instructed, and farther up the mountain found the sign, which turned out to be a life-size bronze sculpture of an eagle, its wings spread wide, a writhing rattlesnake gripped in its claws. The drive climbed for another half mile until
“God forbid,” Jane said. “Now, what have you got for me?”
Wolf consulted the stopwatch in his hand. “I want you to take four minutes out of the film without fucking up Dave’s score. We haven’t got time to rerecord.”
“ Four minutes? ” she wailed.
“Centurion would ask for it anyway, and they’d be right. It moves just a hair too slowly, and four minutes will trim it to an hour and forty-five minutes exactly. The distributors and exhibitors will love us for it—they can turn over the house every two hours on the hour—I bet we’ll pick up an extra fifty screens on first release.”
“Okay,” Jane said resignedly. “When do we start?”
“ You can start now,” he said. “I’ve got to be somewhere.”
“ By myself? ” Jane erupted.
“You can do it,” Wolf said, squeezing her hand. He didn’t let it go. “You know this movie as well as Jack or I do by now, and you’ve got great instincts.”
“By myself,” she muttered.
“When you’re finished, hand-carry the print to the lab and stand over them until you’ve got an answer print you can live with.” He turned to Hal. “ Then you can take it to Centurion. And don’t leave without their signed acceptance.”
When the others had gone, Wolf sat in his study and stared at the telephone. Last chance , he thought. Tell Hal to raise all the money he can, then get in the airplane and head for Mexico—no, Central America, maybe even Brazil—someplace with no extradition treaty . Finally he heaved a deep, fearful sigh and picked up the phone.
“The Eagle Practice,” a woman’s voice answered.
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Eagle,” Wolf said.
“Whom may I say is calling?”
“A friend of Mark Shea. I believe he’s expecting my call.”
There was a moment’s pause and a deep, rich voice drawled, “This is Ed Eagle.” The tones were the pure, oddly accentless speech of the American Indian, almost regardless of tribe.
“Mr. Eagle, I believe Mark Shea called you about me.”
“He did,” Eagle replied laconically. “Who are you?”
“I would prefer not to give you my name until we can meet and see if we can establish a client-attorney relationship,” Wolf said.
“Well, sounds like you’re a lawyer,” Eagle said. “When do you want to come by here?”
“I don’t think it’s wise for me to come to your office at the moment. Could we meet somewhere else privately? After office hours?”
“Why don’t you come out to the house this evening? Say, about seven?”
Wolf looked at his watch: a little before five, and L.A. was an hour earlier. “I’m not in Santa Fe at the moment,”he said. “I don’t think I could make it there much before eleven.” He didn’t want to reach the city until after dark.
“That’ll be all right,” Eagle replied. “I’m usually up late. You know where I live?”
“No.”
“You know Tesuque?” He pronounced it Teh-SOO-kee .
“Yes.”
“Drive past the Tesuque Market, and take your first right. I’m about four miles up the road in the hills. You’ll see the sign on your left.”
“I’ll get there earlier if I can.”
“See you this evening, then, Mr. Willett.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Eagle.” Wolf had already hung up before he realized that Ed Eagle had known his name.
CHAPTER
10
W olf landed at Santa Fe Airport half an hour after the field closed. Once in the Porsche he became downright paranoid, working his way to the north side of town by back roads and side streets, nearly fainting when a police car pulled up beside him at a traffic light, then ignored him.
He turned right after the Tesuque Market, as instructed, and farther up the mountain found the sign, which turned out to be a life-size bronze sculpture of an eagle, its wings spread wide, a writhing rattlesnake gripped in its claws. The drive climbed for another half mile until
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