Dead Set: A Private Detective Crime Novel (A Jefferson Cole Investigation Book 2) by DM James

Author:DM James [James, DM]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scribe Books
Published: 2022-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The days wore on but thankfully there were not many left. They were made particularly onerous by the fact that I was clearly there to protect someone who was a lying, cheating, ego-centric maniac. But then, them’s the breaks. Like a lawyer, I didn’t have to like the person I worked for, just protect them. As disagreeable as I found Michael Masterton, I can’t say that he deserved to be killed. Did I sympathise with the person making the threats? On that one I’ll have to plead the fifth…

Masterton's final day of filming came and there was an air of relief in the air. Relief on my part that I got him that far without him getting killed (or killing him myself…) and relief on everyone else’s part that they wouldn’t have to tread on eggshells around him any longer.

“Cole, my boy!” came the call from across the set. Masterton was beckoning me over like I was his personal butler. I had had to remind him on occasion that I was not his personal valet. I reluctantly joined him on set. “I’m putting on a few drinks tonight after I’ve wrapped my scenes, you’re very welcome to come. We’ve managed to get through the shoot this far, so I would love for you to let your – um – hair down.”

He stammered on the last few words as his eyes made contact with my hairline, which was rapidly receding (I blame job stress. And genetics. And bad luck). I usually wore hats, but never indoors. I wasn’t a barbarian. I overlooked his faux-pas.

“Thank you, Michael. Let’s make sure we get you to the end of the day, but after that, I’m off the clock and I never say no to a free bar.”

I turned to see Millie Mason arrive on set. The make-up department fussed over her for a moment.

“Hi,” said Millie. She was bashful; embarrassed about her previous confession, no doubt. I looked between her and Masterton. The hatred coming off her was intense.

“Y’all okay?” I asked. She nodded. I was about to enquire further when I was ushered off the set by the Assistant Director.

“Okay gang! Let’s focus!” The yell came from Masterton. “First positions everyone!”

I glanced across to a bank of monitors known as the ‘video village’ where Yousef Ahmed sat, grinding his teeth in irritation. He stood and yelled across the studio.

“If you want to direct a movie, Michael, write one yourself!” he said. He was half-laughing, but I could see that Masterton’s micro-managing was annoying him for real. Masterton saw through his attempt at levity and shot him a glare of contempt.

“TIA!” he yelled, making the poor sound guy rip his headphones off. “Drink!”

Tia Ngoko ran on set and handed him a water bottle which he took and glugged down. The poor woman then had to stand there and nod as he ranted about something or other. I couldn't quite hear, but Tia’s eyes had glazed over. When he was done, she turned and saw me watching.

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