“Perfect condition. It’s in the hotel vault right now. There are gaps in the story to fill. We’ll need quite a few male and female characters. And all of these will have to do their doubling for cash, and not for screen credit.”
Johnson raised his eyebrows. “And why? Out here screen credit is bread and butter.”
“Several reasons. This footage was made—never mind wherewith the understanding that film credit would favor no one.”
“If you’re lucky enough to catch your talent between pictures you might get away with it. But if your footage is worth working with, my boys will want screen credit. And I think they’re entitled to it.”
I said that was reasonable enough. The technical crews were essential, and I was prepared to pay well. Particularly to keep their mouths closed until the print was ready for final release. Maybe even after that.
“Before we go any further,” Johnson rose and reached for his hat, “let’s take a look at that print. I don’t know if we can—”
I knew what he was thinking. Amateurs. Home movies. Feelthy peekchures, mebbe?
We got the reels out of the hotel safe and drove to his laboratory, out Sunset. The top was down on his convertible and Mike hoped audibly that Ruth would have sense enough to get sports shirts that didn’t itch.
“Wife?” Johnson asked carelessly.
“Secretary,” Mike answered just as casually. “We flew in last night and she’s out getting us some light clothes.” Johnson’s estimation of us rose visibly.