It got another smile, a tired one. “No, I don’t. Though I have to say, I’m curious.”
“So, you want to know?”
“If you’d like to tell me, yeah.”
“I’m thinking about a movie.”
“One of mine?”
“One we’re producing and we want you to be in,” Chili said, seeing the movie star’s eyebrows go up, and one of the arms in the worn-out leather jacket, raising his hand as Chili tried to tell him, “It’s one you already know about, you read.”
But Michael wasn’t listening, he was saying, “Wait. Time out, okay?” before lowering his arm and settling back. “I don’t want to come off sounding rude, because I appreciate your interest and I’m flattered, really, that you’d think of me for a part. But, and here’s the problem. My agent won’t let me go
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anywhere near an independently financed production, I’m sorry.”
Chili got to say, “It isn’t that kind—” and the hand shot up again.
“My manager along with my agent, the business heads, they’ve made it our policy. Otherwise, I’m sure you can understand, I’d have pitches coming at me from independents day and night.” The movie star shrugged, helpless, his gaze moving off to the band.
“You think I’m talking about wiseguy money,” Chili said. “No way. This one’s gonna be made at a studio.”
It brought the movie star partway back.
“I’m not connected to those people anymore. Not since I walked out of a loan-shark operation in Miami.”
That brought the movie star all the way back with questions in his eyes, sitting up, interested in the real stuff.
“What happened? The pressure got to you?”
“Pressure? I’m the one applied the pressure.”
“That’s what I mean, the effect that must’ve had on you. What you had to do sometimes to collect.”
“Like have some asshole’s legs broken?”
“That, yeah, or some form of intimidation?”
“Whatever it takes,” Chili said. “You’re an actor, you like to pretend. Imagine you’re the shylock. A guy owes you fifteen grand and he skips, leaves town.”
“Yeah?”
“What do you do?”
Chili watched the movie star hunch over, narrowing his shoulders. For a few moments he held his hands together in front of him, getting a shifty look in his eyes. Then gave it up, shaking his head.
“I’m doing Shylock instead of
“Hold it,” Chili said. “I was a shylock—what do I look like?”
“That’s right, yeah,” Michael said, staring at Chili, his expression gradually becoming deadpan, sleepy.
“You the shylock now?”
“Guy owes me fifteen large and takes off, I go after him,” the movie star said. “The fuck you think I do?”
“Try it again,” Chili said. “Look at me.”
“I’m looking at you.”
“No, I want you to look at me the way I’m looking at you. Put it in your eyes, ‘You’re mine, asshole,’ without saying it.”
“Like this?”
“What’re you telling me, you’re tired? You wanta go to bed?”
“Wait. How about this?”
“You’re squinting, like you’re trying to look mean or you need glasses. Look at me. I’m thinking, You’re mine, I fuckin own you. What I’m
“The idea then,” the movie star said, “I show complete indifference, until I’m crossed.”
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“Not even then. It’s nothing personal, it’s business. The guy misses, he knows what’s gonna happen.”
“How about this?” the movie star said, giving Chili a nice dead-eyed look.
“That’s not bad.”
“This’s what I think of you, asshole. Nothing.”
“I believe it,” Chili said.
“I turn it on when I confront the guy.”
“Yeah, but you haven’t found him yet.”
Chili watched the movie star wondering what he was supposed to do next, giving him a strange look, Chili wondering himself exactly what he was doing, except he could see it right there in his mind so he kept going.
“The guy took off for Las Vegas.”
“How do I know that?” The movie star picking up on it.
“The guy’s wife tells you.”
Chili paused, the movie star waiting.
“Yeah?”
“The wife wants to go with you on account of her husband skipped with all her money . . . three hundred grand,” Chili said, starting to roll and not seeing anywhere to stop, “they conned off an airline after this jet crashed the guy was supposed to be on but wasn’t and everybody was killed.”
The movie star was looking at him funny again.
“If the guy wasn’t on the plane . . .”
“He was, but he got off just before it left and blew up. So his bag’s on the plane, his name’s on the passenger list . . .”
“The wife sues the airline,” the movie star said, nodding. “This is a gutsy babe.”
“Good looking too.”
“The husband takes off with the money, plus he still owes me the fifteen large,” Michael the shylock said, “and the wife and I take off after him. Go on. When do I meet up with the guy and give him the look?”
Chili had to think about it. Tell Michael what actually happened or what he thought would sound better?
“It’s not that simple,” Chili said. “You have to be careful. Leo, the husband, isn’t much to worry about, outside of he could try and nail you from behind if you get close. But there’s another guy that comes along, a hard- on you happen to owe money to. A mob guy. He knows about the three hundred grand and would like to take you out anyway, on account of a past situation.”
This time when Chili paused, wondering how to get back to where this thing had started, the movie star said, “This actually happened, didn’t it? It’s a true story.”
“Basically,” Chili said.
“You’re the shylock.”
“I was at one time.”
“So, did you find the guy? What’s his name, Leo?”
“I found him,” Chili said, “yeah.”
That was a fact. But now he didn’t know what else to say, or how he actually got this far into it.
“You understand, you’re pretending you’re a shylock.”
“Yeah? Go on.”
“I mean that’s all we’re doing. You wanted to see if you can think like a shylock, get in his head. So I gave you a situation, that’s all.”
