, “I’m gonna enjoy kicking the shit out of you, pretty boy.”
Hondo hit him in the chest with the first two stiffened fingers on his right hand, the punch travelling about twelve inches. It happened lightning fast. The biker dropped backwards and fell to the floor with a thud, curled in a fetal position, out cold. Hondo hadn’t moved a step. He said to David, “You okay?”
“Y-yes. Thank you. He would have injured me, I think.”
“Maybe. He wanted to intimidate you, but that might have been all.”
I asked David, “What’s this about?”
“I was talking on the phone to your Agent, Archie, about changing your scenes when Mr. Farlow Bains came in because he heard we were dropping him from the film.”
“Why?”
Eugene opened the office door a crack, peeked in, then opened it and hurried to David’s side. David continued, “We decided that with all of the turmoil about racism, we needed to do our part. So we planned to replace Farlow with a person of color.”
Farlow stirred on the floor, his groans barely audible. I reached down and grasped his arm to help him sit up. I realized then that his tattoos were excellent quality, but not real. He sat on the floor, still groggy, and glanced up at Hondo, “What was that you did?”
I said, “Did you see the movie, Kill Bill, with the Five Finger Death Punch? Be thankful Hondo only used two fingers.”
Farlow rubbed his chest as I helped him to his feet. He looked embarrassed. He faced Shells. “I wanted this job very much, sir. I apologize for my actions, Mr. Shells.”
I looked him over while he stood there, and unless this guy dressed for the part, he was on hard times. His jeans looked clean but worn threadbare in places, and his motorcycle boots had duct tape holding on one sole. I asked, “Where are you living?”
He hung his head, “On the street. Lost my job eight months ago, so no apartment.”
Hondo watched me. I said, “You have an agent?”
“He dropped me when Mr. Shells let me go.”
I said, “Do you have a ride?”
“I have a Vespa I get around on.”
I tried to imagine this huge man riding around Los Angeles on the small scooter. I pointed at his arms, “Who did your work?”
“I did.”
I said to David and Eugene, “Are you going to press charges?”
David thought a moment, “No, it wouldn’t do anyone any good.”
I gave Farlow a twenty and one of our business cards, “Get something to eat, and come by tomorrow, I want to introduce you to our Agent.”
He took the card and money like it was gold. “Thank you. I will.”
When Farlow left the office, I said to David, “What is this about changing our scenes? We’ve been slaving over the script, working to nail down our lines and memorizing them for hours on end.” Hondo rolled his eyes at me but I pushed on, “And now you’re changing our scenes?”
David said, “We’re adding more to highlight you. It would require additional days of shooting, so I checked with your Agent to be sure you would be available for the additional times.”
“Oh, well okay then. I’m glad we got that settled.” We talked a little more and David and Eugene thanked Hondo probably a hundred times before we got out of the office. As we drove away, I said, “What did I tell you? Stick with me. I just got you a bigger role.”
Hondo said, “Remind me never to take you around any abandoned puppies. We’d have an office full of them.”
“Did you notice his tats?”
“Biker tats, slogans, women, daggers and gang stuff. Why?”
“They were fake. He drew them on himself.”