“Isn’t it? Isn’t he jeopardizing Arrington’s life in order to protect his career?”
“I honestly don’t think he is.”
“Then what is he trying to do?”
“I think he thinks he can beat them at their own game.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Stone moaned. “Not that.”
She nodded. “He figures this is between him and them, and he doesn’t really want any outside help.”
“Then why did he ask me to come out here?”
“He panicked, for just a moment. By the time you got here he had gotten hold of himself again.”
“Exactly what is he trying to do?”
“Save Arrington, save Lou Regenstein, save Centurion Studios. For a start.”
“What else?”
“I think he would very much like to kill Onofrio Ippolito.”
“That makes two of us,” Stone muttered.
“You’re too smart to do something like that, Stone, but Vance isn’t. Vance would kill him in a minute, if e could figure out how to do it without harming Arrington.”
“That’s about all that’s kept me from killing him,” Stone said.
“I hope you can help Vance. He’s a fine man, and I’d hate to see him pulled down by his own anger.”
“Betty, if I’m going to help him, you’re going to have to help me.”
A long pause. “All right,” she said at last.
“Start at the beginning,” he said.
And she did.
44
Betty started slowly, reluctantly. “I guess it was a couple of weeks ago, maybe a little more. Vance came into work, and he was nervous. Vance is never nervous. He has this glacial calm about him; I think it’s one of the things that makes him come over so well on screen. The only other actor I’ve ever seen with that kind of calm was Alan Ladd.”
Stone didn’t interrupt.
“But he was nervous that day—anxious, angry, nearly shaking with it. I’d never seen anything like it from him. I didn’t ask what was wrong; I knew he’d never tell me. Instead, I just watched and waited, to see if I could figure it out. He made a lot of phone calls that morning, and he dialed them himself, instead of asking me to get somebody on the line, as he usually did. Some of the calls were in-studio; I could tell that because the studio lines are separate from the outside lines. And then he did something odd: he asked me to get his Centurion stock certificates from the big safe.
“We have two safes in the office—a small fire safe that’s mostly for important documents and computer disks, and then the big safe that’s half as tall as I am. He keeps cash in there, along with some gold bars and some treasury bills. I think there’s a part of Vance that’s deeply insecure, that’s always ready to bolt. I think he has this fantasy of packing a briefcase, getting on a plane, and disappearing. Maybe it’s something in his past, I don’t know.
“Anyway, he asked me to get the Centurion certificates. Vance owns about twelve percent of the studio, and Lou Regenstein owns around thirty percent, so between them they can pretty much control the business.”
“How much of the studio do David Sturmack and Ippolito own?” Stone asked. It was the first time he had spoken since she began.
“They each own ten or eleven percent.”
“Not enough to take control, then?”
“I’m not so sure about that. I think somebody has been quietly buying shares. The stock isn’t all that widely held, and I think some of the smaller shareholders have been selling.”