NYPD Red

Chapter 5



“HEIL HITLER,” Ian said, throwing his right arm in the air as Muhlenberg entered his trailer.

It wasn’t funny the first time. It wasn’t funny the hundredth. The director forced a smile.

Without makeup, Ian Stewart looked every day of his fifty-six years. He was a womanizing shit heel with a short fuse and a giant ego. “Russell Crowe Without the Charm,” one tabloid had called him. And Muhlenberg’s career was riding on him.

“I had a little talk with Edie,” Henry said.

“Little talk? You were in her trailer for nearly an hour. What’d you have to do?” he asked, rolling his tongue over his lips.

“Give me a break, Ian. This is your big scene. The one you insisted on. It added over three million dollars to the budget,” Henry said. “I did whatever it took. She’s ready to shoot. Now please, get into makeup before she changes her mind.”

Ian clicked his heels. “Ja, mein Direktor. Danke schön.”

As far as Muhlenberg was concerned, the scene he was about to shoot was a total piece of shit. A black-tie wedding reception. Ian was the groom. Devon Whitaker, the twenty-two-year-old blonde Ian was banging, was the bride. Edie was the ex-wife. She crashed the wedding, gun in hand, and shot the happy couple.

But wait—it was all a dream sequence, so the big ham got to die dramatically on camera and still come back for the rest of the film. All it did was muddy up a script that already had the life sucked out of it by four different writers. But Ian wouldn’t make the movie without it. Wanker.

“Hey, did you hear about Sid Roth?” Ian asked.

“Yeah, I heard he dropped dead over breakfast at the Regency. Heart attack.”

“More like poison if you believe the rumor mill.” Ian laughed. “Doesn’t surprise me. That bastard had so many enemies, it’s a wonder nobody killed him sooner.”

“I can see you’re all broken up about it,” Henry said.

“I’m thrilled,” Ian said. “With Roth dead, I move up another notch on the list of most hated people in show business. Three more and I’ll be in the top ten.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you’re number one around here,” Henry said. “Heil Hitler.”