The Wolf of Los Angeles

Chapter 15: Multiple Gains

The black sedan sped toward the Great Salt Lake Theater. Damian, keeping watch from the roadside, dialed a number and reported the car’s license plate.

George, clueless about high-level business warfare, was single-minded in his desire to ruin Eric’s screening in retaliation for his own botched one. The plan was straightforward—copy the exact sabotage he’d experienced.

“He’s not at the main entrance—he’s heading to the back,” a voice on the line informed Hawk.

In the hallway, Hawk answered the call, holding a handheld camcorder as he led a group toward the back entrance. “He’s here. Hide,” he instructed the bearded man and Larson’s team.

The bearded man grinned. “That coffee wasn’t free, huh?”

Hawk stationed himself by the back window, adjusting the camcorder to film the rear yard.

Eric watched in confusion. “This… is part of building the movie-watching atmosphere?”

“Just wait and see,” Hawk replied, gesturing for silence.

Moments later, two objects were tossed over the yard’s low wall, followed by George himself climbing over.

George picked up a wooden baseball bat and pulled the safety pin on a fire extinguisher.

Swinging the bat, he knocked over a discarded Christmas tree blocking his path, then strode toward the power room’s ventilation window with the extinguisher in hand.

From the side of the power room, the bearded man crept up and launched a full-bodied tackle.

With a thud, George landed hard on the ground, emitting a peculiar cry. He released the bat and extinguisher, clutching his rear in apparent agony, rolling around like he was being tortured.

The bearded man froze, raising his hands. “Wasn’t me—I didn’t do it!”

George instantly regretted agreeing to wear that “gift” from the bald man for the whole day. Now he felt as though he might die.

Hawk turned off the camcorder and called Mason, the theater owner. “There’s a maniac trying to sabotage your power room—we caught him.”

George, still writhing in pain, let out pitiful wails.

Eric grabbed Hawk’s arm, laughing uproariously. “Amazing! Absolutely brilliant! Buddy, you’ve really helped me vent my anger!”

Hawk replied, “I’ll need the camcorder for a little while longer to transfer the footage.”

“You like it? It’s yours,” Eric said, not joking in the slightest. Pointing at the still-rolling George, he added, “You have to take it. This camcorder isn’t enough to repay you!”

Relieved of his pent-up frustration, Eric felt so light-hearted that he barely cared about the movie’s fate anymore. “Even if we don’t sell the distribution rights, I’ll pay you an additional amount—2% of the production cost.”

The money wasn’t coming out of his pocket anyway, and a little extra groveling was a small price to pay.

By the time Mason arrived and assessed the situation, he called the police.

Hawk reminded him, “Keep this contained to the back—don’t let it affect the front.”

Mason, having charged Eric extra, was particularly cooperative. “Don’t worry. The officers are locals—they’ll handle it discreetly.”

Small-town connections worked wonders.

Using Eric’s computer, Hawk transferred the footage to a storage drive before returning to the scene.

Police and paramedics were already there. Hawk provided the video as evidence, and Mason handed over the temporary theater security agreement signed just ten minutes earlier.

The bearded man was in the clear.

Meanwhile, George, still howling, was loaded onto a stretcher and into an ambulance.

“What happened?” someone asked.

The medic gestured with both hands. “Horrifying—at least seven inches, all the way in. God bless him.”

As the ambulance and police car departed, a woman with a press badge rushed over, blocking the door and asking Mason, “What’s going on here?”

Mason shook his head. “Gina, you’re too late. The story’s already gone cold.”

Hawk glanced at the cameraman behind her and then at her badge, noting she worked at Channel 7 in Salt Lake City. “You all head back. I’ll chat with her for a bit,” he told his group.

Gina shook Hawk’s hand and introduced herself. “Gina Enke, local reporter.”

Hawk raised the camcorder. “I’ve got a big story here—a lunatic tried to sabotage the theater’s power room…”

Gina offered quickly, “Fifty bucks for the footage.”

“Can I finish?” Hawk continued, “That lunatic is a director with a feature film in the festival. He was jealous of a fellow production’s superior work and came to sabotage the screening.”

Gina’s instincts for a bigger story kicked in.

Hawk pressed further, “A scandal like this at Sundance will rock the film and entertainment industries. My time is valuable—if you’re unwilling to pay $1,000, I’ll contact Fox or CBS reporters instead.”

“Let me see the footage,” Gina demanded.

Hawk led her to the computer and played the video, highlighting the horrifying seven-inch detail.

A straightforward case of power room sabotage might fetch $50, but when tied to a director at Sundance, the value skyrocketed.

Sundance had run for 18 years without a scandal like this—a first in high-level business warfare.

Gina made a call, borrowing $1,000 from Mason to purchase the footage.

Returning to the theater lobby, Brandt leaned in, ignoring his mouth pain. “I’ve realized something—I never truly understood you. Hawk, you squeeze every possible benefit from a situation.”

Hawk chuckled. “We’re partners; you get a share too.”

Brandt fell silent, deep in thought. If he could learn half of what Hawk knew, paying off his student loans wouldn’t be a problem.

At the Crystal Theater, four sedans pulled up to the curb.

Rob Reiner, wearing a wool coat, exited with his assistant and four associates, heading toward the theater entrance.

Katherine, stepping out of the last BMW, stayed at the base of the steps, letting the others proceed.

There was no welcoming party—just a man in a cowboy hat pacing the steps.

Rob frowned in mild irritation.

The owner, overwhelmed with the power outage and multiple breaches of contract, was in no mood for pleasantries. Seeing the group, he barked, “Theater’s got no power—no screenings today. Go somewhere else.”

Rob turned to his assistant, who quickly said, “I’ll make a call.”

Rob waved dismissively. “Forget it. Let’s go.”

Just then, one of his associates pointed out Katherine. “Boss, Katherine’s been waiting down there.”

Rob paused before walking toward her, his demeanor softening. “You’re just like your father—relentless. Fine, lead the way.”

Katherine smiled as though nothing had happened. “Uncle Rob, this way. It’s close—just a few minutes by car.”

The four cars departed, heading for the Great Salt Lake Theater.

Throughout the drive, the assistant remained silent, sensing his boss’s displeasure. He cursed the intermediary who had arranged the Crystal Theater screening.

In stark contrast to the gloomy Crystal Theater, the Great Salt Lake Theater buzzed with activity.

The crew waited warmly at the curb, rushing to greet the arrivals.

Katherine handled introductions with grace.

Rob, glancing at the steady stream of attendees entering the theater, remarked, “No need to rush—let’s watch the movie first.”

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