The Wolf of Los Angeles

Chapter 2: Body Donation Agreement

The Dodge pickup truck rumbled down the highway toward downtown Provo.

“Hey buddy, your gas tank’s running low. Remember to fill it up later,” said David, the driver. “Last night, you were drunk off your ass, and I had to drive you home. Now I’m up early to pick you up…”

“Thanks,” Hawk replied curtly.

“Thanks isn’t enough. Show some action,” David grumbled, clearly fishing for something. “The Sundance Film Festival in Park City is just around the corner. It’s not far. Let’s go check it out together. You cover the expenses.”

David was an actor with aspirations: “If we’re lucky, we might meet a big-shot director who could give us a break.”

Hawk glanced at him. This guy, with his blonde hair, blue eyes, and handsome face, looked like someone destined for the big screen. Hawk quipped, “Better get your butt cleaned up first.”

Anyone remotely familiar with the entertainment industry knew the subtext. David did too. “Can’t there be a chance it’s a beautiful female director?”

Hawk laid it bare: “You’ll only meet a hyena director.”

“Someone who doesn’t just shoot movies but also specializes in rectal reconstructive surgery.”

David went silent, focusing on the road as they drove into Provo’s modest downtown, the city’s tallest cluster of buildings nestled in the center of this town of 100,000.

The filming location for The Singing Detective was a modest eight-story building that the crew had fully rented.

David parked in the lot and quickly tousled his smooth blonde hair into a messy bird’s nest. Then, he scooped some dirt from the ground and smeared it on his face.

Hawk raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“You still drunk?” David shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t you remember? The lead actor, Robert Downey Jr., is a total diva. After a hit, he doesn’t tolerate anyone on set looking better than him.”

Hawk smacked his forehead. “Hungover brain fog. My bad.”

David handed him the car keys and pointed at Hawk’s scruffy, unshaven face. “You’re fine. You’re always in the safe zone. Not like me—prime jealousy target.”

Ignoring him, Hawk headed toward the crew’s base camp, David trailing behind.

Several trailers dotted the lot, serving various departments. The two made their way to the stunt division’s trailer and waited patiently.

Hawk, appearing casual, chatted up those around him, quickly piecing together the situation.

The film, funded and produced by California billionaire Buddy Ackman’s Ackman Entertainment, had initially hired three stunt performers in Los Angeles. However, upon relocating to Provo for filming, the director, Keith Gordon, and producer, Bro Derek, decided to add more action sequences.

One stunt performer twisted an ankle, and another—a union member—quit, citing non-compliance with union standards. This left only one stuntman on set.

To save costs, the production decided to recruit locally, bringing on Hawk and David as temporary hires.

At that moment, stunt coordinator Freddy returned from the director’s unit. He gave the two a once-over and said, “Put on black jackets and keep the black masks on.”

An assistant handed them two jackets. Hawk let David pick first before taking the other and changing into it.

Hawk ensured the coat he removed had its zippered pockets secured, concealing the revolver and car keys inside.

Freddy tossed them each a head covering. “Put them on and follow me to the set. Don’t keep the crew waiting for your amateur hour.”

Donning balaclavas that only revealed their eyes and nostrils, Hawk and David followed Freddy to the front of the building.

The local hires were a cost-cutting measure, with their masked robber roles never requiring their faces to appear on camera. Even makeup was unnecessary.

Near the building’s main entrance, the set buzzed with preparation. The remaining stunt performer, Mackin, arrived but wasn’t scheduled for this scene.

As Hawk and David warmed up, the director’s team trickled in. The assistant director, sporting a dramatic flourish, entered the set to brief the actors on their scenes.

The robber roles were last-minute additions with no scripted dialogue. Everything would hinge on directions given right before shooting.

The Dodge pickup truck sped down the road toward Provo’s city center.

“Buddy, this wreck of yours is almost out of gas. Don’t forget to fill it up,” David said from the driver’s seat. “Last night, you were wasted, and I had to drive you home. Now I’m up early to pick you up again…”

“Thanks,” Hawk replied curtly.

“Thanks isn’t enough. Show me some appreciation,” David said, clearly fishing for a favor. “The Sundance Film Festival is just around the corner. It’s not too far. Let’s go check it out together. You foot the bill.”

David had dreams of stardom: “If we’re lucky, we might bump into a big-name director who can help us hit the big time.”

Hawk glanced at David’s blonde hair, blue eyes, and strikingly handsome face. “Better clean up your act,” he quipped.

Anyone familiar with the entertainment industry knew the subtext. David understood. “What if it’s a beautiful female director?”

Hawk delivered the hard truth: “You’re more likely to meet a predatory director.”

“What does that mean?” David frowned.

“A director who’s into filmmaking and rectal reconstructive surgery.”

David lapsed into silence, focusing on the drive as they entered Provo, a modest city of 100,000 located less than 100 miles from Salt Lake City.

The Singing Detective production was based in a modest eight-story building rented entirely by the crew.

David parked, messed up his sleek blonde hair into a chaotic nest, and even smeared some dirt on his face.

Hawk raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t tell me you’re still hungover?” David shook his head. “Didn’t you hear? Robert Downey Jr. hates anyone on set looking better than him when he’s strung out.”

Hawk smirked. “Hungover brain fog. My bad.”

David tossed him the car keys and nodded at Hawk’s scruffy, unshaven face. “You’re safe—always below the threat threshold. Not like me, a walking jealousy magnet.”

Ignoring David’s self-congratulations, Hawk headed toward the crew’s base camp.

Several trailers filled the lot, each designated for a specific department. Hawk and David found the stunt division’s trailer and waited.

Casually chatting, Hawk quickly pieced together the situation.

The film was funded and produced by California billionaire Buddy Ackman’s Ackman Entertainment. The original stunt team had three members, but after the crew moved to Provo, director Keith Gordon and producer Bro Derek added more action scenes.

One stunt performer injured their ankle, and another—a union member—left, citing non-compliance with union rules. This left just one stuntman, forcing the production to hire Hawk and David locally.

The stunt coordinator, Freddy, appeared, scrutinizing them before saying, “Put on black jackets and masks.”

Hawk let David pick first, then took the other jacket. He ensured his revolver and car keys remained secure in the zipped pocket of his old jacket.

“Mask on, follow me,” Freddy barked, leading them to the set.

Their masked robber roles required no face time, sparing them makeup.

At the front of the building, the set was abuzz with activity. Mackin, the remaining professional stunt performer, joined but wasn’t slated for this scene.

After warm-ups, the assistant director minced onto the set, explaining the scene with exaggerated gestures.

“You two are robbers who break into an argument and start fighting. You,” the assistant director said, pointing at Hawk, “take him down quickly, then run toward the building. Got it?”

“Got it,” Hawk replied.

The clapboard snapped.

David swung a punch at Hawk, who instinctively blocked with his left hand and went for a groin kick with his right leg. Catching himself just in time, he aimed for David’s thigh instead, landing a loud slap.

David yelped, his eyes bulging. Hawk followed up with a throat grab and forceful shove while tripping David with his leg.

David toppled backward like a felled log.

Hawk sprinted toward the building.

“Cut!” the director called out. “Beautiful work!”

From the sidelines, Mackin folded his arms, whispering to Freddy, “This guy’s got skills.”

“Promising stunt talent,” Freddy agreed.

Hawk helped David up.

“Buddy,” David grumbled, rubbing his leg, “that wasn’t what we rehearsed.”

“Improvised. Got carried away,” Hawk lied, still clueless about their supposed plans from the previous day.

The assistant director returned, waving a limp wrist in Hawk’s direction. “Follow me.”

They moved to another setup. The assistant director gestured to a second-story window. “For this shot, you climb up there and crawl through.”

Hawk surveyed the scene. The window was more than 13 feet high. Nearby streetlamps were about 26 feet tall but stood 10 feet away from the building—too far for leverage.

The building’s walls were clad in matte granite panels, with occasional decorative protrusions forming 90-degree angles.

Hawk backed into a corner formed by two walls, leaped up, braced himself with his hands and feet, and began scaling the wall like a spider.

At about 6 feet, he slid back down. “That’ll work?” he asked.

The assistant director waved him off to consult the director.

When the cameras rolled, Hawk’s slightly overweight body still retained its athletic core. In just a few breaths, he clambered to the second-floor ledge and slipped through the open window.

The scene was approved in one take.

Later, Robert Downey Jr. arrived on set, and the stunt team was done for the day.

During downtime, David dragged Hawk to the second-floor crew lounge to kill time with video games.

At lunch, they left their masks in the lounge.

After lunch, David sent Hawk back for the masks. “My leg’s busted, thanks to you. You owe me.”

Hawk shot him the finger but complied.

In the lounge, he stumbled upon Robert Downey Jr. snorting white powder off a glass table.

Startled, Downey glared. “Out. Now.”

Hawk grabbed their masks and a newspaper, muttering, “Carry on.”

Ignoring the actor’s simmering fury, Hawk returned to the set with the masks.

Sitting beside David, he flipped open the newspaper.

The front page featured a headline: The Singing Detective Crew Advocates for Public Good!

It detailed how stars Robert Downey Jr. and Katie Holmes had signed body donation agreements, encouraging others to do the same.

Hawk smirked, dismissing it as Hollywood PR fluff. Behind the charitable facade, the industry’s addiction issues were an open secret.

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