Down Among the Dead Men (3 page)

Nicky's expression betrays his confusion. He's unsure why Dean Quinner is asking him. It takes him a moment to realise that there's no hidden agenda: the writer is interested in his opinion.

'Him, Noone. Is he any good?' Quinner asks.

Nicky's been with the movie for three weeks, almost the entire shoot. As far as he's concerned, Ben Noone
is
the movie. Though an unknown, the lanky American dominates every scene.

'He's great,' Nicky eventually manages to say. 'Different.'

Quinner doesn't reply. Instead he taps a pen against his lower teeth.

Noone is good. The kid's right about that. It's one thing – despite his personal feelings about the actor – that Quinner doesn't have to worry about as far as the project is concerned. It's taken Quinner a long time and a flirtation with alcoholism to get from script to production. Along the way, Quinner has given up more than once, sold his soul more times than he likes to remember, and is now operating at a permanent level of paranoia and gut-sick fear that the funding will be cut, that the movie gods will call in their marker, that
some fucking thing
will happen to deny him his film.

Just let it open, he thinks and says a silent prayer. Just let it open.

Four

'Call that a knife? That's not a knife.
This
is a knife.'

Noone's Hogan impersonation is spot-on but Carter, the Australian behind the bar, shrugs.

'It's a spoon.'

Noone puts the spoon he's holding aloft down on the bar. 'From the movie, man.
Crocodile Dundee
?
'

'Never seen it.'

'You're shitting me.' Noone grins but there's no real warmth there and Carter looks away as the American holds his gaze a fraction longer than is comfortable. 'I thought all you Aussies fucking loved that movie.'

'Not me, mate,' says Carter. 'Excuse me.' He moves down the bar to serve another customer.

'Have it your way, baby.' Noone's voice is barely a murmur.

He swivels his stool back to face the loose group gathered round him like orbiting planets. All of them in this particular circle of worship, boys and girls, crew and followers, are younger than Noone.

Watching from his position in the corner, Quinner sees the dark-eyed kid, Terry Peters' nephew, standing awkwardly off to one side of the group. Quinner doesn't make eye contact. He's still mildly embarrassed he didn't know the kid's name when he spoke to him yesterday.

The older members of the production who've made it to Maxie's Shack on Wednesday evening are scattered in loose groups around the bar. Most of the technical crew, including Terry Peters, are absent, pulling a late one in prep for tomorrow's shooting. It's almost nine and tomorrow is the first day of shooting in the tunnels.
Quinner wonders if the kid would be at Maxie's if his uncle was around. Probably not.

Quinner's with Josh Soames the director, Susie Burrows the AD, and Ethan Conroy and John McElway from Hungry Head, a table of empties starting to pile up in front of them. They have plenty to discuss, but despite his best efforts, Quinner finds himself drifting to the conversation around Noone.

The American mutters something in an undertone to the group and flicks his eyes towards Carter. They laugh and the barman flushes but says nothing. Lol Coleman, Maxie's owner, has made it clear that, for the duration of the shoot, weekends excepted, the place is theirs. Movie people are good for business. Good for the image. Even when some of them are dicks.

Carter can't see Coleman but Lol's always around somewhere and he's not a man you want to get offside, so the barman keeps his opinions to himself.

Quinner's watching it all until someone taps his arm.

'We got EightySix booked.' McElway looks at Conroy and angles his head towards Quinner. 'I said, we got EightySix booked, Dean.'

'What? Oh, yeah, right. Sweet.' He turns to McElway. 'Cheers, John. That's really good.'

EightySix is a London edit facility that Quinner's been pestering the production to use. It's another sign of the difference the Hungry Head investment has made. The made-in-Liverpool flavour is starting to become a little diluted but Quinner is philosophical. If going to London means the movie works better then he's got no problem with that.

As the talk turns to editing, Quinner sees Noone raise a quizzical eyebrow at Danny, some local blow-in he's turned up with tonight and who Quinner instinctively knows is bad news. Danny already seems half-cut but Quinner sees he gets Noone's drift right away.

He watches Danny reach into the pocket of his jeans and palm something to Noone with a practised smoothness. Noone winks and washes it down with the last of his drink.

Quinner's not the only observer. John McElway hasn't missed the transaction. He exchanges a fleeting glance with Quinner.

Time passes.

Noone slides his skinny arse off the bar stool. As his heels touch the floor one of the girls in the group positions herself between his legs. Alix, who does something in make-up, has slowly been working on getting Noone to herself for the past couple of weeks without making much progress. She's clearly decided tonight would be a good night to push it a little further.

'You off somewhere?' Alix slides her hands onto Noone's thighs. He stops and looks at her through his aviators. 'Don't you want to stay, Ben? Talk to me?' Alix's fingers are tracing a line ever closer to Noone's groin. She's a looker too, is Alix.

Noone puts his own hands on Alix's thighs and she leans into the touch. She's wearing a short skirt and Noone hooks a thumb under the hem and starts slowly lifting.

'Naughty,' murmurs Alix. She looks around at the rest of them.
Can you believe this?

Noone continues to lift his thumbs and Alix starts to tense as he brushes a knuckle against her pussy.

'Ben,' Alix whispers. 'Not here.'

One or two of the group start to shuffle uncertainly. Noone leans close to Alix, still grasping her thighs, pulling her in between his long legs. She giggles softly as he whispers in her ear but then stiffens, the skin on the back of her neck reddening, and pushes him away, a startled expression on her face. She tugs down her skirt and backs off.

Noone smiles lazily and winks at her.

'Haven't you figured Benny boy out yet, Alix?' Danny is further down the track than anyone else would go with Noone. He's rocking slightly on the balls of his feet and his head is nodding easily, two tabs in. His Liverpool accent is hardening as he speaks. 'We don't know if he's queer or straight or what, right?' Danny fixes Noone with an unsteady gaze. 'My own view is that he's a fucken psycho. Just puttin' that out there.'

Noone is still smiling and he stands. 'I'm off the dial, man,' he says. 'Just like Danny boy says, darling.' He says the last words in a passable imitation of Bowie. Noone waves his hands in front of Alix's face and she flinches. 'The bogeyman. Wooo.' He swerves
past Alix and waves a hand to the watching circle. 'Got to find my latest victim.'

Alix looks around uncertainly while the rest of the circle collapse in uncontrollable, booze-fuelled laughter, far louder than the half-joke requires.

Quinner's been watching and sees Noone make the early dart. The dark-eyed Peters boy says something to him that Quinner can't hear. Noone laughs and after a minute or two walks out. Nicky doesn't stay in the bar longer than a minute before he too heads out. Quinner can't work out if that's a coincidence.

He watches Alix head towards the bar, talking to one of her girlfriends, who has a protective arm around her shoulders.

'Ready for tomorrow, kid?' Ethan Conroy says in a fake American accent and puts his own arm around Quinner.

'Born ready,' says Quinner.

Josh Soames walks back from the bar and hands Quinner a Diet Coke. Quinner takes a sip and leans back.

'I see Ben's getting an early night,' says Soames and exchanges a look with Quinner. Despite the differences in their backgrounds, and Quinner's initial distrust of the plummy-voiced Londoner, the two are becoming closer.
The Tunnels
is their film now, not just Quinner's dream.

'The Thin White Duke? Yeah, noticed that.' Quinner lets his head drop to his chin. 'Must be dedicated.'

'Boys,' says Susie. 'Play nice.'

Quinner makes a who-me gesture.

'How do you think Ben's doing?' McElway asks the question lightly.

'Good,' says Quinner. 'Yeah, good.'

'But something bothers you about him, right?' This time it's Conroy. Quinner looks back and forth between the two producers.

'Is this some sort of trap? Are you fuckers wired?'

The two laugh. Quinner leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees, his drink held loosely in one hand. 'Where did you find him? I mean, I know he auditioned but it was so late in the game that I never really found out if there was a connection before.'

Noone had joined the production at a very late stage. Almost at the same time as Hungry Head came in, the original lead actor broke a leg and the whole thing almost stalled. Instead of waiting, Hungry Head pushed for a replacement. Quinner hadn't been involved in the auditions.

'No, he just showed up,' says Conroy. 'With all the rest. He had some sort of recommendation from Terry, but other than that he was unknown. Knew the city, did a great audition, nailed the accent.' Conroy looks over for confirmation from Soames, who nods in agreement.

'Brilliant,' says Soames. 'No question.'

'Terry recommended him?' says Quinner.

'Yeah, bumped into him somewhere and got talking. I think Terry knew this gig was coming up and passed him on.' Soames leans back. 'And we got him back in with another guy for a second reading and he convinced us. Not that we needed much convincing. And since he signed up the buzz has been building – admittedly that's got a lot to do with our marketing – but I spoke to an agent in LA about something else and Ben's name came up, unprompted. She knew all about him – or more than we'd been pushing – and she's a serious player. You know what it's like in this business. Heat is everything. Don't you think he's working, Dean?'

'He's great,' says Quinner. 'Perfect. I just wish I liked the twat.'

Everyone laughs and Quinner takes a drink.

Conroy and McElway and the others chat and smile about tomorrow's shooting but after the evening's over and Quinner's outside on the street, he can't shake the thought that Noone, the focal point of
his
movie, might be up to something naughty.

Walking back to his flat, it's not a comforting thought.

Five

For Quinner, this is the week when the movie feels like it's shifted into another gear. They've been shooting for almost three weeks but now they're in the tunnels. He's been down here many times before in preparation but now, filming right where he first got that electric crackle and the idea for the story sprang into his mind, the whole enterprise makes sense.

It'll work, he thinks.
The Tunnels
will work.

He makes his way through the location trucks parked outside the visitor's centre and heads down to the first set-up of the day. Despite the late night at Maxie's and the ongoing rigours of the shoot, Quinner feels energised, positive.

Just inside the location barriers he sees Terry's nephew, Nicky. The boy, carrying a loop of cable, waves a shy hand in Quinner's direction and he winks back. For the first time, Quinner notices Nicky's wearing a jacket like his own and wonders if the kid bought it deliberately. Teenagers do that, don't they, Quinner thinks. He can remember aping Liam Gallagher's walk during the Oasis years. The memory still makes him blush.

But if Nicky's trying to look like Quinner – like the script writer on the set, not the actors, or the director – that's interesting. Although he and Nicky Peters have greatly differing backgrounds, Quinner senses the kid might have some of the fire you need in this business.

Quinner reaches the large gallery in which Soames and his team are going to be shooting a conversation between Noone's character, a slaving ship sailor who has drifted into Williamson's orbit, and Williamson himself. An older, dependable character actor, Dave Losey, is playing Williamson. Quinner's worked with
Losey before on a TV soap and waves although doesn't approach him.

The technical crew have been setting up overnight so that time isn't wasted. Today's schedule is heavy, technical and demanding, and by seven the atmosphere is already jagged. Nerves are frayed and Quinner stays in the background. On set he is no more than a sounding-board for Josh Soames and his team. It might be Quinner's baby but he is not a technician. He gets a coffee from the catering truck and wanders inside, finds a brick ledge some metres back from the action and checks his notes.

He already knows Noone's late. Josh had texted as much half an hour ago.

Like I could do anything about it, thinks Quinner. You cast the fucker, you deal with his shit. He can feel his stomach knotting and fights to keep calm. You can only do what you can do.

And then, here he is, the main man, smiling, charming, apologetic and ready to work. Noone, in costume and make-up, looks brighter and more alert than anyone else.

Quinner doesn't look up as Noone walks past.

'You all right, la?' says Noone in a perfect Liverpool accent and pats Quinner on the upper arm. 'Can't hang about here all day, there's a fucking movie to be shot, right?'

Quinner smiles but says nothing.

'Gentlemen!' says Noone as he steps into the pool of light. His accent has changed again; a Victorian Englishman. 'To work, by God!'

Josh shoots a look at Quinner and shrugs. 'Places,' he says. 'Let's get moving.'

By eleven they're on schedule and with some good material safely filmed. The scenes Quinner's sweated on train journeys, in cold flats, at cafes and bars, are brought to glowing, vibrant life right there in front of him. Noone delivers on take after take. He might have been a wildcard casting with some questionable social habits – Quinner has heard a whisper that Alix isn't doing his make-up any more – but he has to admit that Soames and the others had been on the money about the American. When Quinner had first seen Noone he'd had doubts about the actor being able
to play a period piece but he seems to inhabit the costumes and role flawlessly. There's an unforced quality to his work that Quinner has only previously seen with experienced performers. Noone's a natural, perfect from the first take.