It was on our way through Soho that a shadow fell across our paths in the form of Officer King. He was am imposing figure for what was basically just a regular beat cop in Soho. And when I say "beat cop" I mean "beat" cop. He was on a first name basis with every whore in Westminster and as long as you were prepared to make contribution to the "Take-time-to-spend-time-with-the-family" (disgraced) Police Pension Fund then you could guarantee utter disinterest on his part to the greasing of wheels that is everyday post production. Even so, when face to face with 4 of his potentially most troublesome citizens even he was likely to think something amiss and as his sex-addled brain grasped for an appropriate expression- in this case "concern"- I took the initiative and leaped into the driving seat.
"Officer King, fantastic! How the hell are you me ol' mucker?" I was banking on him having fond memories of- you guessed it- the days when we were learning our chops together, blah, blah, world like an inviting womb waiting to be....whatevered (well this IS Soho). Fact was he HAD been an animator and had crossed over to the other side, to be distrusted by current colleagues and erstwhile workmates alike.
"Oh, er, not too bad I guess", he replied, momentarily off guard. "Usual stuff: some live action missing in Berwick Street and a theft of showreels from the Framestore- we've got Lomas down at HQ explaining his involvement in a lucrative Showreels-to-Students scam that we've been investigating for a while, you animators never fail to disgust me, the levels you'll drop to to make some whiskey money."
I feigned compassion, "Hmmm, just gotta take each day as it comes huh, Officer King?"
King eyed me with distaste. Then he took in the others with a cynical eyebrow raised.
"And what's your story, lads?" he said, "robbing tourists, again?". At that point Vink stepped forward with body language that was potentially confrontational.
"Actually", I gabbled, "we're off to see the bank manager, he's anxious to discuss our proposal to go into business together".
King started to laugh then, as the ramifications of that concept took hold, reconsidered. "That is the most sickening idea I've ever heard. I can only pray to whatever good god up in heaven above that rules over earth and beyond will listen that you don't make my life any harder. What with you and the producers- not to mention the renegade flame ops- our resources are stretched enough as it is. TWO shootings last night, you know. And the night before that it was a severe beating and a quite nasty argument when a comp job when badly wrong. The sooner you bastards pack up and go live in Wales the easier my life will be."
At that point his walkie talkie splutted into life, a commentary involving the words 'fish beating' and 'medical assistance' could be heard and King burst into action. And then he was gone.
Now, I didn't have anything more that any other jobbing private animator had to hide and yet I was relieved that the oppression that Officer King represented had gone. But what did I have to face now? Mik's reputation rivalled that of Vink's. I wasn't relishing my current investigation but at the same time I felt more alive than I had for a while- weighting vertices will do that to a man. I had been almost assasinated but to what end?
I was brought out of my musings by a low mutter from Vink, "One day I will kill King. With my teeth. I will gut him lke a gristly calf". Robbo missed it- he was skinning up in the gutter and Olaf remained face down in a puddle making bubbles with his nose but it sent a shiver down my back. I had excepted the world that I was doomed to live in and I dealt with the everyday sordidness but every now and again something reminded me of the inherent violence of animating; the disgust and the filth. Like a taste in the mouth. It was something that Colgate couldn't dispel; a gingivitis of the soul. Still, I never met a producer that didn't understand a smack in the mouth or a slug from a 45 and yet something made me want to tell King the events so far, He was the law, like it or not, and he had a gun. But no. Sometimes you just have to carry your own water and his involvement could possibly make things even worse. What support could he actually offer was the question? Precious little came the reply. King was an avid protector but his allegiances were suspect.
Shaking off the ominous encounter we turned left off Dean Street and continued onwards. Each of us with our own driving force but a common enemy: Darth Vader. No, just kidding, that's from a film I saw.
.............
Back to the office above "Aldis...and More!"
Mr Mik clicked the icon to terminate the internet call he had just received. His missing arm was throbbing, indicating a level of stress that wasn't altogether comfortable.
"They couldn't even do that right" he muttered. His cursor hovered over a windows 97 shortcut. And then- very slowly and finally with a long outtake of breathe- he clicked the icon. It was labelled "Rotten in Denmark" and as he turned and disinterestedly stared through the half closed blinds the tuna-adorned wall slid to the side and a low-pitched growl emanated from the darkness within.
next week: Ironware