I scan the room to see if a producer will out themself among the twenty or so participants, providing me the chance to pitch my latest script treatment. I may not live in Southern California anymore, but Portland has a few studios and a big indie vibe. Our airport even has a theater where they play shorts for free. But nobody else in the room admits to being in showbiz.
Karson clears his throat. “Now that we know we’ve got some filmmakers in the class, let me get a few things straight.”
I grin at him, excited for whatever he’s about to say. Yes, my roomies are filmmakers too, but I feel like he’s talking to me personally.
“In real life, police do not shoot bazookas from helicopters likeRambo. That would have sent the chopper crashing down. In real life, we do not swing off rooftops on fire hoses while the top of the building explodes like Bruce Willis inDie Hard. His character should have definitely died hard.”
Charlie smacks a palm on the table. “I’ve been saying that for years.”
“Why are you ruining action flicks for us, man?” demands a biker in the back.
“But”—Karson holds up a finger—“most importantly, in real life, we do not take our shirts off to rescue anyone.”
Is he mixing up screenplay writers with cover designers for romance novels?
He crosses his arms. “If someone were drowning in a lake, I would dive in with all my clothes on to save them.”
Okay, he might have me there.
“I don’t know, Zellner.” Drew’s body shakes as he cackles. “If I looked like Terry Crews, I would take off my shirt.”
The hilarious thing is that Drew does look a bit like Terry Crews.
“Not funny.” Karson holds up his hand to halt Drew’s laughter. “Nobody stops to remove their shirt before a rescue.”
Our class keeps laughing along with his partner. If these guys played “good cop, bad cop,” Drew would be the good cop.
Karson nods at my little group. “If you’re going to write about police, don’t romanticize our job. We give out tickets, we arrest people, and we use our firearms when needed. We’re the ones who show up after a crime has been committed. Nobody wants to see us. Though we risk our lives to protect the public, they often attack us for doing our jobs.”
Charlie jabs at my journal. “Write this down for me. This is good stuff.”
I slide my journal along the table so Charlie can take his own notes. This is one of those rare occasions where life is more fascinating than anything I could write. I’m enthralled. No wonder Karson is angry all the time.
The florescent lights flick off overhead except for one panel in a corner that casts the room in a dim silver glow.
“Lieutenant Zellner is getting a little dark,” Drew jokes. He points a remote control at the projector on the ceiling. “So, since we’re talking about police movies, I’m just going to show you film of what police work looks like in real life. This footage is from body cameras.”
“Yes!” Charlie jots in my journal.
I’ll rip the pages out for him later.
Movement flashes on the whiteboard. An image of the front tire of a bike on a dirt trail fills the makeshift screen. “This first recording is from Zellner’s camera,” Drew narrates.
Karson groans. “Not the bike clip. Harris, we talked about this.”
Drew’s laughter drowns him out. I join in, not sure yet what we’re laughing about, just excited to find out what Karson is trying to keep hidden.
CHAPTER TWO
KARSON
What makes Superman a hero is not that he has power, but that he has the wisdom and the maturity to use the power wisely.
—CHRISTOPHERREEVE
Gemma Bennett is my kryptonite. Well, not her specifically, but women like her. Yeah, she’s stunning with her long hair and even longer legs, but keeping up her appearance like that is not about true beauty. It’s, in a word, fake. Who has a tan already in Oregon? And either her hair isn’t naturally that blond or her eyelashes aren’t naturally that dark. I’ll just stop there, before I get to her more feminine attributes, which also can’t possibly be as perfect as they appear.
I know to stay away from women like her, even if they claim to only want info on Citizen’s Safety Academy. For example, I’d successfully ignored Gemma’s Facebook stalking. Also, I’d escaped into a bathroom the time I’d been temporarily assigned duty at the airport and she showed up to drop a friend off for a flight. Plus, I’d turned the channel when she starred in my favorite show. (Well, after I saw how it was going to end, of course.) I’d also wondered if she would register for this class, but her name wasn’t on the roster yesterday, so I’d mistakenly assumed I was safe.
