Chapter 19

George stayed with us for several days. Abby took care of him as he dealt with police investigators, insurance claims for the building and props that were destroyed, and generally shook off the violent behavior of his ex-wife. Abby worked from home making sure that the script was ready for the first read through, while I called in every contractor in the area to get another building retrofitted to handle large property.

No matter how tight scheduling got, I always left for lunch and either met Abby and George at home, or they drove in and met me somewhere so the three of us could stay current on all the happenings. George was tough, but the bombing of our studio by his ex-wife hit him very hard. Abby was the perfect adopted daughter, making him coffee, lending him an ear at all times of the day and night, and generally giving him a shoulder to cry on.

Without having him right at hand every minute meant that I had to stand in as producer. Lance had things in hand as far as the scenes he was shooting. The loss of the prop building did not disrupt current shooting, because the props that were in use or going to be used soon were already on set. It was my fondest hope and prayer that Lance would be able to continue work without disruption while we sourced all the things that got destroyed.

Our lawyers took over dealing with the insurance companies and were hounding the adjusters about our losses, so that job was off my plate, and George was nearby if things got out of control. I always knew I could call and Abby would bring him to me. Help was always nearby should it come to that. Mostly I stayed busy visiting sets, approving construction of sets, dealing with contractors and staying current on all the studio gossip. Between that and multiple conversations with George as things I didn’t know popped up, I was pretty effective and very busy. All that changed the day I got through early and decided to surprise my bride with an early dinner at our favorite Italian place.

The three of us had ordered and were waiting for our appetizer to come to the table when two shots rang out. I grabbed the table and flipped it on its side for protection, drew my side arm and tracked across the restaurant looking for the shooter. Abby huddled beside me, obviously terrified, but George didn’t join us on the floor.

One of the first two shots must have just clipped him on the side of the head and he was out of it, leaning over, held up by the corner of the table I tossed to protect all three of us. He was not dead, but too wounded to assist in his own protection, so I gently moved him until he was lying flat on the seat and made sure he was safe while I dealt with the shooter.

Whoever did the shooting had come for us, and it caused me to go cold inside. I slid sideways, kept another table between me and the front doors, where I thought the shooter was waiting for a clear shot, and moved steadily away from Abby to keep her and George out of the line of fire.

All around the restaurant people were screaming, shouting, calling the police, and hiding wherever they happened to be when the shooting started. The noise and general confusion made it hard to find the gunman, but I was determined and mad as hell.

When I cleared the salad bar, I saw a woman holding an semi-automatic pistol, trying to line up another shot towards the booth where Abby hid. Without conscious thought I fired. My bullet got her dead center in the chest. No second shot was needed. I knew precisely where that bullet went and she was not going to be available to law enforcement, for interrogation anytime ... ever.

Not sure if there were others involved, I remained vigilant until the first police arrived, then thumbed the safety on and placed the weapon on the tabletop. The first officer through the door moonlighted for the studio part time and recognized me instantly. “What happened? Is there an active shooter? Are you OK?” His questions came too fast for answers, so I let him run down and then put him in the picture.

All around us people were crowding the officer, telling about the crazy woman who walked in and shot the old gentleman in the booth. As more officers arrived, the noise level increased, but the officers all crowded into help care for George. His vital signs appeared to be strong. At least that’s what I heard one of the officers telling the ambulance as it raced towards the restaurant. I was anxious to believe all good things, so I clung to his words, while holding Abby tightly, as she wept.

Abby rode in the ambulance to the hospital with George, while I dealt with the police. It helped that the dead shooter was Margot Contryer, who happened to be wanted for malicious mischief, criminal trespass, felony vandalism, as well as an assortment of other, less serious crimes. The few dozen witnesses certainly convinced the officers that the only criminal was the dead one, and they approached the investigation from the standpoint that I had stopped a mass shooting.

As Missouri had very few restrictions on guns. My weapon was perfectly legal, so that wasn’t a problem either. Not to be caught short, I called our chief counsel and had them come and walk me through the process of giving statements and other requirements. Not being sure how any surviving relatives might view my killing Margot, I wanted to be in front of any problems in the way of lawsuits. Attorneys are useful that way.

Abby kept me informed as to George’s condition. By the time the ambulance had him moved onto the Emergency Room gurney, he was starting to come around. The doctors were suggesting that all he had really sustained was a moderate concussion and a wound where the bullet dug a trench along the side of his head. Once that was stitched, he was going to be admitted for two days of observation. Abby assured me that that was the extent of George’s troubles. She said she heard it from a doctor, whom, she claimed, tried to hit on her.

Hmmm...

I guess I’m not the only man attracted to her bubble butt and megawatt smile.

For the next four months I manned the studio while George mended, got his strength back, and began to promote our new slate of movies. For over two months, Abby split her days between the script room and our house, where we kept George as he healed. His head wound was far worse than the doctor suggested, and George took much longer to heal and get his balance back than we were led to believe would be the case.

Lance was in my pocket all day every day. It seemed like he needed my input on everything from lights to cameramen. Every other day I would sneak off to meet Abby for lunch and return to find Lance waiting for me with a list of things that needed attention in the next ten minutes. By evening we were both so tired that what we needed, instead of sweaty, exhausting, sex, was a long soak in the hot tub and a soft, warm bed.

As George put together marketing plans for the premier of our Christmas movie and the summer/fall releases, he seemed to grow larger and more imposing. Having the freedom to spend money on our films turned him into a bit of a dynamo and he was always on the phone working out distribution deals with everyone from AMC Theaters, to screens in China and Australia.