The Wolf of Los Angeles

Chapter 3: The Jump

Second Floor, Producer's Office

Three bodyguards patrolled the hallway while two others stood watch outside the office door.

Inside, Producer Bro Derek closed the door and asked the middle-aged man with brown hair who had just entered, “Director of the Ackman Charity Foundation personally stopping by—does this mean we’ve found a match?”

Barack Bernan, the Foundation Director with a prominent Jewish nose, replied, “It was confirmed this morning, so I stopped by on my way. Hh blood type is extremely rare, and matching organs is even more difficult. Buddy Ackman’s organs are failing, and the family launched an extensive search across all their spheres of influence. Your crew happened to find a match first.”

There were details Barack didn’t share. The Ackman family had previously prepared two fully matched organ donors, but both were disqualified after contracting HIV.

Bro chuckled, “I’ve always had good luck.”

“If Mr. Ackman recovers, he’ll meet with you personally,” Barack said. “Congratulations on taking your career to the next level.”

Bro brushed off the compliment. “I just hope the company invests more resources in Sarah so she can make it to Hollywood’s A-list as soon as possible.”

Bro straightened up. “The target is 22, from Provo, Utah, born into a low-income family. He dropped out of school before finishing high school. His parents are divorced; his mother moved to Europe a decade ago and never returned. His father, once a forest ranger, died a year and a half ago. The target lives alone and previously relied on church aid to get by.”

Barack summarized: “No family, no wealth, no influence—the perfect donor material.” He then inquired, “Do you have a thorough plan? Mr. Ackman aims to enter politics after his recovery. We can’t afford loose ends.”

Bro had already considered this. “The crew has one last rooftop stunt scene. Originally planned as a wire stunt, I’ll have the director revise it into a jump stunt. The target will be injured and sent to Los Angeles for treatment, showcasing our mercy.”

He added, “The target isn’t a union member, so the stunt performers’ guild won’t intervene. Plus, he signed a donation agreement as part of our charity campaign. We’ll follow standard procedures.”

Barack asked, “A jump stunt—are you confident?”

“Freddy, our stunt coordinator, was personally brought on by Mr. Ackman and has experience with such operations. He’s also under our control,” Bro assured him.

Bro picked up the phone and made a call: “Come over.”

Within 30 seconds, there was a knock at the door, and Freddy, a fellow Jewish man, entered.

Bro wasted no time. He explained the scene changes and the ultimate goal: “I need the target injured and alive when sent to Los Angeles.”

Freddy, who owed his career to the Ackman family, nodded without hesitation. “We’ll slightly adjust the direction of the three wire rigs, inflate a safety cushion in the back lot, and move the control station downstairs. I’ll handle the controls personally. No problem.”

Barack added, “There’s a private jet waiting at Hunter Private Airport on the west side of town. The target will be flown to Los Angeles immediately.”

To ensure success, he gestured to the bodyguards outside. “The five men I brought will stay here. Three will monitor the set to ensure the target doesn’t get suspicious or try to escape. The other two will go to his residence and destroy anything that needs erasing.”

Freddy saw an opportunity and volunteered: “Let me coordinate everything.”

Bro patted him on the shoulder. “I’m counting on you.”

Barack checked his watch. “I’ll leave this to you. I have a charity gala tonight and must accompany Miss Ackman. A flight to Los Angeles is waiting. So many sick children need my help.”

Bro smirked knowingly. “Primarily their mothers, I’d imagine.”

Both men laughed.@@novelbin@@

Hawk noticed that the stunt crew was busier than before.

The rooftop wire rigs were being adjusted, and a green-screen-like inflatable safety cushion was being inflated in the back lot.

Hawk asked David, “What’s the afternoon scene?”

“Rooftop wire stunt,” David replied casually.

“Are you sure?” Hawk frowned. He suddenly felt an unsettling presence behind him and quickly turned to look.

Robert Downey Jr., hyped up and scowling, swaggered toward Hawk.

David nudged Hawk and whispered, “The drama queen’s coming over.”

Hawk turned to see Freddy and the assistant director approaching with Mackin, the other stuntman. They bypassed the inflated safety cushion and walked straight toward them.

The assistant director spoke first: “The afternoon scene has been modified. One of the characters will take a fall.”

Downey, clearly intoxicated and irrational, pointed at Hawk, yelling, “Him! Make this guy’s character take the fall!”

Freddy smiled at Hawk. “The director has decided to change the scene. Your character will now jump from the building to conclude the scene.”

Before Hawk could protest, Freddy added quickly, “Relax. Hollywood pays extra for stunt jumps. This scene alone is worth $5,000. Plus, safety is guaranteed—we have the best stunt team in the industry. We’ve done this dozens of times.”

Hearing the payment amount, Mackin immediately protested: “I can do the jump too! Put the black hood on me, and no one will know the difference.”

Freddy glared at him. “It’s not your role.”

Hawk felt a vague unease. Scanning the area, he spotted three suited men he had seen earlier on the second floor. They now formed a triangle within the crowd, with him and David at the center.

The assistant director, growing impatient, waved a limp hand. “Don’t forget your contract. You’re obligated to follow the crew’s instructions.”

A sudden surge of danger washed over Hawk. He judged it unwise to openly refuse. “No problem,” he said calmly.

“Then get up there,” Freddy ordered.

Keeping his expression neutral, Hawk followed David toward the building’s rear entrance. Mackin, clearly itching for action, trailed them closely.

Freddy grabbed the assistant director and issued a firm reminder: “The producer is watching this scene closely. Make sure it goes smoothly, no matter what.”

Hearing the producer’s name, the assistant director straightened up and nodded. “Leave it to me.”

On the Rooftop

Hawk rode the elevator with David and the others. Mackin and the assistant director stepped out first when the doors opened. Hawk deliberately lagged behind, seizing the opportunity to assess the rooftop’s setup.

Several crew members were ready with their equipment. A camera team stood by, and the wire rigging for the stunt had been fully prepared.

The chill wind stung Hawk’s face as he turned to David and asked in a hushed tone, “Did we sign organ or body donation agreements too?”

“You really don’t remember anything from last night?” David gave him a confused look. “Yeah, we signed along with everyone else in the crew. They’re using it for publicity. Didn’t you see it in the papers?”

Hawk’s stomach dropped as he recalled the medical report and the mention of his rare "dinosaur blood." Words like “harvest,” “extraction,” and “organ farming” surged through his mind.

The assistant director waved a limp hand at Hawk. “Hurry up.”

“I… I need… to use the restroom,” Hawk stammered, intentionally sounding frazzled. “Wait… I really need to go to the bathroom.”

“Hurry back!” the assistant director barked.

Mackin pointed at Hawk’s trembling legs and sneered, “Look at that! He’s shaking like a leaf! This coward’s too scared to jump.”

Several crew members, tasked with fitting safety gear, shook their heads in disapproval.

Hawk, feigning panic, clutched David’s arm. “Take me to the bathroom! Quick! I can’t hold it—big emergency!”

“Hold it in, man!” David groaned, guiding Hawk toward the nearest bathroom.

Behind them, Mackin smirked derisively. “Switch to me already. Same hood, same look. You can’t count on this spineless wimp!”

In the eighth-floor restroom, Hawk flung open the window and peered down. He spotted the black-suited man stationed near the safety cushion and another guarding the building’s rear exit.

David, confused, opened his mouth to ask a question, but before he could speak, a scream echoed from above.

The whooshing sound of wind filled the air, followed by Mackin’s anguished cry. His body slammed into the inflated cushion with a loud thud.

Gripping the windowsill tightly, Hawk peered down.

Someone shouted, “Get a doctor! Call a doctor now! Both his legs look broken!”