My friends and I can’t get enough of these studio backlots. We go back and forth, across town to Desilu, or just around the corner to MGM. It is like we live here. It has become a purely addicting lifestyle, especially to me.
An office, along with two forts, is how we stand at the moment, and more expansion will be taking place soon. Jimmy and I are scouting for more prime real estate. We would like a penthouse in Manhattan, and MGM can provide this with its five story high New York skyline that appears to go on forever.
Night time has arrived as we sit in the Boystown fort. Jimmy and I shoot the shit, back and forth. We hear the sound of the Bronco’s engine close by. Both of us man our peep holes that we cut into the wall, like a machine gun turret, so we can look out safely, yet not be seen.
Surprisingly, the Bronco parks directly under this overhang we are peering down from. Just as we try to figure out who is inside and in charge of the jeep tonight, a search light is activated. It is mounted on the driver’s side of the Bronco. Its powerful beam sends us diving onto the floor.
Light shines brightly through the planks of wood that we lay upon. “Oh shit,” we both murmur. We contort sideways to give less visibility, as certain body parts become illuminated from the light beaming through the floor boards. It’s like a sci-fi movie and the mothership has arrived.
We think to ourselves the same thought, does he know we’re up here and… who is this?
We are stuck on the floor in the peculiar way and shape, a bit degrading, considering this is our sanctuary. We can barely move as I look at Jimmy’s abstractly lit face laying next to mine.
After what seems like an eternity, the Bronco finally pulls away. Alarmingly, the Bronco has turned off all its lights and is stealthy, as it heads over to the colonial mansion across the way. We dust ourselves off as we watch from a perch on top of Boystown.
The red brake lights briefly flash as the Bronco stops in front of the mansion. This building has eight windows, four on the first floor, and four on the second floor, evenly spaced. The front door on the brick porch is ajar.
Suddenly, the searchlight reactivates, and its beam is focused directly inside the front door of this famous set. One by one, each window gets a beam directed upon it.
Who is this guy... we become flabbergasted!
He is taking his job way too seriously…
We decide that we have had enough fun. We work our way out of this fortress and run across the open terrain. We figure this was just an abnormality… a bored guard, is all. We slowly walk home after jumping the fence, still kidding and joking.
No big deal, this is what we do. Adrenaline rules…
We are just the next block away from our homes on Huron, passing Charles avenue. As we joke, we hear what sounds like the Bronco, behind us. We both hear it at the same time and turn to each other and joke, “sounds like the Bronco.”
We peek behind us, just ’cause … and at the exact same time, we are shocked. It is the Bronco. It is on the public street, just behind my home. That damn close…
We dive behind parked cars, I guess out of habit. We are not commiting any crimes at the moment. We watch as the Bronco turns right on Charles, with its lights on this time, as it comes to a stop on this dead end street. We run behind parked cars, only our heads protrude above. It is like we are still in MGM.
This same Bronco that we just dealt with on the backlot is now in my neigborhood! It is mind boggling… this hated vehicle is hunting us down, wherever we go, it seems.
Just like that evil diesel in the Spielberg movie, Duel.
The Bronco stops in front of one of the houses that we pass by every day, and a very large occupant exits the vehicle in his black uniform and heads inside the house. He is as big as a Sasquatch.
Wow, this is way too much to process…Who is this guy?
Truly, we need to follow up on this… and we do.
Well, just like when Pat was shot at, we get our answers at the studio’s west gate the folowing day.
Les Green is on duty. Not our favorite guy, but he will do. He fills us in with his slow drawl…’The studio wants you…John,” as he stares menacingly at me.
“And your blond friend,” he continues.
“They hired a guy specifically to capture you…” he drags his words, while tapping his pencil on the table in his shack. The tension builds.
“His name is George. I’d look out if I were you”
I take a deep gulp… I think to myself, these fools still go by the alias “John,” that I gave them long ago. But I have the big guy’s first name and address.
Score: John 2 – George 0.
“I’d stay out of there if I were you,” he says, as he points to the backlot across the street.
“Okay, I will,” I say, as we pedal away, shocked…
“First of all,” I tell Jimmy, as we ride alongside the backlot, “I won’t stay out… and second, I am flattered that the studio needs a specialist.”
It is time to gather some dirt on this large guy named George.
All stories written and lived by Donnie Norden
Edited by DQ