Sammy Slam, Stuntman The Mysterious Movie Mogul

By David and Linda Broughton

Stuntman Sammy 'the Slam" Reynolds is a stuntman, but he lives another life as an operative for 'the organization.' Often called upon to rid the world of the worst sort of scum, this time the President taps Sammy's skills for a special mission, that requires him pretending to make a movie in and around the L.A. docks, to help stop a huge terrorist plot.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David and Linda Broughton
• Release date: Oct 31, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458015778

David and Linda Broughton

The love of my life, Linda, is deceased. There will be a few more books by us, since more are written, they are not edited yet. In her honor I will try to get them edited and out to the public, but it's not easy for me. I have a new writing partner now, as well as a partner in life. No it will never be the same, nor should it. To those that review my books. I would greatly appreciate it if you actually READ the entire book before you write the review. Skimming it and posting a review just minutes after you buy it doesn't give a full understanding of the work. One person did this with "Grumpy Old Spy" and totally missed the entire story, and got what they did catch all wrong. I don't appreciate that. If you're not going to do an honest assessment after reading the entire book, don't bother to review it at all. In fact, if that person would contact me, I'll give them their money back for the book, providing they pull the cheap shot review.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The car behind Sammy The Slam Reynolds picks up speed, ramming into Sammy's car, causing it to fishtail. Sammy maintains control, and smashes the gas pedal. The car darts away from the pursuer for a moment. Just when the follower's car is about to catch up again, Sammy slams down hard on the emergency brake, while he turns the wheel sharply to the left. The catch mechanism on the brake has been disabled, so as soon as he lets off it, he hits the gas again. Now he's going in the opposite direction. The follow car tries the same maneuver, but plows right through a fire hydrant, then into a storefront window. Sammy roars away. Cut, print that! the second unit director yells through his electronic megaphone.

Sammy is a stuntman. This newest spy picture, on the London set at the moment, has most of the top stuntmen in Hollywood working on it. This portion of the back lot here in the LA basin looks for all the world like London today, the movie version of it, at any rate.

Sammy wheels the car into the old studio building temporarily being used as a mechanic shop for the stunt vehicles. Nineteen more cars that look just like this new version of a Dodge Charger are already here, all prepared for their various stunt work. Different stunts require different features built in, but the cars all have to look the same to the camera. The one he's driving now will be used again, since it survived today's run intact and undamaged.

How'd she run, Sammy? The question is asked by Bob Mars, the man in charge of all the stunt vehicles.

All right, but a little sluggish on the pick up after the turn, it just about leaned out on me. I figure you need to run more fuel in the tank or put in a small auxiliary tank that will make sure the fuel is available when needed.

Yeah, you know the studio and insurance people don't want a lot of fuel in them, just in case. These all-purpose ones are a little hard to get to do everything well. I'll work on it.

Okay, don't spend a whole lot of time on it, it's not all that bad.

Oh, I know a trick or two yet that can cure that ill. You have anymore work scheduled today?

No, I'm done for the day, I imagine they'll keep you busy. Nate and Charlie both have gags to do yet today, I don't know about everyone else.

Yeah, these spy pictures do love the fancy gags. They never stop to think that a real spy wouldn't want to do any of them, making huge splashes all over the world.

No real spy would go around giving his right name either, but they always do in these. I guess the Bond pictures started it all.

I reckon so.

Have there been any messages for me, Bob?

"Now that you mention it, there was a good looking dame asking for you about an hour ago, but there always is, isn't there?"

"Not as much as I would like. What did this dame look like?"

"You know, a real looker, a dame right out of a forties detective yarn. At a busy studio like this, I just figured she's in some picture or another, some little starlet googley-eyed over the hot body of you younger stunt boys. I used to have them coming around when I was the hot young stud too."

You might have been young, but you were never hot nor a stud, so Gail tells me.

She wouldn't know, I didn't marry her until I was forty, way over the hill as far as most stunt work goes.

Gee thanks for reminding me, hell, I'm nearly forty now. Did this gal in the dame getup leave a name or number?

Yeah, there's a note for you on my desk. It says to meet her at seven this evening at the Brown Derby. It must be some kind of in-character joke, everyone knows the Brown Derby isn't around anymore.

Sammy ambles over to the battered old desk off in a corner. He picks up a note on fine stationery. The note has a lemony scent to it. He stuffs it in his pocket without reading it. I got it, Bob. Thanks. Is my car for tomorrow's gag ready?

Yeah, you're the bad guy tomorrow. I've got an extra strong cage in it for the roll over sequence. Don't forget to duck down when you start the roll, the top is made extra flimsy to be sure to cave in to the bottom of the window. The director doesn't like it when cars roll over but the top doesn't cave in a bit. I can't say as I blame him, it does look fake.

Yeah, it's the easiest way to do it, making a strong cage all the way to the roof, but it doesn't look or act realistically.

"Yeah, well don't stay out with that dame too late, you'll need to be bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow."

Yeah, whatever, I may be bright eyed but I don't think I've ever been bushy tailed once in my whole life. What the hell does that mean, anyway?

Hell if I know, it's just one of those sayings.

"Whatever, later Bob.

See ya Sammy.

Sammy ambles out to his ride, a car that appears to be a '67 Shelby Mustang, an Eleanor of both versions of Gone In Sixty Seconds fame. In actuality, this is one of the stunt cars from the latest version of Gone In Sixty Seconds. Bob builds them so well, a couple of the stunt cars went unused, so Sammy bought both of them for next to nothing from the studio when the movie wrapped.

The other one, an exact twin of this one that he uses as a daily driver, is way too souped up to be practical to drive in traffic. This one with only the mildly hotrodded 351 Cleveland engine does that job well. The lightweight carbon fiber body, plus the complete roll cage and other tricks of the trade, make it a hoot to drive just about any time, except when the traffic backs up and nobody goes anywhere fast. Sammy hopes he can get to his place in the hills before that happens today.

Chapter 2

Sammy roars out of the studio, making the best possible speed, which really isn't that fast. Once on the freeway, he makes good time, it isn't backed up yet. He pulls his car into his garage a mere forty-five minutes from the time he left the studio gates. Rather than go into the little bungalow attached to the huge garage, he flips a switch near a workbench. The workbench slides to the side, this opens a door in the floor, exposing a set of steps leading down. Sammy takes the stairs two at a time, then flips a switch at the landing twenty feet from the surface. This switch turns on a light, and closes the upstairs door, sliding the workbench back in place. A steel door is in front of him, it has both a mechanical combination lock and an electronic one. He enters the combinations for each of them, then pulls the door open.

When the lights come on fully, he notes that everything is in order. Why wouldn't it be? Nobody but me knows of the existence of this safe room and weapons cache. Sammy is a stuntman, so far as the world knows. He also happens to be a top operative and sometimes hitman for a super-secret group of top businessmen, politicians, and others of influence that sometimes have to resort to methods and means that governments cannot or will not do.

The organization isn't part of the government, in any way, though many of it's top members are high ranking government officials of several countries, the highest, in fact.

Private funding and the use of people with other visible means of support keeps them off everyone's radar. Sammy was recruited just as his eight year hitch as a Navy Seal was ending, he was not re-upping, he was tired of doing the bidding of idiots that didn't know what the military was to be used for, with little funding for either him or the missions. The Seals had always said that they had done so much with so little for so long that doing the impossible with nothing just takes a little longer.

This organization is not cheap, nor do they do silly things that make no sense to anyone outside of the ivory towers the bureaucrats seem to live in. Usually, his assignments are simple. Capture a certain bad boy, or at times, simply see to it that the bad boy in question gets dead.

Sometimes they want it done very publicly, as if it's a gang hit, other times the culprit just seems to disappear. He almost can't wait to find out what's up this time, it's been a while since he's had a gig with the organization.

Sammy places the note left for him at the studio in, of all things, an Easy-Bake oven. He switches it on, waiting impatiently for the heat from the hundred watt light bulb to work it's magic. He could use a flame, or hold it over a light bulb himself, but this way is safer and more consistent. The lemony smell on the paper is from a note written in lemon juice on the back of the note. When dry, it becomes invisible. The heat makes it visible again. It's a very old trick, not often used these days. That's exactly why his contact within the organization uses it. Anyone looking at them or the notes would be looking for high-tech codes or the like, not something so simple. Sometimes, low-tech is best.

After ten minutes, the note should be ready. He switches the oven off, then removes the warm paper. The note reads: Meet Dahlia tonight, 9 pm, Sonny's bar, West Hollywood.

Dahlia is the name of the week for his relay and sometimes partner. He knows her as Susan Delaney. She was most likely the one that delivered the note to the shop. She's quite the looker, usually. An expert in stage and screen makeup, she can and often does look like anyone she wants to. Since Dahlia is her name of the week, she's probably going around looking like the famous Black Dahlia that was so grotesquely murdered years ago.

Last week, her name of the week was Rose, so she went about looking much like the infamous Gypsy Rose Lee. Not that most people these days would get either disguise, she's a student of history. She thoroughly enjoys her little games, though most people never catch on.

Sammy can only guess what she'll come up with for next week, when her name-of-the-week will be Daisy. Either a very sexy Daisy-Mae outfit from the old Lil' Abner cartoon and stage play, or maybe a Daisy Duke outfit from the Duke's of Hazard. Knowing Susan's habits, it will be neither, but some more arcane Daisy that nobody knows.

Out of habit rather than any real need, Sammy tosses the note in the shredder, then puts the tatters into a small incinerator he installed for the purpose. They never communicate real secrets this way, but it's better to be sure nobody gets on to their old-fashioned methods. In a very short time, the note is reduced to a fine, powdery ash. Sometimes, this little chore is simpler, they simply write their notes on flash paper.

Since Susan will undoubtedly be made-up like the 40's Dahlia, Sammy checks out his wardrobe supply. Most of it he got from working on various movies, some he bought special. Tonight, a forties style pinstriped suit with vest, pocket watch and all, including patent leather shoes, spats and a matching wide brimmed fedora will suit the bill. He takes the garment bag it's encased in upstairs with him. A little work with a lint brush, plus a quick wipe of the shoes with a damp paper towel readies his wardrobe.

Since he has plenty of time, he makes a corned beef sandwich, grabs a Newcastle Ale from the fridge, then sits down at the kitchen table to eat. He may or may not get to have dinner with Susan, so he wants to have a little something in his belly.

After the snack, he treks out to the garage. His forty Ford will be the ride of choice tonight. It's not really a forty Ford, but a look-alike bought as a left over from a another movie he worked on. Most of the twenty-eight vehicles in his huge garage are look-alikes used in pictures. This Ford-alike looks like the real deal on the exterior, and pretty much so on the interior. The only real differences are modern brakes, engine and transmission, besides most of the body being carbon fiber with a built in but hidden roll cage, with seat belts added in.

The picture biz has been real good to him. He's thankful his father and uncle have a name in the stunt biz. Without such entrée, breaking into serious stunt work in movies is next to impossible. His father and uncle are retired from active stunt work, they do gaff a picture now and then, always working as a team.

Everyone thought computer graphics would be the end of the stuntman's livelihood, but the opposite is actually true. They can do stunts now that appear on screen as impossibly dangerous, with little or no real risk to the stunt person. So far, computer graphics have enhanced what they can do, not taken away from it. If they ever get it down to where the people created in the computers look real enough, it might change things. As of now, stuntmen can still do things cheaper, faster, and better than the computer wizards.

Sammy continues checking the fluids and things on the Ford while he mulls all this over. Satisfied that everything is as good as it gets, he disconnects the automatic battery charger, then backs the car out of the garage. Some CDs of big band swing music from the era are already loaded into the hidden player from the last time he used the car, so he's all set. No matter what the case turns out to be, he'll have some fun tonight. He leaves the car out front, while he returns to the house. He isn't in costume yet, and doesn't have to hurry.

Chapter 3

Sonny's isn't that far away, so he waits until nearly nine to head out. He loves the way heads turn as he motors through West Hollywood. In a town where pictures are made all the time, and flashy rides abound, the old Ford still gets noticed.

Sonny's is the kind of place that might have been around back in the forties, it probably wasn't, but could have been. He decides to give the valet's a thrill, pulling up to the curb right in front of the lighted yellow awning that Sonny's is known for. A hundred dollar bill to the valet, with the proviso, Here's a C-note, kid. Keep it close and ready to roll, gets some strange looks, but the kid says nothing, he just nods to Sammy.

Dark wood and leather abound inside. Since it's still light out this time of year, it takes a minute for Sammy's eyes to adjust to the darkness. As soon as he can, he scans the bar, then the tables throughout the medium sized place. If it was around in the forties, it would have been thought a large place. Back then almost all bars were small, cozy joints. A fourteen-piece band is just taking the stage, dressed in zoot suits, of all things. Sammy takes a look around, most of the patrons and all the help are in forties era dress. No wonder I didn't stand out too much to the valets, though the car did. Leave it to Susan to find a place to meet that suits her role-of-the-week.

The band starts playing forties era, big-band style music, doing fairly well for a band only half the size of most bands back then. More microphones and electronics can make a smaller band sound quite large.

Sammy orders a beer, unfortunately all they have is the domestic variety. He doesn't care for it, he just sips it, waiting for Dahlia's grand entrance. He's sure it will be, it usually is.

At a little after nine, she sweeps in. Her period specific, white, sparkly gown makes her seem to glow in the dim light of the bar. All the men and most of the women take notice, most of the women are giving her catty looks. She is shown to a booth, immediately she has to start fending off would-be suitors. She does so in her usual charming fashion, asking that they return for a dance later in the evening. Sammy walks over to her. He trots out a line from Casablanca, Of all the gin joints in all the world, why did you have to walk into mine. He's doing a terrible impression of Bogie, but she laughs anyway, probably at how bad it is. He sits down across from her. She grabs his hand with both of hers, mostly to discreetly place a memory stick in his palm.

How are you, Sam Spade?

Wrong movie, it was Rick in Casablanca.

Yeah, but you're more of a rough and tough Sam Spade than the smooth Rick.

Yeah, doll, I guess I am. What's a dame like you doing in a place like this?

I just love forties night.

I wondered why here until I saw everyone else in similar getups too.

You didn't know, but you wore that suit anyway?

Sure, I knew you'd be done up in Dahlia clothes, I thought we'd fit together better.

Well, that's sweet of you.

Sweet, I'm not. I'm just a horny guy trying to figure a way to get you in the sack.

Honest too, a good combination. Maybe one of these days you'll get your wish. Not tonight though. Your gig is a solo act, we think. Do let us know if you need anything.

I sure will, how about a dance, sweet cheeks?

Not yet, I haven't had a drink yet. You should probably make an early night of it, you have an early call in the morning.

Checking up on me again?

Of course.

All right, gimme one dance then I'll run along home.

Okay, wait for the next one, this one is about over.

When the next song starts, it's Sing, Sing, Swing that Benny Goodman made famous. The two of them really tear up the floor with a mean jitterbug, made all the better by the period costumes. When it's over, he escorts Susan back to her table, tips his hat to her, then leaves the bar.

As he absent mindedly reaches into his jacket pocket for his keys, he notices that Susan has inserted a small plastic bag sometime during their meeting. He leaves it be for now. His keys aren't there. Oh, I valet parked. Susan always has that effect on me.

The valets have left his car right out front, putting some orange traffic cones near the outside corners. Where they got something like that, he can only guess. The valet hands him the keys, Sammy slips him another C-note, gets in, fires up the Ford, then roars away.

Sammy stops at a Denny's for a more substantial meal. He gets little attention, but the car gets the usual amount. After the good, filling meal, he drives back home. His big night out didn't turn out to be much.

Oh, well, Sammy ole boy, what did you expect? Did you really think Susan would fall all over you because you dressed the part? Get real, for all you know, she's married or has a boyfriend or … maybe a girlfriend for that matter. She's never really mentioned it, one-way or the other.

Chapter 4

The Ford gets parked in it's usual spot, the automatic charger gets reconnected, there's no telling how long it will be before he uses the car again. He changes clothes in the bungalow, then carries them in the garment bag back down to his lair under the garage.

The regular computer gets fired up. He doesn't need his Cray super-computer at the moment, it remains dormant. The flash drive gets inserted to the proper slot, the info on it loaded onto his machine. While that's going on, he checks the plastic bag Susan slipped into his pocket. It contains only a few hairs, a couple of broken fingernails and a set of latex fingerprints for him to wear when he does … whatever he's supposed to do.

Sammy starts checking the info. It's a relatively simple hit. The man he's supposed to take out is a prominent citizen in Las Vegas, a big time casino owner. The man has used his wealth and power to go scot-free after molesting several young boys. Apparently, one of the boys is the grandson of a very high-ranking member of the organization. Usually, this isn't the kind of thing the organization deals with, but it's as good a use of the organization as any, to Sammy's reasoning. Scum like that doesn't deserve to live, let alone live so high and mighty. The hairs and fingerprints should leave the cops in a tizzy if they should start looking. They belong to the long dead Howard Hughes. Where the organization got them, Sammy can only guess at.

There's no particular hurry on this hit, though they do want it done soon, to protect any other young boys this jerk might harm. Now Sammy fires up his Cray, he starts it digging into this bozo's life. Every scrap of info he can find on him will be uncovered, this early in the planning, there's no telling what might be useful. If possible, Sammy will also raid any accounts he can find that this Nathan Sorrento, may have stashed. The organization not only allows it, they recommend it. They don't see any reason for the scum to leave hidden assets behind. Sammy can't touch his well known public assets like the casinos, but knows full well scum like this will be skimming off the top, funneling the money into Cayman's accounts, or somewhere of that ilk.

He'll let the organization know when he plans on making the hit. They'll sell short the casino shares, letting the bum's own assets pay for his hit. Sammy will get paid handsomely for the job, as well as whatever funds he might be able to take. A win-win situation for everyone but this Sorrento scum. He's going to get what he so rightly deserves, in a fashion that makes a real statement.

A cover identity has been set up for Sammy, a real high roller as far as the casino or anyone else will know. Sammy lets the Cray run, he goes upstairs, locks up as he goes into the bungalow, then goes to bed. He does have an early stunt gag tomorrow morning.

Chapter 5

The dark sedan leaps forward with only the lightest touch on the accelerator. Bob has it tuned perfectly. He's nearly on the bumper of the good guy, this morning it's Tommy Hubert's turn to be the good guy. Exactly on the spot they planned, Tommy's car swerves out of the way, Sammy shoves the accelerator to the firewall. The right side of his car hits a car in front of him, actually it's