Kubrick's Game Page 11

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “Well then,” said Shawn, “if I may quote the great Mr. Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs, I say we make these conversations quid pro quo. I tell you something of value when you tell me something of value.”

  “What would you like to know?” said Mascaro.

  “You aren’t in this alone, are you?”

  “No, I am not.”

  “Who are you working with?”

  “Quid pro quo, Mr. Hagan. What did you find in New York?”

  “At the hotel, we were given a package that contained a reel of film. It was footage of Stanley Kubrick explaining how he devised the game, and that there is a prize for the winner—something that could ‘change the course of human history.’ Quid pro quo. For you, this isn’t a venture of curiosity out of love for Stanley Kubrick, so who are you working with?”

  “Mr. Hagan, what you are asking is inconsequential.”

  “Really? My friends and I were tasered and held captive by an insane museum curator. That felt pretty consequential. And need I mention that the stakes were far from inconsequential for Stanley Kubrick?”

  “What does it matter who my allies are? What if it’s the mafia? Or Hollywood elite? Or a fanatical religious sect? Either way, to cross us would not be a wise decision.”

  “I see,” said Shawn. “Then I’m afraid our partnership must end here. I appreciate what you’ve done for me and your support to this point, but I hope you can understand that I cannot endanger myself or my teammates. They didn’t ask for this.” He stood up to leave. “Goodbye, Professor.”

  “Not so fast, Mr. Hagan. I have given you support until now, but it can be withdrawn with two phone calls the moment you leave this room. Ms. Singh will find herself in debt fifteen thousand dollars for the first camera, and I am sure the department would not be happy to hear how you came to lose the second camera. That would be thirty thousand total, and neither of you would be able to check out so much as a film slate after that. And let us not forget Dean Welks. It would not be difficult to convince her you went cuckoo, stormed into my office, and threatened to shoot me. You will find yourself expelled by tomorrow morning. Think of this before you exit.”

  Shawn sat back in the chair.

  “That’s a good boy. So, what did you find last night?”

  Shawn pulled out a thumb drive containing the photos from Spartacus Square and placed it on Mascaro’s desk.

  “I was being nice before,” said Shawn. “Your films are all pretentious, insipid Euro-trash.”

  Mascaro chuckled. “Everyone is a critic.”

  Later that evening, Shawn, Sami, and Wilson connected via Skype.

  “How’d it go with Mascaro?” asked Wilson.

  “He’s covering the second camera,” Shawn admitted, “but I had to show him our photos of the chess puzzle in exchange.”

  “What? We agreed we wouldn’t divulge anything,” said Wilson.

  “Well,” Sami said, looking more relieved than upset with Shawn. “The game is just beginning. We’ll have to be careful what we reveal from this point forward.”

  Shawn considered telling them about Mascaro’s insinuation that he was working for a dangerous group, but he decided not to say anything. Best not to scare Wilson and Sami without direct evidence. They might bail out, and Shawn couldn’t imagine going forward without his team—a team for which he was finally the star player.

  He said, “I say we meet tomorrow and see if we can’t crack this new clue. I’ve emailed you files of the photos I took at the studio.”

  They opened the files showing the chessboard and the plaque that read:

  Solve the dual chess puzzle of 8 to find the next Q.

  Wilson hesitated before responding to Shawn’s suggestion. “Buddy, we lost a whole weekend to this escapade. I need to play catch-up this week. I have two essays due on Wednesday and twenty pages for screenwriting due on Thursday.”

  Sami had a similar story, but Shawn understood she needed to begin editing her film. Although aggravated at the delay, he agreed to meet on Friday afternoon.

  Wilson added, “After our meeting, we are all going out for Shawn’s twenty-first birthday. I reserved us a table at The Next Door Lounge in Hollywood. It’s a speakeasy.”

  “Fine,” said Shawn. “I’ll go to the club, but I’m warning you, I’m not comfortable in large social gatherings. If it were up to me, we would stay in and work on the puzzle. We should also watch 2001.”

  Wilson rubbed his temples. “Shawn, I’m going to say this one last time. Stop saying weird things and stop being a downer, or I will scissor-kick you in the Adam’s apple. You are not watching a bunch of hippies in monkey suits throwing bones around on your birthday!”

  “That’s only the first twenty minutes,” Shawn protested.

  Sami chimed in, laughing. “Speaking of 2001, is there a reason you want to watch it?”

  “Of course, and I bet you know why.”

  “Is it because the clue is referring to 2001?”

  “That’s what I think. Solve the dual chess puzzle of 8 to find the next Q. I bet eight is a reference to Kubrick’s eighth film—2001.”

  “Chess also seems to be an important part of this puzzle,” said Sami. “To understand Kubrick, you have to understand the role chess played in his life. He was a master-level chess player when he was just a teenager, and loved playing several games at once with cast and crew. Sometimes, if a match proved challenging, he’d shut down production to focus on it. I think he wants the winner of this quest to have the mindset of a great chess player. The best ones can think many steps ahead.”

  “And did you recognize the chess board?” said Shawn. “The position of the pieces is exactly the same as the chess scene in 2001 when HAL ‘mates’ Poole. So the number eight and the chess board are definitely pointing us toward that movie.”

  “But what did he mean by dual chess puzzle?” asked Sami. “That was the only scene of chess in the film.”

  “Do you think dual could be a play on ‘duel’?” asked Wilson. “Like they were dueling for supremacy?”

  “Possibly,” said Shawn, “but duality, or doubling, was a common motif in Kubrick’s films, especially in 2001. The two astronauts were doubles of one another. HAL had a double of himself back on Earth. The black monolith had doubles on Earth, the moon, and orbiting Jupiter. My first instinct says that there could be another hidden chess game in 2001 we have to find.”

  “There are no other chess games,” said Sami. “I’ve seen it a hundred times and have gone through it frame-by-frame three times in the last month.”

  “How could you watch that movie a hundred times?” said Wilson. “I saw it once and that was more than enough.”

  “Listen guys,” said Shawn, “how about for homework each of us finds the time to watch 2001 and take notes on it in relation to anything chess-related, and we’ll discuss on Friday?”

  Wilson and Sami agreed and signed off.

  Shawn was about to shut down his computer when his chat box opened.

  Djacks: Did you escape from the studio?

  Moonwatcher: Yes. Just barely.

  Djacks: Good. Same here.

  Moonwatcher: This is Danny, right?

  Djacks: Nope.

  Moonwatcher: But you were there at Universal?

  Djacks: Yes.

  Moonwatcher: Desiree?

  Djacks: Ding! Ding! Ding!

  Moonwatcher: How did you find my info?

  Djacks: From the Fantastic Race. I spotted you at the LACMA exhibit and figured you were on the same hunt.

  Moonwatcher: Well, since you know all about me, I think it’s only fair that I should know something about you.

  Djacks: Desiree Jackson, at your service. But not really.

  While the conversation continued, Shawn did a quick Facebook search and found Desiree’s page. It was filled with photos of her dressed in form-fitting super-heroine costumes at Comic-Con. She looked particularly fetching in a
Wonder Woman outfit.

  Moonwatcher: Danny said no alliances. Should we even be talking?

  Djacks: Danny’s not my boss, though sometimes we have to let him think he is. Any progress on the chess puzzle?

  Moonwatcher: A little, but no idea where to go next. You?

  Djacks: Same. Not gonna pester you for info. Just curious how motivated I need to be.

  Moonwatcher: Probably won’t have any updates until after Friday. It’s a big day for me.

  Djacks: What’s Friday?

  Moonwatcher: My 21st birthday. But also our next Kubrick meeting.

  Djacks: No kidding? Happy birthday in advance!!!

  Moonwatcher: Thanks.

  Djacks: What are you doing?

  Moonwatcher: Wilson and Sami are taking me to some speakeasy in Hollywood.

  Djacks: Which one?

  Moonwatcher: It’s called The Next Door Lounge.

  Djacks: May I drop by?

  Moonwatcher: I don’t see why not.

  Djacks: Don’t sound too excited.

  Moonwatcher: You’ll need a password.

  Djacks: Is it Fidelio?

  Moonwatcher: Probably not.

  Djacks: Oh. Too bad. ; )

  It was the first time a girl had ever sent Shawn a winky-face emoji. He felt a sudden flutter in his chest and grinned.

  It had been a few years since Shawn had devoured every internet article he could find on 2001, and he was shocked to discover that the fervor surrounding the film had only grown. Dozens of new scholars on the scene had broken down the film and found incredible new meanings.

  He had a lot of work to do to be on par with Sami’s expertise, and in order to unravel the latest riddle:

  Solve the dual chess puzzle of 8 to find the next Q.

  He even studied the history of chess and made a startling discovery that he couldn’t wait to share with the group.

  Shawn woke up on Friday, now a man of twenty-one, expecting to feel more adult in some way, but disappointed that he felt exactly the same as the morning before. Still, he wondered what being drunk would feel like. He’d seen the effects a million times in movies and TV. Would he be funny? Rude? Brilliant?

  That evening, they met at Sami’s small apartment in the graduate-housing community in Westwood Village. It was sparsely furnished with a tiny wooden futon and a small wooden desk courtesy of the University of California.

  When Shawn entered, the bottles of booze were already lined up on the kitchen counter like a row of pawns anxious to march into oblivion.

  “Happy Birthday!” Wilson and Sami shouted.

  “Can we get started?” Shawn proceeded to pull a binder of notes out of his backpack. “I can’t wait to show you—”

  “Not yet.” Sami took Shawn’s notes and placed them on the counter. “First you have to take a shot. And every time any of us say ‘Kubrick,’ we have to take another shot. That’s the rule. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” Shawn rolled his eyes. “This should be easy.”

  Sami poured vodka into a shot glass and handed it to Shawn.

  He examined it as if it were an object from outer space.

  “To Shawn’s manhood!” Sami held up the glass and they clinked, then Wilson and Sami downed their shots.

  Shawn took a sip and swooshed it in his mouth as if it were Bordeaux. He swallowed it and immediately started coughing. “That’s horrible! Why would anybody drink this?”

  “Well, what do you want to drink?” said Sami.

  “A diet Dr. Pepper.”

  “Fine.” Sami poured a Dr. Pepper... then added the shot of vodka to it. “This should be more palatable.”

  Shawn tasted the drink, grimacing. “Great. Now my favorite soda tastes terrible.” He dumped the vodka-soda out in the sink. “Can we please just start the meeting? I need to tell you what I’ve discovered about Kubrick’s chess clue.”

  “Ahh! You said ‘Kubrick,’” exclaimed Wilson. “Drink!”

  “I said I’m not drinking anymore.”

  Wilson became stern. “Those are the rules of the game that you agreed to. Did you not?”

  Shawn sighed. “Fine. That was one slip-up, but it won’t happen again. Pour.”

  Sami poured a shot into his glass and said, “Just swallow it as fast as you can.”

  Shawn chugged the shot.

  “It burns!” he gasped, but as the initial feeling wore off, he felt a more pleasant sensation roll through his chest. “But... that one wasn’t as bad as the other. Hmm. Now let’s discuss Kubrick.”

  Sami and Wilson blurted, “Ah—”

  “That one was on purpose,” said Shawn.

  A few minutes later, Shawn was on another planet. His brain spewed its contents unfiltered as he rambled on about 2001.

  “Did you guys know it’s the most expensive experimental film ever made? But the crazy thing is, it was financed by MGM, one of the most conservative Hollywood studios. There’s also less than forty minutes of speaking! At first its box office numbers were absolutely abysmal, but word of mouth spread among the psychedelic crowd. Film buffs went back again and again to figure out what the heck this movie was all about. And guess what? It became one of the biggest hits in MGM history! High-five!”

  “That’s very fascinating,” said Sami, politely high-fiving him. “But what did you discover about the chess clue?”

  “Right! I think the key is Zrhturstra,” Shawn slurred.

  “Did you say Kama Sutra?” asked Wilson.

  “No.” Shawn spoke slowly and deliberately. “Za-ra-thustra.”

  “Oh, you’re talking about the 2001 theme music, Strauss’s ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra,’” said Sami.

  “Correct. The music comes on whenever Earthlings connect with the alien intelligence for the next leap in evolution. I think you-know-who chose Zarathustra because of the connection to chess.”

  “Didn’t Frederic Nietzsche write a book called Thus Spoke Zarathustra?” said Wilson.

  “Yes,” said Shawn. “I looked into it, and it turns out that Nietzsche argues in Thus Spoke Zarathustra that man’s current state of being is a transitional period of evolution between apes and what he coined as the ubermensch, or ‘super-man,’ and that’s exactly what 2001 is all about! Mankind making that transition!”

  “I think that’s a great observation,” said Sami, “but what does that have to do with chess?”

  “That’s the coolest part,” said Shawn. “The great philosopher Zarathustra is credited as being the inventor of chess.”

  “Wow!”said Wilson. “Okay, so what does that mean for the clue?”

  “It means that the key to the chess puzzle must lie in the music. I think Kubrick intentionally—”

  “Drink!” Sami and Wilson shouted at the same time.

  “Dang it!” said Shawn, pouring himself a shot of Jim Beam and knocking it back. “As I was saying, I think... that director guy... intentionally placed the music at certain moments to help guide us toward solving the chess puzzle.”

  “But how does it relate to the chess board we found in the Spartacus steps?” said Sami. “What we know is that the board had the same configuration as the game HAL plays with the astronaut Frank Poole.”

  “I have... no idea.” Shawn burped, then muttered, “Kubrick.”

  “Password,” said the security guard at the front entrance of The Next Door Lounge.

  “Swordfish,” said Wilson.

  “That was the password,” said the guard. “But it leaked onto Twitter. Did you get the new password?”

  “No,” said Wilson. “Is it by chance... holy cheesy pepperoni?” He said it with a flourish to get the guard to recognize him.

  “Oh. Hello, Mr. Devereaux. Say ‘barracuda.’ It’s the rules.”

  “Barracuda.”

  “Come on in.”

  Shawn staggered into the lounge feeling as if he’d stepped into a time warp. The stools and walls were deep red and the chairs and tables were dark woods, evoking an air of secrecy and naughtines
s. Elegant crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Waitresses with bobbed haircuts and flapper dresses weaved through the crowd of industry players in shiny suits. Bartenders in bowler hats, double-breasted vests and bowties served drinks with names like Heebie Jeebie, Sloe Gin Fizz, and Brass Flower.

  Shawn plopped down in the VIP section with his friends, where he was vaguely aware of chugging whatever was put in front of him.

  Time seemed to skip like a scratched CD. Next thing Shawn knew, he was swing dancing to big-band music.

  Sami and Wilson danced together next to him, pulling off impressive spins and dips.

  Time skipped, and he was back at the table, looking out over the club. This is more like it! He people-watched, dissected human interactions, and filed away gestures and body language for future use.

  Then the world went black. Wait. I didn’t black out. I’m still conscious.

  Someone had placed their hands over his eyes. “Guess who?”

  Shawn turned.

  Desiree flashed a bright, white smile at him. “Buy you a birthday drink?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Anything with alcohol.”

  Desiree brought back Jager shots, and they tried to make small talk, but the music was so loud that Shawn found himself mostly nodding at the unintelligible sounds she made.

  “Consorting with the enemy, I see?” Wilson joked as he plopped down next to Shawn. “You better not be coaxing him for intel.”

  “You got nothing to worry about. He ain’t talking.”

  “That’s because we don’t have a clue about this—” Shawn hiccupped, and started not to feel well. “—clue. Can I go home? Sorry, I know it’s early.”

  “Early?” said Sami. “It’s 1:15 a.m.”

  “What? I thought it was 10:30 at the latest.”

  “I was gonna head out anyway,” said Desiree. “I can take him back.”

  “You sure?” said Wilson.

  Desiree put her hand on Shawn’s knee and rubbed it. “It’s no problem.”

  Sami gave Shawn an encouraging nudge, then left to stand in the bathroom line.

  “One last bathroom visit,” Shawn slurred.