Stone Barrington 27 - Doing Hard Time

Cayenne parked in front of it, and he made a mental note of the address.
    The tram continued down the studio’s famous New York street, which had been the standing set for dozens of movies over the decades, then passed the fire department and continued to the back lot, where there was an old Western town set and stables for horses. The tram stopped.
    “Now, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to dismount and visit one of the most interesting departments of the studio: the armory. This is where the weapons are kept that are used in Westerns, cop movies, and war movies, and we’re going to have a demonstration of shooting by one of the studio’s stuntmen.”
    The group filed into the building and was shown several rooms filled with weapons of every sort, then led into a large room where they were handed headsets that would protect their ears from the noise while amplifying their leader’s voice.
    He introduced the stuntman, who was dressed in Western regalia, and the group watched as he demonstrated his quick draw and rapid-fire technique with a lever-action rifle. The demonstration came to a halt when his weapon jammed.
    Teddy, who was standing a few feet behind the man, watched as he tried to clear the weapon. “Don’t force it,” Teddy said. “It’s going to have to be field-stripped to fix the problem.” The cowboy put down the rifle and chose another. The same thing happened.
    A man appeared at Teddy’s elbow. “Are you familiar with the workings of the Winchester model 1873?” he asked.
    “Intimately,” Teddy said.
    “Come with me,” the man said.
    Teddy followed him into a workshop where a rifle had been locked in a vise.
    “You want to have a go at that?”
    Teddy chose a tool from above the workbench, opened the weapon, and pointed to a broken part. “That will need to be replaced,” he said. “Do you have spares?”
    The man went to a shelf and brought back a box of parts. “There you go.”
    Teddy quickly replaced the part and reassembled the weapon. He levered it a dozen times without problems.
    “Where’d you learn that weapon?” the man asked.
    “I used to maintain the guns at a Western shooting club,” Teddy lied.
    “I’m Jim Garver,” the man said, offering his hand. “We’ve got ninety-odd of those rifles. They’re replicas made for the studio by an Italian company in the late 1930s, and they’ve been used a lot and break regularly. Right now, I’ve got eighteen that need attention, and I’m short a man. Are you looking for work, by any chance?”
    “Not especially,” Teddy said, “but I’ll be happy to help you out with your problem. I expect that all of the rifles are ready for overhaul, if you have the parts. Otherwise, they’ll have to be handmade, unless the Italian company is still in business.”
    “It’s not,” Garver said. “What’s your name?”
    “Billy Barnett,” Teddy said, changing a vowel in the surname.
    “Billy, I’ll pay you twenty-five bucks a rifle to go through the lot and overhaul them. Fifty, if you have to make parts.”
    “I’m glad to help you,” he said.
    “Be here tomorrow morning at nine. There’ll be a studio pass and a parking permit for you at the main gate.”
    “I’ll see you then,” Teddy said, then rejoined the group. They were now watching the cowboy fire a Thompson submachine gun.
    Their tour guide spoke up again. “Now we’ll go over to the studio commissary—that’s what our restaurant is called—for some refreshments,” he said, and everybody got back aboard the tram. They were driven to the commissary, and they filed into one end of the large room, where a table was set up with soft drinks and snacks. Teddy grabbed a Coke and a cookie and stepped away from the table to make room for the others. He cast an eye around the room, now half-empty after the lunch hour, and saw Peter Barrington and his friend sitting at a table talking.
    There was a barrier between them, and Teddy walked to it. “Peter!” he called, and the young man turned and recognized him. He got up and came over.
    “It’s Billy Burnett, isn’t it?”
    “Barnett,” Teddy said, shaking hands.
    “What brings you to Centurion?”
    “I took the studio tour,” Teddy said, “and ended up with a job here.”
    “Oh? Doing what?”
    “Overhauling old rifles over at your armory. It’s just temporary—they’re shorthanded at the moment.”
    Peter handed him one of his new cards. “When you catch up with the work, stop by and see