Capítulo 33: Chapter 33: The Stalker
Before starting his shift, Matthew always went to Mr. Lister's office to pick up the car keys and the details of that night's work. When the front desk staff informed him, he wasn't surprised and headed straight to the second floor, knocking and then pushing open the door of the office.
"Look who it is..."
As he entered the office, the grating voice of the bald Black man greeted him, "Our big star has arrived."
Every visit to this office meant enduring the bald man's taunts. As usual, Matthew ignored him and headed to Mr. Lister's desk to collect his assignments for the evening.
But the bald man wasn't done. "Heard you went to another casting? What kind of film this time? Another one like last time?"
Somehow, Matthew's near-miss with an embarrassing role had become office gossip.
"Bare-assed big star!" The fat man next to the bald man laughed out loud. "Are you off to shoot another one of those films?"
"How much do you earn for those kinds of films?" The bald man continued, "Hey, hick! With your looks, just strip down, and plenty of cougars and gays would surely offer you a big price!"
Mr. Lister, as usual, said nothing, enjoying the spectacle as he always did, finding delight in the harassment endured by the disliked Texan.
Matthew, holding the magazines and newspapers he'd just bought, stopped and turned to face the bald man, who widened his eyes and flashed a greasy smile, "What are you looking at, idiot? Am I wrong?"
Even the most patient person has their limits, and Matthew was no saint. The constant jibes were becoming unbearable. He was tempted to retort with an 'N'-word-laden insult but refrained, aware of the potential repercussions of making a discriminatory remark in the office.
"Not everyone is as petty, narrow-minded, and unambitious as you," Matthew retorted anyway.
"What?" Surprised by the pushback from the usually docile Texan, the bald man nearly jumped out of his seat. "You know this is Los Angeles, right, you Texan hick?"
Seeming truly angered, he rolled up his sleeves as if to start a fight, but measuring the height difference and Matthew's robust physique, he thought better of it and instead grabbed his water cup, gulping down a large swig.
Mr. Lister continued to watch the unfolding drama with glee. He disliked both the "black guy" and the "hick," and their frequent confrontations were a source of amusement for him.
The bald man drained half his cup in one go. "Hick! Keep dreaming. Spend fifty more years here, and you'll still be a nobody, a small-time driver! You could spend a lifetime in Hollywood and never be anything but an extra! You..."
He was cut off as Matthew slapped the open magazine down on the desk in front of him. The cover featured a movie poster with extensive text underneath.
Matthew dropped the Premiere magazine he had opened outside Red Penguin, uninterested in continuing the argument. Engaging further with the bald man would only sicken him more. What was the point, after all? The man was just an ignorant fool.
The bald man looked down and saw the poster for what seemed to be a period film. The wild, ragtag barbarians dominated the backdrop, with their leader prominently featured in the foreground—muscular, imposing, and ferocious.
Why did the barbarian leader, his face partially obscured by a beard, look so familiar? The bald man scratched his head in confusion.
"You're driving the Ford tonight," Mr. Lister said, handing over keys and a document to Matthew. "Head to Malibu; you've been there before."
Matthew glanced at the document and nodded, "Yes." He then asked, "The usual driver for this car…"
"Quit!" Mr. Lister snapped. "People leave good jobs to chase stocks. They'll end up bankrupt!"
He waved Matthew off, "Get going. Remember to leave on time and don't be late! And the client's been in a foul mood; whatever he says or does, just bear with it."
"Understood." Matthew took the keys and documents and left the office without giving another glance at the still-dumbfounded bald man.
In the driver's lounge, Matthew checked the documents again, confirming the destination was indeed Johnny Lee Miller's estate in Malibu.
Back in Mr. Lister's office, the bald man was still staring at the poster in disbelief.
"What's the matter?" The fat man, noticing the bald man's stupor, leaned over and asked.
He looked down at the poster himself and then froze, his face registering shock before he stammered, pointing at the poster and caption, "That man... That face... Isn't that Matthew Horner?"
Disbelief washed over him as he
turned to Mr. Lister, "How can this be?"
"It can't be him!" The bald man blurted out, almost shouting, "The text says Gladiator is a Universal Studios blockbuster with a budget of $100 million, directed by Ridley Scott. Scott isn't senile; how could he cast some Texan hick?"
The fat man peered again, muttering, "Aside from the beard, that face is identical to Matthew Horner's."
The bald man glared at him, "There are many people who look alike in the world! What are you, brainless?"
This remark enraged the fat man, who pointed accusingly at the magazine, "Are you blind? That's Matthew Horner! Are your eyes just for decoration?"
Mr. Lister, intrigued, picked up the magazine and examined it closely. He dealt with Matthew Horner almost daily and recognized the face on the poster immediately.
He read the accompanying text: Universal Studios, $100 million, Ridley Scott, Russell Crowe... All sinking in.
"Could it really be that idiot?" Mr. Lister pondered, rubbing his chin. "Is Matthew Horner actually making a name for himself?"
"It's not him if I say it's not!" The bald man continued arguing with the fat man, "Didn't you hear me?"
Their argument escalated, and the bald man grabbed at the fat man's shirt, who pushed him away forcefully, causing the bald man to fall backward onto the floor.
"Enough!" Though not in a direct line of command, Mr. Lister had higher standing within Red Penguin and shouted, "What are you two doing?"
Both men glared at each other but ceased their quarrel.
"That is Matthew Horner!" The fat man muttered as he walked to his desk.
Struggling to his feet, the bald man's face was unreadable. He had mocked the Texan for so long, and now that very same "hick" was potentially making big moves with a top director like Ridley Scott and even featured on promotional material...
"No! That can't be him!"
The bald man convinced himself, unable to accept that the daily target of his derision could possibly succeed. He would never believe it, not even if he were beaten to death.
In the driver's lounge, after reviewing the newspapers and magazines he had bought, Matthew rested for a moment before contemplating his night's work.
Angelina Jolie had finalized her divorce from Johnny Lee Miller last month, and though Matthew was unaware of the specifics, media reports suggested that Miller had paid a steep price, especially in terms of asset division.
Matthew guessed that the video he had unwittingly played a part in had been influential.
However, since he was still employed at Red Penguin, it seemed Johnny Lee Miller hadn't yet suspected him.
"Johnny Lee Miller must be pretty upset, huh?"
Recently, another driver at the company had mentioned that Miller had been frequently contacting Red Penguin, trying to connect with any models with whom the company had business dealings.
Tonight's party at Miller's estate was even larger than the previous one Matthew had attended, and he was tasked with transporting even more guests.
As he was about to leave, he noticed a yellow Chevrolet seemed to be following him as he drove out onto Hollywood Boulevard.
Matthew deliberately took a couple of detours to confirm his suspicion, and sure enough, the Chevrolet was persistently trailing him.
"Who would be following me?" he wondered, frowning. "Could it be someone from the Taboo Tarot production coming to press for money, or perhaps…"
Considering his recent encounters, Matthew realized he had quite a few potential enemies, like Johnny Lee Miller, the incompetent 'pig' from the Gladiator crew, and Winona Ryder…
It probably wasn't Ryder; they had a mutual confidentiality agreement.
As he pondered, Matthew neared a familiar standalone house. He honked, and the door opened to reveal Rachel, who waved and called out, "Give me ten minutes!"
Matthew waved back, then noticed through the rearview mirror that the yellow Chevrolet had followed him and parked less than ten meters away.
The passenger window of the taxi lowered, revealing a black cylindrical object aimed first at Matthew's car and then at the house...
Realizing the potential danger, Matthew immediately thought of what this could mean.
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