Chapter 642: Subcontracting and Subcontracting!

Amidst the vibrant streets of Southern California, San Diego, a sleek black Chevrolet eased into a parking spot in front of a bustling restaurant. Nicholson, transformed by the skilled hands of a retired makeup artist, stepped out of the car, embodying a new persona with his wig, colored lenses, and gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He exuded the aura of an elegant, shrewd accountant, a far cry from his usual self.

As Nicholson confidently made his way towards the restaurant, Martin, observing from a discreet commercial vehicle nearby, murmured into his headset, "Bruce, are we a go?"

Bruce, stationed with his surveillance equipment, nodded and replied over the receiver, "Affirmative."

Martin and Leonardo, his companions in the vehicle, swiftly donned their headsets, preparing for the operation ahead. Bruce's voice crackled through the walkie-talkie as he relayed instructions to the team in the car behind them, ensuring their readiness for any unforeseen circumstances.

Martin, a hint of skepticism in his voice, checked his pistol while Leonardo, accustomed to Martin and Bruce's cautious nature, reassured, "Jack knows better than to risk it. He'll only make a move when he's certain."

Martin adjusted the bulletproof vest concealed beneath his shirt, holstering his weapon as he remained vigilant. Yet, amidst the tense atmosphere, the chatter filtering through the headset indicated that Nicholson's altered voice had seamlessly integrated him into the restaurant's ambiance.

As negotiations commenced, Nicholson's voice, tinged with disdain, echoed through the headset, outlining his terms with cold precision. Another voice, equally determined, promised to deal with Nicholson's adversaries, seeking only the city of their whereabouts.

With the exchange concluded, Nicholson swiftly exited the restaurant, slipping back into his role as he hurried towards the awaiting Chevrolet. Bruce followed suit, trailing behind as they navigated through the streets of downtown Tijuana, their disguises shedding with each passing moment.

Martin steered the vehicle towards Los Angeles, the tension of the operation gradually easing. Nicholson, reflecting on their success, remarked, "Mission accomplished."

Martin echoed the sentiment, suggesting Nicholson's absence from the forefront of such endeavors. Nicholson, however, waved off their concerns, asserting, "You youngsters don't understand the pursuit of fun in old age. It's what keeps me alive."

With a wry smile, Nicholson shared his two guiding principles: his beloved Los Angeles Lakers and the pursuit of amusement, even if it led to mischief. Leonardo, seeking reassurance, inquired about potential repercussions, to which Nicholson dismissed with a nonchalant wave.

"If those six scoundrels meet their fate in Tijuana, who would bother tracing it back to me?" Nicholson quipped. "Tijuana's no stranger to such incidents. Besides, the man I dealt with is as discreet as they come. As for overturning cars... well, that's a story for another time."

Martin pondered his usual question: "Is there someone behind it?"

"Yes or no," Nicholson responded, his voice laced with certainty. "Subcontracting at all levels is the key!"

---

In the heart of San Diego, a middle-aged Latino man emerged from a FedEx branch, his thoughts buzzing as he slid into his Cherokee and fished out his trusty Nokia 1100. Dialing a number, he relayed a message, excitement bubbling in his voice. "I've sent you vital information. Those six numbers I found in Tijuana. I want them gone. Get it done for a hundred grand, pronto."

His pulse quickening, the man exclaimed, "A hundred grand? That's hefty. Don't fret, consider it handled."

By afternoon, as he received the awaited package, he wasted no time in contacting his associates. "Old man, I've got a proposition. Six targets in Tijuana. The reward? Sixty grand. Find and eliminate them."

Assurances flew back, "Count on us. It'll be done!"

The next morning, in the notorious border city of Tijuana, a nondescript bungalow buzzed with activity. Marcelo, sporting an afro, burst in, brandishing an envelope. "Boys, we've got ourselves a jackpot!"

Paqueta, his arms inked with black tattoos, inquired eagerly, "Boss, is it worth ten grand?"

Marcelo, unveiling a stack of incriminating photos, grinned, "Thirty grand, fellas!"

Eyes widening, the others eagerly examined the evidence, their anticipation mounting.

"These six have stirred trouble up north. Big trouble. They're holed up in Tijuana with a fat stash. Find 'em, send 'em packing, and we're in for a hefty payday," Marcelo declared, his gang nodding in agreement.

With years of experience in law enforcement, Marcelo's crew, now turned mercenaries, were adept at such tasks. They embarked on their mission, scouring the city for any leads.

---

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, within the confines of Annapurna Pictures, Megan Ellison, exuding authority with her short hair and determined visage, sat in her office surrounded by scripts. Closing one, she signaled her assistant. "Call Derrett and Wilson."

Moments later, the two men entered, and Megan wasted no time. "What's the latest?"

Derrett relayed, "Davis Studio execs are in a frenzy. They've reached out to snatch the rights to 'Seventh Son' and 'Transcendence.' The screenwriters smell a bidding war, aiming for a cool million. Tensions are high."

A knowing smile crossed Megan's lips. "Martin Davis is playing hardball."

Derrett nodded solemnly. "Absolutely, we're in the thick of it."

"Go and start formal negotiations with them and win the rights to these two scripts," Megan commanded, channeling her father's authoritative demeanor. "Money is not an issue."

Derrett nodded eagerly, poised to depart, when Wilson interjected hastily, "Wait!"

Megan arched an eyebrow inquisitively. "Is there a problem?"

Unlike Derrett, who was relatively new to the industry, Wilson, with his seasoned Hollywood producer background, had more to weigh. "Madam President, I've done some digging. Martin has already involved the authorities. The LAPD and Detective Bureau are investigating. If we acquire the copyright to these scripts, Martin Davis might suspect our involvement."

Wilson had previously underestimated the extent of Martin's tenacity. Megan chuckled suddenly, her tone carrying the weight of the Oracle Group's princess. "The scripts are up for grabs. Even if Martin catches wind of it, what then?"

Wilson faltered, unsure how to respond. Megan Ellison was an anomaly in Hollywood, unbound by its traditional constraints.

"She holds the purse strings and wields considerable influence, disregarding Hollywood's usual power dynamics," he explained.

Having invested in "The Hurt Locker" and tasted success, Megan's confidence soared. Addressing Derrett, she declared, "Proceed. Accept their terms, secure the rights, and show Hollywood that Annapurna Pictures is willing to pay prices others won't."

Derrett nodded, understanding the directive implicitly. "I'll handle the negotiations with maximum visibility."

Megan's gaze hardened with resolve. "Do it."

Turning to Wilson, she added, "We'll rely on you for production. Martin's track record speaks for itself. Occasionally, go after A-list talent and directors. There's no budget cap."

Wilson assured her, "The scripts Martin favors are worth the investment. Leave the production to me; I won't disappoint."

Handing the scripts to Wilson, Megan smiled. "You have the connections. Keep an eye on Martin. If he shows interest in a project..."

"I understand," Wilson affirmed, retreating to his office to scrutinize the scripts once more. "Seventh Son" promised a magical odyssey, while "Transcendence" delved into sci-fi realms, each demanding hefty budgets for their envisioned grandeur.

In late January, Hollywood was rocked by news of Megan Ellison, daughter of tycoon Larry Ellison, securing the rights to two scripts for staggering sums: $2.8 million for "Seventh Son" and $3.2 million for "Transcendence."

At a subsequent press conference, Megan announced the casting coup of Johnny Depp for "Transcendence," commanding a $30 million salary. With production budgets soaring to $150 million for each project, Megan and Annapurna Pictures became the talk of the town, solidifying their presence in the industry as the Oscar nominees luncheon buzzed with their newfound prominence.