Chapter 9: The Pier Jump

"Everybody stop," I said.

Nobody heard me over the generator.

I climbed onto an apple box and yelled it.

"Everybody stop! Nobody touches the rig!"

The pier went quiet except for the water slapping the pilings forty feet down.

Lennon held the strap up so the riggers could see it.

The older rigger took it from him and turned it in the lamp light.

His face went gray.

"That was fine at noon," he said. "I checked every stitch myself."

"Where's it been since noon?"

"In the gear truck."

"Whose truck?"

The rigger didn't answer. He didn't have to.

Everybody looked at the new grip.

He was standing by the rail with his hands in his hoodie pocket.

"Don't look at me," he said. "Salt eats nylon. Happens all the time."

"Salt doesn't cut in a straight line," Lennon said.

He said it quietly. That made it worse.

Captain had come down the pier to watch the jump.

He walked up and stood next to his son without a word, and he was bigger than I'd realized.

"Izzy," I said. "What did you shoot today?"

"Everything." She was already scrolling through the footage on the back of her camera. "Behind the scenes. You told me to film everything."

"Find the truck."

Izzy scrolled.

The crew crowded in behind her.

"Lunch," she said. "Two-ten. I was getting the lemon tree."

She turned the little screen around.

The lemon tree was in the front of the frame.

Behind it, in the open back of the gear truck, the new grip was kneeling over Lennon's harness.

He folded a knife and put it in his back pocket.

Then he stood up and pulled on a blue cap from the front seat.

It said ZELLER SHORTS across the front in white letters.

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