He got up, feeling Lasner’s hand still on his shoulder. “Don’t forget to call Freeman.”

“I don’t forget anything,” Lasner said, peering at him. “I’ll tell you one thing I don’t forget. Your father cost me a bundle. So maybe I’d better watch out-you’re an expensive family.”

“No sets this time,” Ben said.

Lasner nodded, finally dropping his hand. “We’ll talk. Where are you staying in Chicago?”

“I’m just changing trains.”

“The Chief? That’s seven fifteen. That gives you what? Nine hours to kill.” Everything measured and counted. “What’re you going to do for nine hours?”

“See Chicago, I guess.”

Lasner waved his hand. “You’ve seen it. You need a place to rest up, I’m at the Ambassador East. They get me a suite. Plenty of room.” He started to move toward the end of the car. “Otto’s kid. You live long enough-” He turned. “He was shot?”

“That’s what the letter said.”

“But who knows with the Nazis.” The unspoken question, a quick bullet or days of pain, clubs and wires, and screams. Years ago now.

“Anyway, he’s dead,” Ben said. “So it doesn’t matter.”

Lasner nodded. “No. It’s just my age, you think about the how.” He was silent for a minute, then looked up. “You got a budget on this thing?”

Ben held up his hand, checking items off his fingers. “Hard costs. The footage we’ve got. Prints, I can req the raw stock from the War Production Board. You do the prints. And the sound-an engineer for the track, some bridge scoring, somebody to do the narration. American. Fonda, maybe?”

Lasner shook his head. “Use contract. Frank Cabot?”

“Fine. All I need is a cutting room and a couple of hands. We can do it either place, but yours would be better-Army studio, someone’s always taking your equipment. You provide the space, I can get the hands from Fort Roach. The stock would be an Army expense,” Ben said, looking at him directly. “We’ll make it for you. If you put it out.”