They put Del in charge of Humphrey Bogart. That remit encompassed access to Bogie’s whole film catalogue, supervision of his image rights and any spin-offs and merchandising deals related to him, as well as complete control over all his future film projects. The Bogart family, or what was left of them, were perfectly content. They knew that Del would handle everything sympathetically.
And how did they know? Because he’d already made John Garfield the biggest star in the world. And John had been dead for over a hundred years.
The cinema was back in business, baby. And not digital platforms or TV or video either. The Big Screen. It was there or nowhere. And it was all thanks to Futureworld Cinema. In the beginning, at least. Now everyone was doing it. Well, there was an endless supply of material: faces, characters, plots, situations, backdrops. And most of it was free!
Del was there at the start. As soon as the technology made it all possible you couldn’t keep people like him away. He was a craftsman. A scholar. But, more than anything, he was a bona fide movie nut. He could live in the editing room, sleep there, and not even realise that he hadn’t seen natural light for days on end. For him, it was all about the project.
He knew without question that John Garfield was the best actor the cinema had ever seen. Many others had known it, too. At the time. But those connoisseurs were all long dead. Now Del was living in a period when he could prove it.
He teamed Garfield with Romy Schneider and a strikingly villainous Charlton Heston. He put Garfield in with Brando and Jimmy Dean and got the smash to end all smashes. He arranged it so that Garfield got the best part and stole the picture. But he would have done anyway. He was number one in everything he did. Crime, drama, romance but, above all, anything requiring social realism. Garfield’s gift was that he didn’t act: he inhabited.
So the studio thought that if Del could do that for Garfield, he could double it with Bogart without even trying. And while the public had largely forgotten Garfield in the years after his death, its appetite for Bogart had barely diminished. If Del could concoct another Casablanca, create another Maltese Falcon, Futureworld would be diving into money for years to come.
“Can you do it?” Shriver asked.
Del simply laughed. “Watch me!”
Shriver was Futureworld’s new CEO. She was sceptical. But Del had an unbroken record of success based on his profound knowledge of Hollywood old and new, as well as his impeccable taste. In his experience, it was half about the cast – and just because everyone was technically available, it didn’t mean they were right – and it was half about the setting. Some people were too old-fashioned for certain times and places, and others were too modern, too cynical. In other studios, even the better ones, many expensive mistakes were made and projects had to be abandoned. That almost never happened at Futureworld. And not on any project that Del was involved in.
Still, some people expressed doubts as to whether it was wise to put Bogie in a sci-fi production. Because they’d hardly ever seen him out of a double-breasted suit, or without a hat or a revolver, they couldn’t imagine him dealing with insurgents in the cramped confines of a spacecraft. And not with Bruce Lee or Kathleen Turner beside him, or Telly Savalas in opposition. But it worked. How it worked!
It worked so well that, one morning shortly after the film’s release, Del received a call.
“Is it Mr Penney?”
Del chuckled. “I guess it must be, since you’ve just rung his number.”
There was no particular response to his witticism. “We wonder … we wonder if you’d like to help us with a project.”
“Well, that depends on who you are and what kind of project you have in mind …”
“Who we are … Well, why don’t you meet us and find out? And as for the project … Maybe we could call it a clean-up operation. Something political. Presidential, in fact. Something to right the wrongs of history, and thereby, in the process, facilitate a better future.” There was a pause, just to let the information settle. “Surely every good American citizen would be interested in doing that.” Del offered nothing in reply, but they knew he was still listening. “Or failing that, let’s be a little more prosaic … Mr Penney, we know that you’re the best in the business-”
Del interjected. “Not this business. This is a business I’ve never thought to enter into.”
The person had some sense of humour after all. “Maybe it’s a business that doesn’t exist yet – not officially at least! But don’t let that stop you. It would be easy enough for you to transfer your sensibilities into this arena.”
“I’m more concerned with entertainment …”
“Oh, you can justify it as you will.”
“… And ethical entertainment as well. Maybe you should be looking for someone else.”
“Mr Penney, let’s be frank. We’ve decided. It’s you we want. And you won’t find us lacking generosity either. We’ve already expressed our regard for your skills, so you could say we’ve undermined our bargaining position! Honestly, you can name your own price.”
“Well, thanks for thinking of me. But I’ll have to give you a no.”
Whoever it was laughed. “Oh, take your time. Sleep on it, as they say.”
“I don’t think-” But Del was left in mid-sentence.
***
Del wasn’t the type to consign such an unusual conversation to the back of his mind. Apart from work, he had almost nothing else going on in his life (and here ‘almost’ was being generous), so anything like this was guaranteed to generate a disturbance. Consequently, it was all he could think of on the journey home from the studio, it was what marred his final waking moments, and it was the first thought that skewered him the next morning.
“Who were they?” Del asked his ‘cat’ Sydney.
“I don’t know, Del,” it replied truthfully.
“Maybe they’ll just go away …” Sydney stared at him. And kept staring. Del had noticed Sydney doing this before and wondered if it was some kind of malfunction. Probably it was just listening mode. But if so, it was a little too intense. Del would have to check the manual.
“Most things pass,” Sydney offered.
Now it was Del’s turn to stare. He hadn’t got used to Sydney yet. He wasn’t sure if a traditional cat, fleas and all, wouldn’t be preferable on the whole.
“Well, I hope you’re right,” he said, before whispering “That is, if I even understand what you’re talking about …” Then he wondered why he was whispering. There was just something about these things. The way they made you feel. Del knew they were no good but, like everyone else, he couldn’t resist them. It wouldn’t end well…
He fixed himself coffee, then followed it with an attempt at a slob’s breakfast before having another coffee. It shook some of the dust off, physically at least. Mentally, though, was another matter.
The latest Bogie film was done. It was huge. But, strangely enough, that was the cause of melancholy rather than triumph. What excited Del was the conception, the elements, making it happen, defying expectations. Those were the times he felt engaged. Alive! Afterwards, whatever the level of success, there was not much more than deflation. Luckily the ideas kept coming, and his confidence in himself was high, but there was always that little doubt when he was between jobs. Maybe it was normal. Maybe all artists felt it (if, that is, he even was an artist and not some glorified cut-and-paste merchant).
He hauled himself up, got dressed in his manner, and headed out to the driveway.
And oh, the sun was piercing! Del shoved on his Persols. He spent most of his working life by necessity in darkness and his private life by choice in semi-darkness. The limitations of his eyes, he felt, more than matched the unfitness of his body and it was surely a toss-up as to which would fail him first.
For some reason, he hummed the old Batman theme as he looked at the rather mundane lines of his car. “Adam West, with Bogie?” Then something else clicked. “… And Groucho. No, not Groucho! Bill. It has to be Bill.” He stood there for a second.
It often started like this. One oblique thought matched up with some obscure other. And certainly it needed to, and fast. This morning he was having a meeting with Shriver. Ostensibly it was a celebration of Futureworld’s latest hit, but Del knew that the main reason behind it was for Shriver to pump him for ideas and set the next Bogart vehicle in motion.
“What if-”
But that ‘if’ would have to wait.
“Mr Penney. Mr Penney. What a pleasure it is to finally meet you!”
Del found two beefy individuals uncomfortably close to his shoulders as a cadaverous figure cheerily addressed him.
“I’m Chiles. We spoke on the phone just yesterday. Remember?”
Del remembered. He’d done little else other than remember. And the reality of Chiles was much worse than he’d guessed. Del cursed the paucity of his imagination.
“I do …”
“Well of course you do, Mr Penney. You’re a man who likes to get on top of things. That’s one of the traits we value most in you.”
“That’s … gratifying?”
Chiles laughed. “I’m glad you see it that way.”
Del tried to move, but found that he couldn’t.
“I said we’d be back for you.”
“Did you say that?”
“I intimated it. I knew that we’d be able to come to some kind of agreement. Something that satisfies the needs of both parties.”
“Well right now I have only one need. The need to get to work. So if you’ll excuse me …”
Del used his bulk to force the issue, then found that bulk was less effective than muscle.
“Alberto, please! No need for any indecorum. Not at this stage anyway!” Alberto shuffled back a couple of inches. “Now Mr Penney, please don’t worry about work. I’ve squared it with our old friend Ms Shriver. You’re ours for the day, so I hope that’ll allow you to relax and enjoy our time together.”
“You’re saying I don’t have any choice?”
“I’m not saying that at all! We just want to help you make the right choice. The one that results in the least disappointment all round.”
Del looked at Chiles, then at Alberto and the other goon.
“Now if you’ll come with us, we’ll be delighted to explain our proposal in more detail.”
***
They didn’t blindfold him or anything like that. Clearly they felt confident enough not to bother.
Several rather rigorous security checks later, Del found himself in a spacious and very well-lit office. He kept his sunglasses on.
“You’ll understand, Mr Penney, that we’re merely at the preliminary stage. You’re here entirely of your own free will.”
Del just looked ahead at Chiles, who was sitting behind a low, glass desk. He thought his silence said it all. So, apparently, did Chiles.
“Good. That’s very good!” Chiles pressed a button and a factotum entered. “Mr Penney, you’ll take a drink and a snack, no doubt?”
“I’m fine. I just had something before I was, er, intercepted.”
Chiles smiled. “I see. Well, just bring us the usual selection then, Chris. The presence of a little sustenance is always welcome.”
Chiles looked at Del. Del looked at Chiles. Behind Del, the two heavies stood impassively with their arms stretched out in front of them and their hands crossed.
“Mr Penney, you know who we are and who we represent. There’s no secrecy about that.”
Del raised his scruffy brows and nodded vaguely.
“I want you to be aware that our project is one of the utmost transparency. We seek to establish what’s good for the people of this country. And as you’ll realise, that’s of particular urgency in the light of the administrations of recent years …”
“Well, I’m not a political man in any sense.” And that was true enough. Although Del was by nature a Mod, he hadn’t voted for years. He’d just been too busy. In any case, he was sure that whoever was (or wasn’t) in government really didn’t affect his life or his work one way or another.
“Oh, we know! And believe it or not, that makes your involvement much more attractive for us. You see, it ensures the delivery of a superior product.”
Del lifted his hands in dismay. “I still don’t-”
“Get it? Well let me put it this way: while you may not be a political man, you are indeed a student of history. Your unparalleled knowledge of film proves this without the slightest equivocation. And of course it’s a short shift from social history to the history of film. What’s one without the other, after all?”
Del couldn’t prevent himself from agreeing.
“So you’ll be all too familiar with the story of Senior.”
“From a filmic angle, yes, I suppose so.”
“And then, also, the career of Junior.”
Del smiled. Or maybe sneered. “Yeah.”
“And you’ll be aware that there were certain aspects of their periods in the highest office that are perhaps not regarded with as much fondness as they once were.”
“That’s a way of saying it!”
“Oh, that’s the way we like to say it!”
The standout fact about father and son, from Del’s perspective, was that Senior was said to be the US President with the lowest IQ. That is, until his son came along and smashed his record out of sight.
Stupidity was one thing – and not a new thing either, plenty of other Commanders-in-Chief had shared this characteristic – but it was how you manifested it. And, in this sense, the father-and-son combo had been manifestors of the very highest order, destabilising the world and creating enmity that festered for generations.
Chiles smiled kindly. “I see from your face that you have some distinct impressions of those eras.”
“I’ve formed some conclusions, I’ll say that much…”
“That’s good. It will certainly stand you in better stead.”
“Will it?”
“Oh yes. You see – you know – that now we have a young pretender in our midst.”
“Er…”
“That’s right. Junior Junior, shall we say.”
“Junior Junior…”
“The nomination’s in the bag. Almost. The Presidency isn’t. Quite simply, with your help, it will be.”
“Why should I?”
“Why should you indeed?”
Silence ensued.
“I’m not a Con. I have no leaning towards them. Never have. The father and the son were two of the worst leaders this country’s ever had. Even I know that. And the youngest one, what little I’ve seen of him, looks even worse.”
Chiles laughed. “You’re an entertaining man, Mr Penney. I knew you would be.”
“Look, I don’t see where I fit in with all this. Of all the people in the world, I can’t change any of it-”
“Oh no, that’s where you’re wrong! Of all the people in the world, you’re the one who absolutely can.”
“I’ve listened to you.” Del looked behind him at Alberto and Alberto’s clone. “But I really want to go now.”
“It’s a pity.”
“Not really.”
“No, it is.”
Del laughed. “Because now you have to kill me?”
Chiles appeared to be genuinely offended. “Mr Penney, that’s not how we do things.”
“In that case…” Del stood up. Alberto pushed him down.
“But you’re right in a sense. You already know too much.”
“I don’t know anything!”
“Then let me make it perfectly clear. Times change and the actions of both Senior and Junior don’t sit well with our friends in the east. If Junior Junior is to adorn the grandest stage – and in my mind, there’s no doubt that he will – some kind of re-evaluation needs to occur.”
Del stared at Chiles through his greasy lenses.
“Certain events that took place must be seen to have no longer taken place, if you understand my drift.”
“Some kind of doctoring, you mean.”
“That’s crude.”
“But true.”
“Softening. Leading to a re-appraisal. Leading to election.”
Del did his best not to laugh. “Surely you have people to do that. Hundreds of very capable people, I’d imagine.”
“We do. But we don’t have you. Correction: we didn’t have you.”
***
Del was on secondment from the studio. How did Chiles manage that? Del both did, and didn’t, want to know.
This involved a relocation to a luxury suite at The Foundation. And relocation really did mean relocation. Del lived and worked there, and it was his understanding that he would do so until the project was completed to their satisfaction. Quite what he was getting out of it was unclear. The advantages that Chiles had hinted at were no longer being mentioned or offered, perhaps because of Del’s truculent response. Or was it simply that all he could hope to leave with was the opportunity to continue living? Whichever, the uncertainty did little to stabilise Del’s peace of mind or stimulate his creative abilities.
Working with him, or above him, was Ashleigh. And under her was a team of young and, it must be said, rather efficient and enthusiastic facilitators. Whatever it was Del needed, they could seemingly find it and provide it within minutes, seconds even. And if there was one positive lesson that Del could learn from the whole experience it was this sense of the collective. He’d always tended to work alone – mainly because he didn’t trust anyone else – but now he realised just how much more smoothly a joint operation could run. If you had the right people, of course.
“Delegation…”
“Excuse me, Mr Penney?”
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking aloud.”
“It’s one of the things I most respect about you, if you don’t mind me saying. The highly active nature of your brain. It’s inspirational. You barely allow yourself a moment of relaxation.”
“Maybe I just want to get out of here as quickly as possible.”
Ashleigh laughed. Whether she knew the exact nature of his circumstances was unclear, but obviously she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave.
“Mr Penney, I believe that one day you’ll look back on this and consider it to be the apex of your career.” She smiled. “Humphrey Bogart notwithstanding.”
Del rolled his eyes.
“If you can do the same thing here…”
“I think Bogie provided somewhat better raw material…”
Ashleigh said nothing, but her expression was eloquence itself.
And as for the ‘raw material’, it – or rather he – did drop in from time to time.
Del quickly realised that his hastily assembled impressions of Junior Junior, based on various media appearances, were not that wide of the mark. The teeth that looked like they’d been fished out of a vat of bleach. The dark wavy hair that was just a tad too long. The eyes that were never in synch with the jovial banter. And the laugh that, when you’d heard it more than once, seemed less of a laugh than a challenge.
Across the nation, the superficial charm was working. And, in many cases, it had already worked. But Del was utterly immune. He knew what charm was. He’d seen it in a million frames of celluloid. Charm was Gable, and this kid was no Clark Gable.
“Mr Penney … what an honour and a privilege it is to have you here.”
“Do you know how you came to have me here?”
No answer.
“To have a man of your expertise working on my campaign means a great deal to me, it really does.”
Del scoffed.
“And I’d like you to know that if – or I should say when – the time comes, you’ll not find me ungrateful.” Did he wink? Did he actually wink?
“That’s …” Del didn’t bother to try and find the word.
“Well … don’t let me take up any more of your valuable time. The sooner we get this out there, the more beneficial it’s going to be for all of us.”
“You’d better believe it, brother …”
“I beg your pardon?”
Ashleigh smiled and ushered Junior Junior away. “These creatives. A bit highly strung sometimes.” The nominee nodded sympathetically.
He would, of course, come back. Quite frequently, in fact. He seemed to believe that he and Del had some kind of rapport.
A constant: “Going well, Mr Penney?”
Or: “How’s progress?”
As well as: “Don’t hesitate to tell me if there’s anything else you need.”
Oh, and there was Chiles, whose lean shadow was rarely far from Del’s or Ashleigh’s shoulders.
Chiles mercifully said less than Junior Junior and, in saying less, said much more.
“I salute your speed, Mr Penney. It encourages me to think that we can achieve even more than I first believed.”
Del groaned. “Will this never end?”
“It will.”
“Don’t you know I’ve got a cat at home?” Del almost shouted.
Chiles laughed. Ashleigh looked puzzled.
“Operation One is nearly finished. And it’s gone better than any of us ever expected. After Operation Two, well, your work for us will be done. I hope that gives you a basic idea of the timeframe. And, of course, we apologise profusely for any inconvenience.”
“Oh, when you put it like that …” But sarcasm was lost on Chiles. On Ashleigh too, but the evidence of pride at Chiles’s praise was there in her eyes.
“A truly magnificent job,” she said when Chiles was gone. “Groundbreaking and seamless.”
Oh yes, Operation One was going down a storm. A desert storm? Or just a storm.
In essence, what Del and the team did at first was to feed clips and videos into various outlets. Surreptitiously, innocuously. Seemingly inconsequentially. It was all about volume, placement and perception.
Chiles explained what was needed, Ashleigh explained how it could be achieved to its greatest advantage, and Del did the rest. The polish and the ‘authenticity’ was his. To such an extent that had he been a recognisable national figure, rather than a publicity-shy nerd, members of the general public would surely have identified his particular stamp and the subtle messages he was planting in the material. As it was, only those ‘in the know’ could have guessed. But they didn’t. They didn’t begin to think of him being associated with the project. They didn’t even realise he was ‘missing’! Sydney might have been aware of it but, by now, the thing was as out of power as Junior Junior was out of sight in the polls.
***
The nomination was thus secured. The family provenance that Chiles had identified as being key had, with Del’s assistance, now been established to Junior Junior’s advantage rather than his detriment. Certain elemental difficulties were no longer such, both at home and abroad, and currently he was free to concentrate on developing his connection with the voters.
No doubt the accusations of philandering and substance abuse that existed in some quarters would have had their attractions for a small but like-minded section of the electorate. In Chiles’s view, however, they had to disappear.
Del, being rendered virtually asexual by fate and circumstances, was by no means shocked or revolted by Junior Junior’s predilections. After all, he was an aficionado of the ways of Old Hollywood, and naturally that included the good, the bad, and the ugly. In particular, he was a huge admirer of Errol Flynn and indeed it was one of Del’s most cherished ambitions to work with him someday and produce the definitive quasi-operatic swashbuckler. So no, it certainly wasn’t Junior Junior’s purportedly murky personal habits that offended Del. More the fact that the kid was absolute human slime. Chiles had been right: Junior Junior really was the pretender. He pretended to have charisma, he pretended to have class, he pretended to have ideas. For Del, who was used to working with the real deal, this was the most unforgivable crime of all.
But where once Del had resisted being considered part of the campaign, now he began to embrace it. Or at least not throw his unappreciated brand of mockery at it. The others just thought he was coming round to the inevitable. Relishing the process. Perhaps even becoming a devotee of Junior Junior. In any case, he no longer talked about going home. In fact, he’d seemed to settle in at The Foundation. Well, the food was better, that was for sure!
As the days went by, Del took control. He outgrew the need for Chiles’s directions and now he himself was virtually running the show. As a result, Junior Junior’s popularity went through the roof. Barely a single American man, woman or child was left unaffected by those teeth. Del’s mission appeared to be one of giving them just enough of everything the kid had to offer but not so much that they’d recognise him for the unparalleled jerk that he was.
“Del,” Chiles almost sighed, “if you’ll pardon my informality!”
“Why, of course!”
“I really can’t express enough my admiration for your insight and your skills. I think I speak for us all when I say that we knew you were good. But we didn’t know you were this good. Your work on our project has been… well, it’s been simply transformative.”
“Ah, please. Don’t thank me now. Not until our work here is done.”
“Your modesty embarrasses me!”
Del gurned.
“I just want to echo everything our friend Chiles here has said,” Junior Junior chimed in. Why was he suddenly beginning to sound like Elvis? Was he working on the Southern vote? “I know I said before that your efforts wouldn’t be forgotten after we’ve claimed victory. Well, let me tell you this: there’ll be a place for you in our administration come January.”
Del raised his hands in mild objection. “No, no-”
Junior Junior laughed. “Yes, yes!” He grabbed Del and engaged him in some mock wrestling.
Yes, all was sweet. Both inside The Foundation and in the homes of the good people of America.
“Dad, who’s that man?”
“Which man, son?”
“That man behind Junior Junior.”
The father peered at the screen. “Don’t know, son.”
“And why’s he doing that?”
Others were seeing the same images at the same time.
Junior Junior was visiting a hospital. Behind him, then beside him, an odd-looking medic in a crumpled uniform appeared both agitated and somewhat the worse for wear.
“How are you feeling?” Junior quite reasonably asked an old lady who was propped up in a bed.
“Godfrey Daniels!” the ‘doctor’ interjected.
Junior Junior ignored him and poured the patient a glass of water from a bedside jug.
The doctor’s bulbous nose insinuated itself between Junior Junior and the camera and an orotund voice pronounced: “I never drink water. Fish fuck in it.”
The transmission ended abruptly.
For the next twenty-four hours, the same man appeared in every promo that featured Junior Junior, at every speech he made, and in almost every communication that came from Con HQ.
Damage limitation was set in motion.
“A disgraceful prank,” they said.
“A joke by a disgruntled employee,” they said.
“A heinous attempt at sabotage by a hostile foreign power,” they said.
But it didn’t matter what they said because the damage couldn’t be limited.
Then revelations appeared. Allegations about certain irregularities at The Foundation and inside Con HQ. The early ones were not unfounded. The ensuing ones, well, Del couldn’t possibly comment. He didn’t know the half of it and he felt lucky that he didn’t.
“You son of a bitch!” Junior Junior screamed, rather pointedly. “It could only have been you!”
Chiles was dumbfounded. Ashleigh merely speechless.
“You won’t get away with this!” he ranted. “We know where you are!”
“I’m here …”
“We know where you live!”
“Well, in that case, perhaps you’ll be kind enough to give me lift back …”
Maybe Junior Junior broke his hand on the table. Maybe. Del didn’t know for sure. He just walked out.
***
Walked out, went home, went back to the studio. Where Shriver still was, though not for much longer.
For the first time, Del got a team together. A proper team. And under Del’s careful direction, they went to work.
Bogie. Well, that went without saying.
Yes, they got Adam West on board. Quite a coup that. Kudos to the Rights Division there. They’d really done their job.
Oh, and there was a new(ish) kid in town. By now a very familiar face, and voice. Where Junior Junior’s stock had gone down so far it had evaporated, this other fella was finally being appreciated as he’d never been appreciated before. And Del had even got him equal billing with Bogie.
Futureworld Cinema Presents
HUMPHREY BOGART W.C. FIELDS
ADAM WEST
Welcome back, Bill!
[Image Credit : Photo by Wesley Pribadi on Unsplash]
by 
David Dumouriez
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- Futureworld Presents! - November 5, 2025
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