Leonardo DiCaprio's personality was wild—his private life even more reckless than Dunn's, if that was possible.
He ran a late-night bar in L.A., complete with strip shows, mostly to ensure he could flirt with girls in peace, free from paparazzi hassles.
It was daytime now, and the bar wasn't open yet. Just a sixty-something old man named Kane manned the counter.
At the bar sat two of Hollywood's most notorious young guns—Dunn Walker and Leonardo DiCaprio.
The place was dead quiet, staff keeping their distance, sneaking curious, awestruck glances their way.
"This is Kane," Leonardo said. "He was our neighbor growing up—always good to me. After his wife passed and his kids moved out, I brought him to L.A. to help me out."
Dunn nodded. "Makes sense. Hanging out with younger folks might keep him spry. His hearing, though?"
"Got messed up in Vietnam—shrapnel from a shell. He could hear okay back in the day, but now even hearing aids don't do much," Leonardo said with a sigh.
Dunn's face turned respectful. He raised his glass toward Kane in a silent toast.
Leonardo grinned. "So, what's the rush to see me? If it's about girls, you picked the wrong time—my crew's all night shift."
"Cut the crap!" Dunn shot him a look. "It's serious."
"A movie?"
"What else? You think I'd drag you out to talk venture capital?"
Leonardo chuckled, then his face shifted, voice rising. "Dunn, don't tell me it's Gangs of New York?"
Dunn looked a little sheepish. "Yeah, Gangs of New York. I think it's worth investing in."
A month back, Leonardo had told Dunn he'd been offered a role in Martin Scorsese's Gangs of New York. The cast was stacked—Daniel Day-Lewis and Cameron Diaz—and the script was killer, with juicy roles to sink your teeth into.
The catch? Scorsese was leaning toward partnering with Miramax.
With Dunn Films' ban on Disney still in place, Leonardo didn't want to stab his buddy in the back.
Back then, Dunn had tried to talk him out of it. Gangs of New York didn't snag Leonardo an Oscar nod, and slashing his pay for it wasn't worth it.
He wasn't wrong. As a historical drama, Gangs was dark, violent, dull, and heavy-handed. Scorsese aimed for operatic grandeur, but the plodding story dragged it down.
Sure, it had masterful cinematography, and Daniel Day-Lewis and Leonardo delivered powerhouse performances—visually stunning stuff. But it wasn't Scorsese's finest hour.
Plus, if they greenlit it now, it'd hit theaters in late 2002—right after 9/11. Anything violent would take a backseat, and Gangs would get delayed. Movies have a shelf life; miss the window, and the buzz dies.
So Dunn passed on it, and Scorsese turned to Harvey Weinstein.
Gangs of New York was niche as hell, but its budget ballooned to $100 million! And that wasn't all—Scorsese, Day-Lewis, Leonardo, and Diaz demanded 10% of the global box office on top of their fees.
In all of Hollywood, only two guys had the guts for that kind of gamble: Dunn Walker and Harvey Weinstein.
As for Dunn Films' Disney blacklist? Sorry, for a director like Scorsese, it was meaningless.
Now, things had shifted. If Harvey Weinstein was so keen on this, Dunn didn't mind swooping in to snatch it.
Taking Harvey down outright? With his clout, that was a pipe dream. But throwing a wrench in his plans? Dunn was all over that.
Leonardo was pissed. "Dunn, what the hell are you playing at?"
Dunn didn't sugarcoat it. "I don't want Miramax anywhere near this project!"
Among Scorsese's films, Gangs wasn't a Taxi Driver or Raging Bull, but it still cleaned up—$19 million worldwide, 10 Oscar nods, the works.
More importantly, it kicked off a Scorsese-Miramax partnership that led to hits like The Aviator. Dunn wasn't about to let that happen.
Hearing this, Leonardo softened, lowering his voice. "Harvey… pissed you off again?"
Dunn snorted. "I'll bury that bastard someday!"
"I'm with you, man," Leonardo said with a sly grin, then frowned. "But I already turned Martin down. I couldn't sign with Miramax and screw you over."
Dunn laughed. "No worries. Today, we're teaming up to steal it back!"
"Gonna be tough, huh?" Leonardo furrowed his brow. "I heard Martin and Harvey already shook on it."
"It's not locked in yet—maybe a draft contract, maybe just a handshake. Doesn't count," Dunn said, brushing it off. "I've got a meeting with Martin lined up. He should be here soon."
"What? Here?"
"Yeah, I figured a couple drinks here, some work talk—nice and chill, right?"
Leonardo shook his head, smirking wickedly. "You've never been here at night. Come by sometime—I'll show you what chill really means!"
Dunn scoffed. "I'm not into those working girls!"
Leonardo rolled his eyes. "You're missing out. Pros know their craft—top-tier enjoyment! Man, you don't get life."
"Nah, I'll stick to stars," Dunn muttered, voice barely audible, even with no one nearby and Kane half-deaf.
"Stars?" Leonardo smirked, whispering, "Those actresses? Not exactly cleaner than my girls."
Dunn coughed lightly. "It's about picking the best, you know? I've got it under control."
…
Half an hour later, Martin Scorsese—pushing sixty, sporting a black top hat and leaning on a black cane—ambled into the bar.
"Hey, Martin! Over here!" Leonardo waved like they were old drinking buddies, all casual and loud.
Dunn, respecting his elders, stood up and walked over with a grin. "Martin, with that getup, put on a few pounds and you'd be Churchill reincarnated!"
Scorsese chuckled. "I thought you'd chew me out the second I walked in!"
"Why's that?"
"You don't know?" Scorsese glanced at him. "I've been talking to Miramax about a project lately."
Leonardo burst out laughing. "Martin, you nailed it—that's exactly why Dunn dragged you here!"
"Oh?"
Dunn shot Leonardo a glare. What a teammate—total liability!
He'd prepped a whole pitch to win Scorsese over, and Leonardo just torched it with one line.
No choice now—Dunn had to wing it. "Here's the deal: I want Gangs of New York."
Scorsese gave him a long look. "Kid, you're late to the party."
"Not if it hasn't started filming. There's still time," Dunn said, guiding him toward the bar. "A classic needs a top-notch studio behind it."
Scorsese ordered a stiff tequila, shaking his head. "No dice. I gave him my word."
Old-school guys like him cared about honor.
Dunn grinned. "Simple—let's bid for it!"
Leonardo slammed the table. "Yeah, that's the word—bid! Ha! Dunn's got cash to burn—Miramax doesn't stand a chance!"
Scorsese's eyes twitched. He downed a big gulp of tequila like it was water—total boozehound—and said calmly, "Harvey's offering $80 million for it."
Leonardo blinked.
For a movie like Gangs, $80 million was hefty.
Dunn, though, was thrilled inside.
In his past life, Gangs cost $100 million. If Scorsese was saying $80 million now, that extra $20 million must've come later in production. That gave Dunn an edge.
"That Harvey's a jerk!" Dunn slammed the table, faking outrage. "Martin, you're a Hollywood legend, and Gangs is your decades-long passion project. $80 million? That's an insult!"
Scorsese smirked. "Nice try, Dunn, but your stirring-the-pot game's weak."
Dunn shook his head, all resolve. "Here's my offer: team up with Dunn Films for Gangs, and I'll bump the budget by $20 million—no, $40 million!"
$40 million more!
His voice rang out, firm and final.
Leonardo gawked at him, speechless. "That's… $120 million, Dunn. You're not kidding, right?"
Disney's all-in blockbuster Pearl Harbor was $140 million. But Gangs, a historical war drama, getting $120 million? Insane!
Even Scorsese, cool as a cucumber since he walked in, looked stunned, eyes wide with shock.