Deep in the heart of Los Angeles in a Hollywood studio, a very small group of sound engineers and actors watched rushes of a just completed major motion picture. The dark room was filled with a thick cloud as nearly everyone smoked. The Director sat behind a desk by the controls and hadn't spoken a word since the projector had started nearly an hour before. No one was sure what he thought about the images on the screen. Silence usually meant something was terribly wrong. The movie had been filmed in the small West Texas town of Marfa and after months of back breaking work, the film was finished and ready for editing. The projector room was dark when suddenly the phone rang. The screen came to a halt, freezing the picture. Lights went up. Everyone turned and looked at him, telephone dangling in his hand. The Director looked like he had seen a ghost, his skin had changed colors right before their eyes. Slowly he stood up, his voice coming from a place far away when he said, "There's been a car crash. James Dean has been killed." Several hundred miles away, a mangled 1955 Porsche Spyder was hoisted onto a flatbed truck while workers gathered smaller pieces of the vehicle's remains, a headlight here, a door hinge there. Little did they know, a part of the car was now missing. Someone had taken a piece of the James Dean Porsche Spyder and then suddenly disappeared...