"Kim Newman - The Serial Murders" - читать интересную книгу автора (Newman Kim)

extra. He assumed both players had been cast purely for physical resemblance, which was considerable.
When they were posed, Barbara instinctively cosied up to Veneer, and Richard had to reclaim
herтАФprompting blushes, which Gaye instantly matched.
Veneer, obviously shrieking inside with ambitious glee, projected an exaggerated disdain that would come
across on screen as woodenness. Gaye bubbled delight and enthusiasm and kept bumping into
thingsтАФeither because the sudden career jump undid her spatial sense or she usually wore thick glasses
that were left at home so she could dazzle with her Barbara-like eyes.
The quartet of interchangeables posed together. Veneer and Gaye wore Richard and Barbara's original
clothes. Richard and Barbara made do with Tara's dupes.
"With my producer's hat on, I have to say these are perfect."
Squiers looked from the originals to the copies, meek but smug. From him, Richard sensed a species of hurt
resentment that his racket had been tumbled, but also a belief that Marcus Squiers was the aggrieved and
persecuted party, that he had every right to call on the Saturday Man for aid against those who would thwart
his killing business. This was interesting, but beside the pointтАФRichard was curious about the conjurer's
motives but knew they weren't important. Squiers thought he was home safe and the interlopers doomed. He
was arrogant enough to play the I-know-you-know-that-I-know-you-know game and loiter to enjoy the show as
his enemies were supposedly drawn deeper into his trap. Richard hoped that was a mistake.
Richard pinched his wrist and saw Veneer rub what he thought was a gnat-bite.
The writing pack had also turned out and were circling, admiring the casting. As several photographers took
thousands of exposures, writers tossed questions at Richard and Barbara, which often bounced off onto
Veneer and Gaye, who were bewildered but kept up the mysterioso brooding and glossy smiling that were
their single-note performances.
"Richard, do you get enough exorcise?"
"Barbara, what crept into the crypt and crapped?"
"Richard, have you ever laid a ghost?"
"Barbara, what's the best recipe for ectoplasm omelette?"
Mama-Lou watched from a distance. Richard caught her eye, and she winked. Blessings of Erzulie Freda.
That was a comfort.
After an age, it was over. Lionel shooed away the photographers, and Veneer and Gaye were ushered off to
the Make-Up Department.
"They have to get head-casts made," said Lionel.
That was a significant clue as to what Squiers had in mind for Roget and Canberra. A brace of severed heads
should be ready for the episode to be broadcast tomorrow week.
Richard's neck itched. It was the wrong collar.
The props department were calling in axes from the warehouse, to give Gerard Loss a selection to choose
from.
Next, Richard had an important interview. In June O'Dell's trailer.


┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖
XIII
Tuesday's episode climaxed with the Bleeds Bogey manifesting a full-on telekinetic storm in Mavis Barstow's
lounge. Objects were hurled through the air on dozens of fishing lines, and Ben sank to his knees pleading for
mercy as invisible forces lashed his face.
For a brief shot that took longer to set up than the rest of the episode, Dudley Finn had makeup scars
applied, with flesh-coloured sticking plasters fixed over themтАФwhen the plasters were torn away by fishing
lines, Ben had claw marks on his face. Then, as Mavis shouted defiance at her late husband, the doors were
torn off their hinges, a flood of dry-ice fog-smoke-mist-ectoplasm poured onto the set and cleared to show
Leslie Veneer and Gaye Brough posed in the doorway as if hoping for a spin-off series. Loss needed a dozen
takes before he was browbeaten by Marcus SquiersтАФwith his producer's hat on, tapping his watch as the