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

shoot edged ever-nearer the dreaded and never-embraced "Golden Time" when union rules insisted the crew's
wages tripledтАФinto accepting Veneer's reading of Roget Masterman's introductory line, "Avaunt, Spirit of Evil
тАж We've come about your bogeys, Mrs Barstow, and not a moment too soon!"
Having been on set during the taping, and even smarmily consulted on the finer points of psychokinesis by an
unctuous Squiers, Richard felt he could skip the transmission. His associates were back at the guest house,
watching the programme for him.
Inspector Price had said it would be easy to break into the Bank of England while The Northern Barstows was
on the air. It was certainly easy to slip into the studio where the show was made. Almost everyone connected
with the programme was at home in front of the telly, fuming about the way June O'Dell stepped on their lines
or taking notes for the 7:00 A.M. post-mortem in the writers' pit the next morning.
Wearing Marcus Squiers' producer's hat and a long, drab coat, Richard felt like a walking manifestation of the
Bleeds Bogey. He stalked through the car park and approached the stage door, which should have been
accidentally left unlocked. No lozenge-filching had been required.
When the door gave at his push, he was relieved. Mama-Lou was off her fence. The revelation about Tara,
who was after the top job in Wardrobe, fully committed the woman to their cause.
She was a believer, not a priestessтАФbut belief was what this was all about.
Barbara reported that the writers had been forthcoming in discussing Thursday's episode, asking her
parapsychology questions she had to invent answers for, but reticent when it came to next Tuesday's,
confirming to Richard's satisfaction that Roget and Canberra were due for the chop then. Leslie Veneer, who
now had an agent again, and Gaye Brough, who was hoping for the cover of the TV Times, didn't yet know
how short-lived their stardom was due to be.
So, it all came down to next Tuesday's episodeтАФwhich had already been written, in semi-secret, by Marcus
Squiers, independent of the pack. Barbara had asked around tactfully and discovered this was standard
procedure for shows with major plot developmentsтАФand also, obviously, when Squiers was using his video
voodoo to kill people. The floor taping was due on Friday, with special effects pick-up shots (decapitations?)
scheduled for Monday morning.
That gave Richard a weekend to counter the spell. He trusted making television was as easy as it looked.
After a few days hanging round the production team, he thought he could wear all their hats. But he still
needed help from inside the enemy camp.
It was dark on the stage. His night senses took moments to adjust.
Someone clapped and lights came up.
He was in the middle of Mavis Barstow's lounge. Prop objects were strewn everywhere, tossed by the Bogey.
Cards stuck to them warned against violating continuity by moving anything.
"Mama-Lou," he called out.
His voice came back to him.
He sensed something wrong. Other people were here, whom he had not expected, who weren't part of his
deal.
Strong hands gripped his arms. Two sets.
He bent over and threw one of the men over his shoulder with an aikido move, then sank a nasty knee into the
other's goolies. Thanks to Bruce Lee and David Carradine, everyone accepted what British schoolboys used
to call "dirty fighting" as an ancient, noble, and religious art form. Richard realised he had just floored the
Tank-Top Twins. They rolled and fell and groaned and hopped, but had enough presence of mindтАФor fear of
the consequencesтАФnot to disturb any labelled props. They got over their initial hurt and came at him more
seriously. Richard brought up his fists and thought through six ways of semi-permanently disabling two
larger, younger, stupider opponents within the next minute and a half.
"Leave them alone," said a woman. "They're expensive."
The instruction was for him, but it made the Twins stand down and back away. Richard opened his fists and
made a monster-clutch gesture while doing a ghost-moan. They flinched.
"Was that necessary?" he asked the woman.
"Now I know you can take care of yourself," said the woman. "Good."