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

forgiveness and fire spurted out of the portrait's eyes. Then the actors were hauled offтАФand essentially kicked
out the studio door, final pay packets exchanged for entry lozengesтАФand the dummies were set up. This
took an age.
Lionel dropped by to say hello.
"They'll never get away with this, luv," he said. "Mucus is mental. Grannies in Hartlepool will have heart
attacks. Folk tune in to the Barstards to see Mavis being a cow and Northshire idiots whining about the old
days over pints of Griddles, not blood and guts all over the shop. It's like the worst bits of James Herbert
spewed into front parlours, and the audience won't like it. The duty officer will log a record number of
complaints when this airs. Once it's out, ART will come down like a ton of angry bricks. Mark my words."
"We only have one shot at this," announced Squiers through his megaphone. "All three cameras тАж make
sure you can't see each other or the edge of the set."
Three cameraman gave thumbs-up.
"'Gore'?"
Gurney crouched over a wooden control-box studded with lights and switches and plungers like the ones
used to detonate cartoon dynamite. He checked all the leads and saluted Squiers.
"Supernatural smoke, please."
Odorous clouds were puffed onto the set by stagehands wielding gadgets like industrial vacuum cleaners on
reverse. Finn coughed, and the smoke settled like a grey ground mist.
"Light the picture."
Da's eyes shone. It struck Richard that Marcus Squiers had posed for the portrait.
"Dudley?"
Finn went down on his knees, warily ready.
"тАж and action!"
Gurney flicked switches, and the dummies flailed with alarming realism. Finn, nervous to be on set with so
much explosive, picked up his ranted lines.
"Dr. Laurinz!" shouted Squiers.
Gurney depressed a plunger. The Canberra dummy's head burst, flinging watermelon-bits and cottage cheese
across the set. Barbara pressed her face against Richard's collar, unable to watch.
Richard did not miss Squiers' nasty little smile.
The last splatters of the head's contents rained down. Red syrup spurted from the neck as if it were a sugary
drinking fountain. The headless dummy toppled over, mechanics inside sparking dangerously.
"тАж and Masterman!"
Gurney depressed the other plunger.
A rubber axe flew across the set. Richard watched his own head come off, tumble through the air, and fall,
still blinking, at the feet of a screaming Ben Barstow.
"Cut! Thank you all very much. You've made TV history."
There was a smattering of applause, mostly from the writing pack who had been let off school especially to
watch the deaths.
"The Ti-bloody-tanic made history," said Lionel, who was annoyed to get gluey red cornstarch on his Clark's
tracker shoes.
"What do you think, Mr. Jeperson?" asked Squiers through his megaphone. "How did it look from down
there?"
Richard made an equivocal gesture.
"I'll have to see it go out to be sure."
"Indeed you will. Would you and Professor Corri care to be my guests tomorrow? Because it's a 'special'
episode, we're having a select celebration here at the studio. We can watch you die and then have canap├йs
and wine. It'll be a treat. Are you up for it?"
Barbara was white-lipped with fury and terror but rigidly self-possessed, refusing to let Squiers see. Richard's
blood was up too, but he was calm. He'd seen the worst, and it wasn't so bad.
"We wouldn't miss it for the world," he said.