"Kit Reed - Unlimited" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Kit)

Okay, okay, I could tell you. Serena? Right, she isnтАЩt on the masthead, you
noticed, so thatтАЩs one story. There we were in our little shop on Third, me and my
first partner; we could barely pay the rent but we were beginning to, you know, get a
leg up on the business? A world of people out there, and most of them are hurting.
Serena and I did pretty well nickel-and-diming, but no way was I going to spend the
rest of my life nickel-and-diming. Remember I was developing this script with my
boyfriend, he was going to get us a meeting and if we could only get a meeting we
could sell it on the basis of the pitch alone, or thatтАЩs what he told me.

But I forgot to mention the best job that ever came out of R ...... Unlimited.
WeтАЩre all too young to remember The Godfather, but itтАЩs on TV a lot and there is
this scene in The Godfather? Guy crosses the Don. Wakes up with blood in the bed,
reaches down by his feet and there is this severed head, his prize racehorse! And
they slipped it in there so quiet and smooth that he slept through the night without
even knowing that they put this thing in his bed or even feeling it.

Compared to those guys, we here on Wilshire at Little Santa Monica work like
ice cream on velvet. If Saddam Hussein has that funny walk and keeps his elbows
tight to his sides today, if every time he sees a rose or hears somebody humming a
certain tune his breath stops, itтАЩs because of a little job we did. No no, I canтАЩt name
the client. I canтАЩt even give you the details. I can only tell you if Velvet Martin
Enterprises tops the pops in the Fortune Five Hundred, we have earned it.

Serena? I told you! Gone. Left the company. Right, Serena.

IтАЩm sorry, I canтАЩt tell you that. What I can tell you, I can only say that by the
time I was done with her, Serena wasnтАЩt going to be poaching on anybody elseтАЩs
boyfriend, not then, not ever, and she knew what had happened to her and where it
was coming from and thereтАЩs not one damn thing she can do about it, shit, the bitch
canтАЩt even prove it. My boyfriend. And if I...

Sit down! Am I scaring you? Man; thatтАЩs what youтАЩre paying for! You better
believe youтАЩre lucky to be sitting here. YouтАЩd better thank your damn stars that
youтАЩre knee to knee with a professional with enough guts and fire to scare the crap
out of you. And that you can afford it.

All right, all right, I know? But would you please lighten up a little?

Meanwhile, elsewhere: ItтАЩs odd. Now that heтАЩs alone in the house again, now
that heтАЩs downloading the contents of his bulging Filofax on the Bedemeier table,
now that heтАЩs moving scraps of paper from pile to pile, Whitney Ryder is, not
depressed exactly, but thoughtful. On the road to enlightenment. At the moment his
train of thought is stalled at a stop midway between suspicion and certainty.

His hands crosshatch the buried wood surface. Whole fucking desk stops
being his as of the first. Without having to be told heтАЩs finished, Ryder knows he is
finished in this town. Still he canтАЩt stop moving piles of things to other piles. Sorting.
Discarding. This, from Getchell. Nothing, or nothing much.

This from Egil Hoover, forget it.