"Thompson, Jim - Nothing More Than Murder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Jim)

They had a complete new setup from booker to manager, and none of them knew straight up. They didn't even know who _I_ was. I gave the booker three feature dates and five shorts, and I explained about six times that that was all I had open for the month. But he wouldn't give up. He reached over and took my date book right out of my hands.
"Why, here," he said. "We've made a mistake, haven't we? We've got an open date next Sunday."
"I've got something planned for that," I said.
"Now, let's see," he said. "What can we give you there? What do you say to--"
"That date's taken," I said.
"We'll fix that, get the other pic set out for you. You don't want an inferior picture in a Sunday spot when we can give you--"
Well, I don't mind seeing a man try to do his job, and all the row guys are pretty fast talkers. I'm a shade fast myself. I've never poked my tongue in my eyes, yet, though, and it's not because I close them when I talk.
I was about to tell him off in a nice way when the manager came out. He came up behind me and kind of worked his hand over my back like he was giving me a massage.
"Getting along all right?" he said. "Everything going to suit you, Mr. Barclay?"
I could feel myself turning red. "My name's not Barclay," I said.
"Oh," he said, stepping back a little, "I thought you were from Barclay Operating Company at--"
"I'm Joe Wilmot," I said. "I've operated Barclay for the past ten years. The property's in my wife's name. Okay?"
He let out with a silly laugh, trying to pass it over, and made a grab for my hand.
"Mighty glad you came in, Joe. Anything we can do here for you, just say the word."
"You can't do a goddam thing for me," I said. "I won't pull out the dates I've given you because I'm in a hurry. But it'll be a hell of a long time before I give you any more.
"Now, Joe. Let's go back in the office and--"
"Go to hell," I said.
He and the booker both followed me to the door. I slammed it in their faces.
Every film row I've been around, there's at least one place like Chance Independent Releases, and one guy like Happy Chance. Not exactly, but you know what I mean.
They get ahold of maybe three or four features a year that you can throw in a middle-of-the-week spot, and a sex picture or two, and a few serials, and some stag-party shorts. They own the prints on the sex and stag stuff, and handle the other on commission for studios that don't have their own exchanges. Hap seemed to get by better than some of them, but Hap would. I've known him for more than twelve years, since he was working the booth in a grind-house, and I was driving film truck. And if he ever missed skinning anyone, I don't know when it was. He'd even skinned the Panzpalace chain; and when you skin a guy like Sol Panzer, who's run a ninety-three-house string up from a nickelodeon, you've got to be good.
I don't know why I liked Hap. Maybe it was the attraction of opposites, as they say in books.
"Glad you dropped in, laddie," he said, after we'd sat down and the drinks were poured. "Been thinking about popping out to see you. How are things with the Barclay?"
"What's the use of kicking?" I said. "You wouldn't believe me."
"No, seriously. You must be coining it. How many changes are you on, anyway?"
I grinned at him over my glass. "All I need, Hap."
"Some chap was telling me the other day you were on more changes than any house in the state."
"I could be; I've got the product. I don't often make more than four a week though."
"Playing shutout with the rest?"
"That wouldn't be legal," I said. "They call that acting in restraint of trade."
"Uh-hah," he drawled. "Certainly. I should know you wouldn't be involved in anything like that."
"The town's wide open to anyone that wants to come in," I said. "I'll run all the good pix in the Barclay and all the stinkers in the Bower, and split the rest with the Competition."
"Uh-_Hah!_" Hap let out a chuckle. "What's your house worth there, laddie, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Well, let's see. Ten times the annual return-- between seventy-five and a hundred grand."
"It wouldn't possibly be worth a million, would it?"
"Not without a Sunday-night audience. We've got some good-looking gals out there."
"Just so, just so," he said.
"What's on your mind? Got a buyer for me?"
"We-ell--" He hesitated, frowning, plucking at the sleeve of his tweed suit. Hap goes for the English stuff right on down the line. And it doesn't suit him so bad--or so good. He sat there all diked out and talking like a duke; and he turned his head a little and spit, and rubbed it into the carpet with one of his saddlesoaped shoes.
I wanted to laugh, but I knew I hadn't better. Hap isn't a good guy to have sore at you.
"Well, how about it?" I said.
"I guess not, laddie." He sighed and shook his head. "The proposition isn't quite big enough."
He looked at me a minute or two longer, and I thought he was going to say something more. But he didn't, and I didn't prod him. It wouldn't have done any good, and I thought Icould see his angle, anyway.
"By the way," I said, "what'd you ever do with that sixteen-reeler? What do you call it--'Jeopardy of the Jungle'?"
Hap shrugged. "Oh, that goddam thing! Why, it hasn't been out of the can in months, laddie. It--" He broke off and gave me a sharp look. "Oh, you mean 'Jeopardy of the Jungle'!" he said. "It's going like wildfire. It's booked practically solid for the next three months."
I did laugh then. This was business, and I could.
"There aren't that many penitentiaries in the country," I said.
"Word of honor, Joe. The way it's been pulling 'em in even surprises me. You know I didn't care for it myself, even if it did have Gable and Bergman--"
"Yeah. A ten-frame shot of them sitting in the Stork Club. And what it has to do with the picture nobody knows."
"--but you can't argue with the b.o., Joe. The box office doesn't lie. Did you see last month's grosses in the _Herald_? The Empire grossed seven grand on 'Jep' the first--"
"I saw it," I said. "The only other attraction was Tommy Dorsey's orchestra."