Read Online My Gun Has Bullets by Lee Goldberg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lee Goldberg
Tags: Mystery
Ads: Link
carried the gun because he knew Boo Boo as well as he knew himself. Like Boo Boo, Lyle was the result of generations of inbreeding. He, too, could fill up with so much hate he'd burst into an orgy of violence. It was like relieving a full bladder. Boo Boo could snap anytime, anywhere. Lyle was more predictable. He only unleashed his hatred doing two thingsâfucking and negotiating, which were, he thought, more or less the same.
"Boo Boo is very unhappy," Lyle said.
Don DeBono hated this white trash monkey. There was enough hair on Lyle's knuckles to make Boyd Hartnell a toupee. "Too much seasoning on his steaks?"
DeBono had tried to get rid of the two of them a couple of episodes into the first seasonâunfortunately, there wasn't a dog on earth that looked as ugly as Boo Boo. Now, every season, it was the same thingâLyle and his pooch wanting more money. More control. More power. It was like dealing with Roseanne, only she rarely dumped a big smelly load at the annual affiliates' meeting.
"He wasn't told the Rappy Scrappy episode last season was a backdoor pilot." Lyle petted the dog on his deformed little head. His hair looked like greasy straw.
"Really?" DeBono glanced again at the miserable hairbag. Big mats of hair hung from his face, soaked in the rivers of drool that spilled out of his mouth. "Guess he missed the meeting. Must have been the day he mauled the director. In all the excitement, we must have forgotten to mention it to him."
With Rappy Scrappy, DeBono proved he learned from his mistakes. The rap-singing cat who lived with a wacky Jewish family looked like any other damn cat, so no one was going to hold DeBono up for caviar catnip or a feline producing credit come renewal time.
"Boo Boo feels betrayed," Lyle said, reminded once again how fucking stupid his agent had been not to negotiate a royalty for spinoffs. Which is why he accidentally let Boo Boo loose in the man's office. Which is why Lefty Leftcowitz was now known as Stumpy.
Today, Stumpy stood a good five yards away from Boo Boo, right near the soundstage door, observing the negotiation, scratching the dry nub where his left hand used to be. He told everybody he lost his hand pulling a fork out of the disposalâbecause if Boo Boo went, so did the $5O,OOO-an-episode packaging fee that supported his pissant little "boutique" agency. It had always been a small agency; it became pissant after Boo Boo finished lifting his leg on every wall, potted plant, and agent in the place.
"You exploited his fame and good name to create Rappy Scrappy, " Lyle said to DeBono. "In fact, he resents not being consulted on the entire Thursday schedule. Whatever programs are put on after him reflect on his reputation as an entertainer."
"Oh, let's cut the bullshit." DeBono leaned back in his canvas director's chair. "He's a fucking dog. How much money do you want?"
Lyle loosened his grip ever so slightly on Boo Boo's leash. Boo Boo felt the leash slacken, but he didn't show it. His eyes were glued on DeBono's gut. Lyle dropped all pretence of businesslike decorum.
"The dog gels twenty-five grand an episode, and I get thirty," Lyle grinned. "For my producing services. And nothing goes on Thursday nights unless I approve it first. I got to be sure it's compatible programming. So you can throw in a series commitment, too. I got a trained ferret that's a lot of laughs."
Stumpy spoke up meekly from his corner of the stage. "Boo Boo also wants twenty-five percent of a hundred percent of the net profits against eight percent of a hundred percent of the adjusted gross profits. For each subsequent season, Boo Boo will vest himself for an additional five percent of a hundred percent of the net againstâ"
"Shut up, Stumpy." DeBono's glare never wavered from Lyle. "You expect me to give you a million bucks a year?"
"And you can lick my dog's butt for the privilege." Lyle leaned forward, close enough for DeBono to admire the look and smell of his raging
"Boo Boo is very unhappy," Lyle said.
Don DeBono hated this white trash monkey. There was enough hair on Lyle's knuckles to make Boyd Hartnell a toupee. "Too much seasoning on his steaks?"
DeBono had tried to get rid of the two of them a couple of episodes into the first seasonâunfortunately, there wasn't a dog on earth that looked as ugly as Boo Boo. Now, every season, it was the same thingâLyle and his pooch wanting more money. More control. More power. It was like dealing with Roseanne, only she rarely dumped a big smelly load at the annual affiliates' meeting.
"He wasn't told the Rappy Scrappy episode last season was a backdoor pilot." Lyle petted the dog on his deformed little head. His hair looked like greasy straw.
"Really?" DeBono glanced again at the miserable hairbag. Big mats of hair hung from his face, soaked in the rivers of drool that spilled out of his mouth. "Guess he missed the meeting. Must have been the day he mauled the director. In all the excitement, we must have forgotten to mention it to him."
With Rappy Scrappy, DeBono proved he learned from his mistakes. The rap-singing cat who lived with a wacky Jewish family looked like any other damn cat, so no one was going to hold DeBono up for caviar catnip or a feline producing credit come renewal time.
"Boo Boo feels betrayed," Lyle said, reminded once again how fucking stupid his agent had been not to negotiate a royalty for spinoffs. Which is why he accidentally let Boo Boo loose in the man's office. Which is why Lefty Leftcowitz was now known as Stumpy.
Today, Stumpy stood a good five yards away from Boo Boo, right near the soundstage door, observing the negotiation, scratching the dry nub where his left hand used to be. He told everybody he lost his hand pulling a fork out of the disposalâbecause if Boo Boo went, so did the $5O,OOO-an-episode packaging fee that supported his pissant little "boutique" agency. It had always been a small agency; it became pissant after Boo Boo finished lifting his leg on every wall, potted plant, and agent in the place.
"You exploited his fame and good name to create Rappy Scrappy, " Lyle said to DeBono. "In fact, he resents not being consulted on the entire Thursday schedule. Whatever programs are put on after him reflect on his reputation as an entertainer."
"Oh, let's cut the bullshit." DeBono leaned back in his canvas director's chair. "He's a fucking dog. How much money do you want?"
Lyle loosened his grip ever so slightly on Boo Boo's leash. Boo Boo felt the leash slacken, but he didn't show it. His eyes were glued on DeBono's gut. Lyle dropped all pretence of businesslike decorum.
"The dog gels twenty-five grand an episode, and I get thirty," Lyle grinned. "For my producing services. And nothing goes on Thursday nights unless I approve it first. I got to be sure it's compatible programming. So you can throw in a series commitment, too. I got a trained ferret that's a lot of laughs."
Stumpy spoke up meekly from his corner of the stage. "Boo Boo also wants twenty-five percent of a hundred percent of the net profits against eight percent of a hundred percent of the adjusted gross profits. For each subsequent season, Boo Boo will vest himself for an additional five percent of a hundred percent of the net againstâ"
"Shut up, Stumpy." DeBono's glare never wavered from Lyle. "You expect me to give you a million bucks a year?"
"And you can lick my dog's butt for the privilege." Lyle leaned forward, close enough for DeBono to admire the look and smell of his raging
Similar Books
