Read Online Shuteye for the Timebroker by Paul di Filippo - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul di Filippo
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wants to help you.”
A burst of derisive laughter filled the room. Unfazed, Cordovan continued.
“My agency has the job of scouting out possible locations for filming, and convincing studios to come to our state, rather than another. As you mighta guessed, your town has qualified as such a site. Now, the money these people inject into the economy is not to be believed! You people are going to be floating in dollars pretty soon.”
“Who says we’re going to let these Hollywood types in?” someone shouted.
Cordovan’s good-natured mask slipped a trifle, and his voice grew sullen. “Listen, you people are a part of this state, and owe the government this favor.”
“The state never does anything for us!” another heckler yelled.
Cordovan lifted up his meaty hands. “We can change that,” he soothed. “Whadda ya need? Ya need some roads paved?”
People were silent, as they recalled the bone-jar ring, rutted stretch of Middenheap Mile, and envisioned it macadam-smooth.
Cordovan saw that he had them leaning toward him. He played a trump card. “What about that whale that beached himself and died last week? You’d like him removed, wouldn’t you? Well, we can get the Coast Guard in here tomorrow, and haul him away.”
Billy, who hadn’t been swayed by the promise of paved roads, found this offer as tantalizing as the rest of his fellows seemed to. Still, he felt put upon by this stranger. Why was he coming here and disrupting everything? And what connection did the Mowbray house have with all of this?
Without intending to, Billy got to his feet. All attention focused on him, and he felt his mouth grow dry.
“The state should be doing these things for us anyway,” Billy managed to say. “Why do we have to let ourselves be taken over like this?”
Murmurs of agreement rose up, and Cordovan fixed a baleful look on Billy.
“Don’t get riled, folks. You’re not seeing it like it is. Maybe the state has slighted you some—but you’ve turned your backs on us, too. Now we need each other—just for a little while. It’s inevitable, and temporary. So let’s try to work out a mutually beneficial arrangement. Now you, son, seem to worry about being taken over. Suppose we appoint you as official liaison between the town and the film company? You’d be responsible for making sure that no one oversteps their proper place. Smooth everything out, like. All for a good salary. How’s that sound?”
Billy was taken aback, and couldn’t say anything. The crowd made grateful noises, as the burden of watching out for their interests seemed to be falling on someone else. Pretty soon, shouts of “Yeah, let Billy handle it!” filled the hall.
Cordovan smiled craftily, and Billy got mad. “Wait one darn minute,” Billy shouted. “We haven’t settled anything yet. We don’t even know what this film’s all about.”
The room quieted, and Cordovan spoke.
“This is the best part, folks. I’m not bringing you a two-bit PBS special. No, we’re talking the most famous director in the world, with a thirty-million-dollar extravaganza! We’re talking Luke Landisberg, people! And how’s this for stars?
“Ol’ Patton himself, George C. Coates, as Judge Pyncheon.”
Billy flinched at this revelation of one character’s name. Could it possibly be true—?
“One of the prettiest babes in films, Natasha Kaprinski, as Phoebe Pyncheon. A real classy old gal, Dame Peggy Shabby cough, as Hepzibah Pyncheon. For comic relief, Murray Roydack, as Holgrave the daguerreotypist. And last but not least, Walter Matthew as Clifford Pyncheon.
“Yes, I can see by your faces that you recognize the tale, like the literate types you are. But you can’t possibly envision the shoot-’em-up, special-effects, rollicking good-time version Landisberg has in mind. Folks, you’ve never known this Hellhouse of Seven Gables before! And you’ve got the perfect house for it—that old Mowbray place.”
Billy almost fainted. Swarms
A burst of derisive laughter filled the room. Unfazed, Cordovan continued.
“My agency has the job of scouting out possible locations for filming, and convincing studios to come to our state, rather than another. As you mighta guessed, your town has qualified as such a site. Now, the money these people inject into the economy is not to be believed! You people are going to be floating in dollars pretty soon.”
“Who says we’re going to let these Hollywood types in?” someone shouted.
Cordovan’s good-natured mask slipped a trifle, and his voice grew sullen. “Listen, you people are a part of this state, and owe the government this favor.”
“The state never does anything for us!” another heckler yelled.
Cordovan lifted up his meaty hands. “We can change that,” he soothed. “Whadda ya need? Ya need some roads paved?”
People were silent, as they recalled the bone-jar ring, rutted stretch of Middenheap Mile, and envisioned it macadam-smooth.
Cordovan saw that he had them leaning toward him. He played a trump card. “What about that whale that beached himself and died last week? You’d like him removed, wouldn’t you? Well, we can get the Coast Guard in here tomorrow, and haul him away.”
Billy, who hadn’t been swayed by the promise of paved roads, found this offer as tantalizing as the rest of his fellows seemed to. Still, he felt put upon by this stranger. Why was he coming here and disrupting everything? And what connection did the Mowbray house have with all of this?
Without intending to, Billy got to his feet. All attention focused on him, and he felt his mouth grow dry.
“The state should be doing these things for us anyway,” Billy managed to say. “Why do we have to let ourselves be taken over like this?”
Murmurs of agreement rose up, and Cordovan fixed a baleful look on Billy.
“Don’t get riled, folks. You’re not seeing it like it is. Maybe the state has slighted you some—but you’ve turned your backs on us, too. Now we need each other—just for a little while. It’s inevitable, and temporary. So let’s try to work out a mutually beneficial arrangement. Now you, son, seem to worry about being taken over. Suppose we appoint you as official liaison between the town and the film company? You’d be responsible for making sure that no one oversteps their proper place. Smooth everything out, like. All for a good salary. How’s that sound?”
Billy was taken aback, and couldn’t say anything. The crowd made grateful noises, as the burden of watching out for their interests seemed to be falling on someone else. Pretty soon, shouts of “Yeah, let Billy handle it!” filled the hall.
Cordovan smiled craftily, and Billy got mad. “Wait one darn minute,” Billy shouted. “We haven’t settled anything yet. We don’t even know what this film’s all about.”
The room quieted, and Cordovan spoke.
“This is the best part, folks. I’m not bringing you a two-bit PBS special. No, we’re talking the most famous director in the world, with a thirty-million-dollar extravaganza! We’re talking Luke Landisberg, people! And how’s this for stars?
“Ol’ Patton himself, George C. Coates, as Judge Pyncheon.”
Billy flinched at this revelation of one character’s name. Could it possibly be true—?
“One of the prettiest babes in films, Natasha Kaprinski, as Phoebe Pyncheon. A real classy old gal, Dame Peggy Shabby cough, as Hepzibah Pyncheon. For comic relief, Murray Roydack, as Holgrave the daguerreotypist. And last but not least, Walter Matthew as Clifford Pyncheon.
“Yes, I can see by your faces that you recognize the tale, like the literate types you are. But you can’t possibly envision the shoot-’em-up, special-effects, rollicking good-time version Landisberg has in mind. Folks, you’ve never known this Hellhouse of Seven Gables before! And you’ve got the perfect house for it—that old Mowbray place.”
Billy almost fainted. Swarms
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