‘What?’ went Russell. ‘And you gave it to her?’
‘With compliments, sir.
‘Oh my God!’
‘Whatever is it, sir? You’ve come over all un-necessary.’
Russell shook his fists in the air. She’d done it to him again. She’d left nothing to chance. A spare programmer in case he lost his, or something. All she’d wanted from him was the time belt to get back with. She’d never trusted him. He’d been stitched up, good and proper.
‘Aaaaagh!’
‘Please, sir, control yourself, whatever is the matter?’
Russell made fists and looked all around the shop. He’d failed. Well, of course he’d failed. If he’d succeeded, then this place would never have come to be. He’d be standing in empty space right now, or the middle of the Great West Road. He’d blown it and it was all his fault. He’d given her the time device. He’d laid it all on.
Russell took to groaning. There was that other Russell back in the past, that one who would watch Julie appear, would be given the programmer and would take it to Bobby Boy. That stupid lame-brained Russell who would be conned every inch of the way. Who would work until he nearly dropped to produce a movie that would reduce the people of the world to little more than slaves.
Russell shook his head. Whatever was he to do now?
‘Sir,’ said the chap behind the counter, ‘if you’re all right, sir, would you like to see the movie?’
Russell turned and Russell smiled. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Oh very much indeed.’
And so Russell sat down and watched the movie, the manager was so excited that he insisted Russell watch all the way through. And so Russell did. There was so much more that he hadn’t seen. But it all made perfect sense when you viewed it from the beginning to the end. The dark alien creature, always in the background, always manipulating, experimenting with this means and that to control and exploit mankind. And he, Russell, played by Bobby Boy, finally defeating the creature in a manner Russell hadn’t even considered.
As the credits rolled away the manager clapped his hands in warm applause. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, sir, marvellous, a tour de force. And it’s all true, you know. Well, not true as in true. It’s a metaphor you see. For life. You see the Emporium represents—’
‘Yes,’ said Russell. ‘Well I don’t think we need to go into all that now. I wanted to see the end and now I’ve seen it. I know all I need to know.’
‘If only that were true, sir, eh?’
‘It is true,’ said Russell.
The manager laughed, politely, but he did laugh.
‘Why are you laughing?’ Russell enquired.
‘Because of what you said about the ending, sir. You see that’s the whole point of the movie. That’s part of the metaphor. The movie doesn’t have an ending. Well not one, I’ve a hundred copies in stock and there’s a hundred different endings. That’s what made the movie so successful. If you go and see a movie twice you know it will have the same ending. But this one never did. Almost every copy was different. Is different. No-one has ever been able to work out how it was done. How Fudgepacker found the time.’
Russell really couldn’t help but be impressed. That was some gimmick. That would really have packed them in. He could just picture the train-spotter types, vying with one another, seeing who could score the most endings. Why there was probably a Nostradamus Ate my Hamster Appreciation Society
‘Do you think anyone has seen all the endings?’ Russell asked.
‘Who can say, sir? That’s part of the mythos, isn’t it?’
‘Well, thank you for showing it to me. It was an experience.’
‘And will sir be taking a copy?’
‘No, I don’t think so. But tell me this, as far as you know, does the movie always have a happy ending?’
‘Of course it does, sir, of course it does.’
Russell was relieved to hear this at least. ‘That’s a weight off my mind,’ he said.
‘Oh yes,’ said the manager. ‘The endings are always happy. Even the ones where the Russell character meets a grisly death.’
Russell groaned.
‘Oh yes, sir, there’s the version where he gets gang-banged at the bikers’ barbecue, and the one where he’s shot with the General Electric mini-gun, and the one where the cannibal cult get him, oh and my favourite, the amazing slow-motion sequence where the escaped psychopath takes this hedge-clipper and puts it right up his ... ’
21
BASIC TIN SINK
Russell left the store and then the mall. He walked slowly back along the something-strasser, with his head bowed into his chest and his hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets.
He was down, Russell was, it had not been his day. As days went, he’d known better. For it’s not every day that you’re chased by a howling mob, escape in a time machine while having sex with a beautiful woman, kill Adolf Hitler and still have a moment to screw up the future of the human race.
And it was early yet. Scarcely five of the afternoon clock. Russell scuffed his shoes along the pavement. What was he going to do now? He’d have to go back and try to sort things out. But things were rather complicated. If the time belt only took you back in time, then he couldn’t go back too far. Certainly not further than the moment when he and Julie escaped in the Flügelrad, when he escaped. If he went back further, he’d already be there. The other Russell, the one that was the ‘him-then’, who didn’t know what he knew now. So to speak.
‘I am in a state of stress,’ said Russell, startling a passer-by. ‘I really thought I could win this. But now I’m not too sure. It doesn’t matter what I do, they’re always one step ahead of me. If only there was some way. Some way.’
Russell stopped short and began to laugh. Those hysterics again? Not this time. There was a solution. It was a bold plan, and there was a risk of failure. A big risk. In fact the very biggest risk there could be. A risk that could cost Russell everything. His life. Everything. But it was a risk he was prepared to take. Because if there was one person capable of pulling the whole thing off, then that one person was he, Russell.
Russell took a very deep breath. ‘All right,’ said he. ‘This time.’
Mr Eric Nelluss (the chap mentioned in Chapter 14) was a tall imposing figure. Although now the graveyard side of sixty-five and the wearer of a long grey beard, he was still a force to be reckoned with. A major force, for he was undoubtedly the most powerful and influential film producer and distributor in the western world. In his long career he had struck many deals and invested many millions, but today, today would be the very crowning point of his brilliant career.
Because today he was having a meeting with a Mr Ernest Fudgepacker and his associates, to put the final seal on a film deal, the like of which the world had never seen before.
Mr Nelluss stood, his hands behind his back, looking out from the boardroom window of his towering corporation building at Docklands.
Below the hum of London traffic, above the clear blue sky.
Mr Nelluss coughed and clutched one hand against his chest. He was not a well man, he had a heart condition, the years of constant stress had taken their toll. But today. Today was going to be his day.
The intercom on the long black boardroom table buzzed and Mr Nelluss strode over and sat down in his big red leather chairman’s chair.
‘Yes, Doris?’ His voice had a deep American accent. They said that he hailed form the mid-west, but no-one knew for sure. The man was an enigma. A virtual recluse.
‘Mr Fudgepacker and his associates are here, Mr Nelluss. Should I send them up?’
‘Please do, Doris.’ Mr Nelluss sat back in his chair and smiled a pleasant smile. Before him on the table were the stacks of contracts. The rights, the residuals, the spin-offs, the series, the video games, the whole world marketing deals.
At the far end of the boardroom the lift light blinked red and chromium doors opened in the wall of travertine marble.
Before him stood an
ancient fellow in a long black coat, supported at the elbows by his two associates, a gaunt thin pinch-faced man in black and a beautiful blond woman in a golden dress and a fitted, buttoned jacket.
‘Mr Fudgepacker, come in, sir, come in.’ Mr Nelluss rose from his chair and came forward to greet his guests.
He wrung Mr Fudgepacker’s wrinkly hand between his own, patted the fellow in black on the shoulder and returned the flashing smile of the beautiful blonde. ‘Bobby Boy, Julie,’ Mr Nelluss beckoned them in. ‘Come in. Sit down. Would you care for a drink? Tea, coffee, something stronger? Champagne, perhaps?’
‘Champagne,’ said Bobby Boy.
‘Yes,’ said Julie.
Mr Fudgepacker nodded.
Mr Nelluss pressed the intercom button and ordered champagne. ‘You got here all right?’ he asked. ‘My guys pick up all the stuff? No problems?’
‘No problems,’ said Mr Fudgepacker, easing himself onto a boardroom chair.
Bobby Boy limped over, pulled one out from beneath the table and sat down upon it. Leaving Julie standing.
Mr Nelluss strode around and assisted her into a chair.
‘Thank you,’ said Julie. ‘At least there’s one gentleman in the room.’
Mr Fudgepacker grunted. Bobby Boy said nothing.
‘Bobby Boy,’ said Mr Nelluss, ‘I see you’re still limping. Went a little over the top with that stunt you pulled on us at the end-of-picture party at Hangar 18.’
Bobby Boy sniffed, it had been just two weeks since the screening and him getting shot in the kneecap.
‘Quite some stunt,’ said Mr Nelluss. ‘And quite some party. You really know how to throw a party, Mr F. Having a mock shoot-out and that guy dressed up as Adolf Hitler. And the flying saucer just vanishing in the car park. I’ve been in the movie game for nearly forty years and I’ve never seen anything like that.’
‘Glad it entertained you,’ said Mr Fudgepacker. A door slid open and the champagne arrived.
‘Just leave it, Doris,’ said Mr Nelluss. ‘I’ll pour the drinks.’
After the door had shut once more, Mr Nelluss poured champagne and passed glasses round. ‘You didn’t bring the other guy with you,’ he said. ‘Your producer, Russell. Where’s he today, then?’
‘Russell is no longer with us,’ said Mr Fudgepacker. ‘I don’t think we’ll see Russell again.
‘Shame. I kind of liked the guy. Although all I saw of him was him wielding the prop pistol. Seemed like a crazy dude.’
‘Can we just talk about the movie?’ asked Bobby Boy. ‘And the money?’
‘Sure we can. Sure we can. That’s what we’re all here for, after all. Now, I’ve got contracts drawn up and you’re gonna like them, I promise.’
‘How much?’ asked Bobby Boy.
‘For what?’
‘For a start off my fee as star of the movie.’
‘I thought twenty-five million,’ said Mr Nelluss.
The corners of Bobby Boy’s mean little mouth rose halfway up his cheeks. ‘Sounds about right,’ he said.
‘But it’s chicken feed in the ultimate scheme of things. Now, before we start any signing, I have to know, did you bring everything? Everything I asked you to bring?’
Mr Fudgepacker nodded shakily. ‘Everything and I wouldn’t have done so but for your reputation and your standing.’
Mr Nelluss smiled once more. ‘But of course,’ said he. ‘I know what I’m worth and you know what I’m worth. I am the power behind movies. You had to choose me, you know you did.’
Mr Fudgepacker nodded again.
‘So you’ve brought it all with you? The negatives, the rushes, the out-takes, the videos and the Cyberstar equipment? That alone is going to gross us more millions than, well, shit, than I’ve had business lunches, for God’s sake.’ Mr Nelluss laughed. But he did so alone.‘Quite so. Quite so. But this is an exciting day for me. If I was to tell you that I have looked forward to this day throughout all the long years of my career I would not be exaggerating. No siree, by golly.’
‘Let’s get the contracts signed,’ said Mr Fudgepacker. ‘I want to go down to your laboratories and personally supervise the copying of the negatives. It is absolutely essential that it’s done under my personal supervision.’
‘No problem there. We’ll have them coming hot off the press and I do mean hot.’
‘Give us another glass of champagne,’ said Bobby Boy.
‘Help yourself, my good friend. Help yourself.’
Bobby Boy helped himself.
‘Some over here,’ said Julie. Bobby Boy passed her the bottle.
Mr Nelluss rose from his big red chairman’s chair and took himself over to the boardroom window. ‘This is one hell of a day,’ he said, flexing his shoulders. ‘One hell of a day.’
‘Can we get on with the signing?’ asked Mr Fudgepacker.
‘Yeah, sure, that’s what we’re here for. But hey, what are those guys down in the car park doing?’
‘I don’t give a damn,’ said Mr Fudgepacker. ‘Let’s get this done.’
‘No, you really should see this, come over to the window, do.’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘Sure you are, sure you are. Come over. Bobby Boy, you come over too and Julie, come on, all of you.’
‘Oh all right!’ Mr Fudgepacker struggled from his chair and limped over to the window. Bobby Boy joined him in the limping. Julie didn’t limp, she sort of ‘swept’.
‘Look at those guys,’ said Mr Nelluss. ‘What do you think they’re up to?’
Many storeys below tiny figures moved in the car park. They were tossing things into a skip.
‘Just builders,’ said Mr Fudgepacker. ‘Now let’s not waste any more time.’
‘I don’t think they’re builders,’ said Mr Nelluss. ‘Surely those are cans of film they have there.’
Mr Fudgepacker’s eyes bulged behind the pebbled lenses of his spectacles. ‘Cans of film?’ he croaked. ‘That’s my film, they’re opening up the cans. They’re exposing the negatives.’
‘By God,’ said Mr Nelluss. ‘That does look like what they’re doing, doesn’t it?’
‘They’re chucking it onto the skip.’ Mr Fudgepacker swayed to and fro. ‘They’re destroying it.’
‘Hey, and look at that guy.’ Mr Nellus pointed. ‘Surely that’s the Cyberstar equipment he’s got there. He’s not going to ... oh my lord, he’s thrown that on too.’
‘No!’ Mr Fudgepacker croaked.
‘And who are those?’ Mr Nellus pointed once more. ‘Those guys in the protective suits. Are those flame-throwers they’re carrying?’
Mr Fudgepacker chewed upon his fingers. ‘Bobby Boy, do something. Do something.’
‘What can I do?’ Bobby Boy had fingers of his own to chew. ‘Look what they’re doing now.’
‘Isn’t that gasoline?’ Mr Nelluss asked. ‘Surely it is. They’re pouring it into the skip.’
Mr Fudgepacker gasped and tottered.
‘They’re lighting it up.’
From below came a muffled report, a flash of flame and a mushroom cloud of oily black smoke. ‘Dear, oh dear, oh dear,’ said Mr Nellus, returning to his chair. ‘Now is that a blow to business, or what?’ He perused the piles of contracts on the table before him and then, with a single sweeping gesture of his arm, he drove the lot into a wastepaper bin, positioned as if for the purpose.
Ernest Fudgepacker sank to his knees. Bobby Boy stood and made fists. Julie’s face wore a bitter expression, tears were welling in her eyes.
‘Why?’ croaked Mr Fudgepacker. ‘Why? Who did this? Who?’
‘I did it,’ said Eric Nelluss, suddenly losing his accent. ‘It was me.’
‘It was you? But why? All the money. Everything. Everything lost. The future lost, oh the future, the future.’
‘I did it,’ said Eric Nelluss, ‘because my name is not Eric Nelluss. Can’t you guess who I really am?’
‘You’re a mad old man,’ shouted Bobby Boy. ‘And I�
��ll take your head off.’
Bobby Boy lunged across the table, but the Eric Nelluss who was apparently not Eric Nelluss caught him by the left wrist, snapped it and cast him down to the thick pile carpet.
‘I could always take you,’ said not-Eric Nelluss. ‘I did ju-jitsu at night school, remember?’
Bobby Boy clutched at his maimed wrist. ‘Russell?’ he gasped. ‘Is that you?’
‘Yes, it’s me. Eric Nelluss is an anagram of Russell Nice, you know.’ Russell settled back into his big red chairman’s chair
‘But how? You’re old, or is that make-up? You bastard.’
‘It’s not make-up.’ Russell took a sip of champagne. ‘I am old. I’m more than sixty-five years old. I gave up my life for this day. For this moment. My time. I gave up my time.’
‘But how?’
‘I know how,’ said Julie. ‘He came back from the future with one of the time belts and he went into the past.’
‘Correct,’ said Russell. ‘It was a one-way journey. You were always one step ahead of me. That’s what gave me the idea. I would be one step ahead of you. I went back to 1955 and I took a job in the film industry. Just a humble gopher, but I worked hard. You know me, Mr Fudgepacker, I work hard and if I’m given a job to do, I do it. I worked my way up. Well, I knew which films to invest in, didn’t I? But it was hard work. But as the years went by I grew more and more powerful. I only had one ambition, you see, to be top of the heap.
‘To be the biggest and most influential independent film producer and distributor in the world. The one you would have to bring the movie to.And you did. And now it’s all over. The film is destroyed, the Cyberstar equipment is destroyed. It is all over. All of it.’
‘No,’ Mr Fudgepacker groaned. ‘It can’t end like this, it just can’t.’
‘But it can and it has. I agree it could have been a whole lot more exciting. Explosions going off, roof-top chases, chases through time, even. Guns, violence, all the stuff you love in your movies. But that’s not life, is it? I know life is duller than art, but there’s more power in the boardroom than on the battlefield. It’s all over now. It’s done.’
Nostradamus Ate My Hamster Page 21
