Libby sighed.She looked briefly tempted to crack DouglasBrett across the head with her clipboard.“All right.He'stwenty-one, British—EnglishBritish—and hot as hell.And Valentine is startingto look...”
She leaned in close and whispered the rest.Whatever it was,it made Brett grimace.“I'm not arguing,” he said, never alteringhis steady examination of Laurie.“I can see he's good.But I'vegot three RADA grads and that kid fromSchool For Wizardsto see yet.Puthim on the shortlist and send him home.”
Laurieshrugged off the freeze-frame stillness his theatrical disciplinehad imposed upon him.He had learned years ago to wait inrespectful silence while a director tore his audition piece apart.He wasn't in the theatre now.He stepped around the camera andwalked up to Brett, smiling, hand outstretched, his implied reproofgood-humoured but so obvious that the producer actually scrambledupright.“Laurie Fitzroy.I appreciated your email, Mr Brett.It'sgood to meet you.”
“Um.Email, yes.”Clearly Brett wasn't accustomed to images whoemerged from his green screen and interacted with him.He shookLaurie's hand.“You tested well, Mr Fitzroy.Now, if you'll justleave all your details with Libby here, we'll call youif—”
“You don't understand.”Laurie allowed his smile to widenslightly, amped up its bright, imperious charm.“I didn't come hereto test for Devlin Steele.I came to get the part.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I'm in rehearsal for Sir Ralf Evans' new production ofRomeo And Juliet.Ihaven't signed contracts yet, but I will do tomorrow unless I hearfrom you.”
Brettburst into raucous laughter.Behind him, still clutching herclipboard, Libby looked as if she'd swallowed a goldfish whole.“Itdoesn't work like that, my friend!You'll wait till we've seen allour candidates, and then you'll wait some more while we run yourclip through the labs.Libby says you've never even worked a CGrole before, so—”
“All right,” Laurie said mildly.“I hope you find your Steele.ThatSchool For Wizardsguy is very good.”He picked up his jacket fromthe chair.“It was an honour to talk with you.”
“Details!”Brett bellowed at him just as he reached the door.“Leave your damn details with Libby!”
“She already has my phone number.That's all she needs, isn'tit?”Laurie grinned and glanced around the studio.“Thank you,Libby.Thanks, Mikey and Sal.Take care, okay?”
He setoff down the corridor.He'd pulled this trick before, in adesperation almost as great as he was feeling now.That time AlisonJones had come running after him, stopped him on the steps of theRayne's End.
No-onecame running now.That was all right, Laurie told himself.Thesewere bigger stakes.Hollywood directors didn't go chasing afterupstart newcomers—not instantly anyway.There had to be a dignifiedpause.
Itlasted until he was in the studio's reception, where he chatted fora minute to the admin girl and passed the time of day with theother nervous hopefuls, and then it lasted some more.Laurie toldthe others not to worry—that Brett was a pussycat, and Libby muchless fearsome than she seemed.He waited for the desk phone toring, and then he emerged into the sunny, noisy street.
The Tubestop was a minute's stroll away.Laurie didn't set off with hisphone in his hand, but he switched it to vibrate, put it in hispocket and rested his fingertips on it while he walked.The phoneremained silent and still.The crowd jostled him lightly.Among itsshapes and colours he saw again the skinny, grey-hooded ghost, andthen further off a dark-haired man who could be Stefan Petrica, orcould be anyone, or nobody at all.He reached the entrance to theunderpass and plunged into the neon dark.His phone didn't ring,but the signal down here was bad.He kept walking.
Chapter Eleven
Theweather broke that night.A dank chill came down with the rain, andLaurie woke shivering.The flat's central heating wasn't working,which hadn't mattered over the past few sultry weeks.Laurie hadpromised Sash to contact their landlord about it, but he'dforgotten in the excitement of his new role.
Helooked at his mobile.It was three in the morning—early evening,California time.He lay in the rain-patterned dark for a while,holding the screen at arm's length.There was an email.He read it.Then he sat up, utterly heartsick.
Sashawas sleeping peacefully.Maybe the thunder soothed him, set anappropriate backdrop to his dreams.Careful not to make a sound ora movement that would disturb him, Laurie got out ofbed.
Something rattled in the kitchen.Laurie ran the sound pastthe familiar creaks of the building, the occasional startlingnoises produced by the fridge, and couldn't find a match.He openedthe wardrobe, silently took out the gun and paddeddownstairs.
Thekitchen was empty.Not giving himself time to think about findingit otherwise—what he might have done, what the cold lump of metalin his hand might have become—he quickly checked the landing, thestairs that led to the front door.Then he leaned his backside onthe cooker and stood trembling, breathing hard.
“Laurie?Laurie, what thefuck...”
He leaptupright.His hand had clenched like stone around the pistol or hewould have dropped it, with God alone knew what consequences—on thenight after his trip to Streatham, he'd locked himself into thebathroom with his mobile and Gunari's bullets, and followed theinstructions on the tiny web-browser screen for loading thechamber.Sasha was a tense shape in the doorway.“It's nothing,”Laurie said, trying hopelessly to set the gun casually on thecounter-top beside him.“I heard a noise.But it wasnothing.”
“Where the fuck did you get that?”Sasha took two steps downtowards him and missed the third, for once in his life clumsy,grabbing the rail for support.He was shaking.“Listen.Whatever'sgoing on with you at the moment, I don't mind, okay?Buy a car,fire your manager.But I will not have a gun in this house.Do youhear me?”
“It isn't one.”Laurie struggled not to cringe.Sasha's tonewas new and terrible to him.“It's not what you think.”
“Last time I saw one of those—that same fucking make—I had tokill a man with it.In cold blood.”
“Cold blood?”Laurie's voice broke.“I know what you did—I wasthere.You were protecting me.”
“Yes, and that's the only reason I'd ever...Where did you getit?Why?”
“That's what I'm trying to tell you.It's just a prop.I had tolearn to look convincing with it for that production ofAbraham Lincoln, so Itook it home.Then that show folded and I never took it back.Ikept it, just in case I needed—”
“To assassinate a president?Why would theLincolnpeople have a bloodyMakarov?”
