Vampyres of Hollywood Read Online Free Page B

I’m going to back into something short and concrete. But it was a gift from the Japanese conglomerate that’s been wooing me and if I don’t drive it they lose face. They even outfitted the headrests with 9" video monitors. So, it’s comfortable, discreet, and fairly anonymous, and good for watching dailies while we’re stuck in traffic. And it makes Maral happy.
    She pulled out of my parking spot and drove slowly through the busy lot. I love seeing all the activity when we’re shooting; let me tell you, there is nothing more depressing than a studio lot during hiatus season. Anticipation Studios, of which I own an 80 percent share, was currently shooting three movies, my own included. A sweet little MOW for Lifetime called A Mother’s Love; a low-budget Power Ranger rip-off—which I believe may be a redundancy—for kids called Ninja Cyber Warrior, though it might be Cyber Ninja Warrior when we release it; and mine, Hallowed Night, a harrowing twist on the Christmas legend, which I’d both scripted and was starring in. I’d initially thought about directing it myself, but Thomas DeWitte had foisted Neville Travis on me again. I’d used him for second unit on Vatican Vampyres and hadn’t been terribly impressed, but he’d made some semi-successful music videos since then and Thomas was championing him. His reputation would bring in the MTV audience, Thomas said. I should have checked him out more carefully, but I was deep in negotiations with the Japanese and I trusted DeWitte. Not anymore.
    I’ve been working on the Japanese deal for about eighteen months now. A trio of Japanese industrialists has decided to invest in an American studio. A small studio, because they want to initiate their new digital technology and develop straight-to-computer, direct-to-cell-phone-and-PDA, low-bandwidth, high-def movies. I’m offering them 25 percent of my 80 percent of Anticipation. Their investment is worth close to $50 million in cash and technological investment, and this is the deal that will move Anticipation into the big league. It’s that or get swallowed up by one of the majors. If that happens, I lose creative control, and that’s not why I started this business.
    “Where do you want to go?” Maral asked, jerking me from my musings.
    “I want to go home, take a hot bath, and read Lee Child’s latest Jack Reacher novel, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. Mr. DeWitte needs a talking-to.”
    Maral smiled. “He may still be out. You want me to call?”
    “What, and give him the chance to put makeup on his bruises? Just drive.”
    She slowed as we neared the front gates. The guard recognized the car, raised the barrier, and waved us through.
    I sighed; I’d mention it tomorrow. It’s probably against human nature to confront the boss, but how does the guard know I’m not stealing company property in the back of the Lexus? He’s supposed to stop all cars entering and exiting the lot, check the driver’s license, and pop the trunk. He’s also supposed to run a mirror under the chassis. Our version of homeland security. And now, especially with these three murders, we’ve got to be even more careful.
    Maral caught my look and said, “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. I’ll re-emphasize the security measures and hire another guard for the daytime shift.”
    “Thanks. And make sure that Travis idiot is barred from the lot.”
    “Already done.” Maral grinned. “Security escorted him to his trailer, watched him clear out his desk, walked him to his car, and waited for him to leave. The name on his parking spot has already been painted over. Took us thirty minutes tops.”
    “Stick with me,” I told her, “and you’ll end up running this studio.” I was not entirely joking.
    Maral gunned the engine and we shot out onto Stanford Avenue, heading for the freeway. On a good day at 5:00 A.M. the studio is fifty minutes from the office. At one o’clock in the afternoon, we were looking at an hour