Dead Men's s Boots

‘The number you got from John, yeah? I’ll get back to you when no one’s listening over my shoulder.’

‘Okay.’ I hefted the box. ‘Thanks for your help, Vince. John’s smiling down on you from Heaven, if that’s any help.’

I made my own way out, leaving him cursing me under his breath.

Smeet was coming back up the stairs as I went down. She eyed the box curiously. ‘Dead dog,’ I said, and kept on going.

John’s own private Idaho, Chesney had said. Yeah, maybe it was, but I could have wished he hadn’t reminded me of that song: the B52s warbling about the awful surprise in the bottomless pool tied in too neatly with the dream I’d had the night before last.

I felt like I was following the trail that had led John to that final encounter with the business end of his own shotgun. And I wondered for the first time where the gun had come from.

Another souvenir, maybe.

12

Nicky was kind of surprised to see me again. And I was surprised, too, walking into the formerly empty shell of the old Gaumont to find a team of six men resurfacing walls and putting the seating back in. Nicky was supervising loudly and officiously, ignoring the plaster dust in the air because he didn’t have to breathe it. He turned and saw me, and threw out his hands as I approached as though I was going to frisk him.

‘What?’ he said. ‘Castor, it’s only been four fucking hours. I didn’t even look at your stuff yet. I’ll call you when I’ve got any bones to toss to you, okay?’

By way of answer I lifted the lid of the wooden box, which I still had tucked underneath my arm like Henry the Eighth’s head, and showed him its contents. He couldn’t blanch: zombies have a natural pallor that makes albinos look like dedicated sun-bed addicts. But he did look a little sick.

‘How about we go gnaw on a few together?’ I suggested.

Nicky nodded slowly, and put out his hand to touch the box lid, pushing it down so that it covered the objects inside from view again. He turned to look over his shoulder at his little task force. ‘The rest of the stalls seats are over there, guys,’ he said, pointing. ‘If they’re not all in purple plush, do alternate purple and blue. Or make a star pattern, or something. But tasteful – I don’t want to end up with something that looks ongepotchket.’

We went up to the projection booth, our footsteps echoing on bare concrete. This was Nicky’s inner sanctum, cluttered with whatever he was obsessing on at any given time and the rich and varied detritus of previous obsessions. It was generally pretty ha ~everd to move in there but today it looked worse than ever because he’d moved a lot of stuff up here from downstairs, out of the way of the builders. Once we were inside, Nicky closed a steel door like the door of a vault and turned to face me, looking stern and pissed off: I guess he’d decided that attack was the best form of defence.

‘I’ve got to maintain a professional relationship with those guys,’ he said, pointing down at the floor. ‘They’re working for me. And it’s kind of hard to get past their touchingly naive assumption that zombies are shambling retards who can be ripped off with total fucking impunity. So another time, Castor, you want to have something out with me you do it in private, okay? Entre fucking nous. Now, what’s this about? And for the record, before you start, you don’t have any beef with me. I didn’t lie to you. I just didn’t talk to you about other people’s business.’

I might have made a snappy comeback at this point – in fact, I’d normally have felt obliged to – but I was looking over Nicky’s shoulder, and I was momentarily distracted by the colossal 70mm projector that was sitting behind him, in a position previously occupied by his stinking hydroponics vats.

‘You’re reopening this place as a cinema?’ I asked, amazed.

‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Is that a trick question, Nicky? How about because you hate people?’

Nicky shrugged. ‘Yeah, I do. The live ones are too warm and the dead ones are mostly falling apart and bleeding self-pity out of the joins. Fuck them all, is my motto.’

‘So opening a cinema – that’s facing your fears with a vengeance, wouldn’t you say?’

Nicky looked peeved. ‘I didn’t say I was afraid of them, Castor. Just that I hate their guts. I also didn’t say that when this baby is up and running anyone else is getting in to see the show. It’s gonna be for an audience of one. Cinema Paradiso. Me and the dark and the black-andwhite dream machine.’

I still couldn’t get my head around the idea – and I put the bollocking that I was about to give Nicky on the back burner while I tried. ‘What about making a small footprint?’ I demanded. ‘You’ll have to order prints of movies. Get on distribution databases. Deal with shipping companies.