Blue Genes - By Val McDermid Page 0,91
deflect attention from. He stopped a few feet away from me, his minders closing ranks behind him. His eyes were like two granite pebbles, cold and gray as the North Sea in January. "Segue," he said contemptuously, his voice like hard soles on gravel. "What kind of a name is that?"
"It's Italian," I said. "It means, it follows. Which means my band is the next big thing, yeah?"
"That depends. And you're Gory?"
"That's right. Tony says you're the business when it comes to getting a band on the map."
Lovell slipped into the seat opposite me. "A brandy, Tony," he said. "Best you've got, there's a good lad."
"A large Henessey over here, girl," Tony shouted. "What's keeping you?"
I didn't even glance at Delia. "So what can you do for us, Mr. ... ?"
"My company's called Big Promo. You can call me Mr. Big or Mr. Promo, depending how friendly you want to be," he said without a hint of irony.
I acted as if I was deeply unimpressed. "The question stands," I said. "We're really cooking in Europe, but this is where the serious deals get made. We want to be noticed, and we don't want to hang around. We don't want to be pissed about by somebody who doesn't really know what they're doing, who isn't up to playing with the big boys."
Something approaching a smile cracked his face. "Atti¬tude, eh? Well, Gory, attitude is no bad thing in its place." Then he leaned forward and the smile died faster than a fly hitting a windscreen at ninety. "This is not the place. I'm not in the habit of dealing directly with people. It wastes time I could be using to make money. So the least, the very least I demand from you is respect."
"Fine by me," I said. "So can we stop wasting your time? What can you do for us that makes you the one we should do business with?"
"Why don't you have a manager?" he demanded.
"We never found anybody we trusted enough. Believe it or not, I'm a qualified accountant. I can tell a good deal from a bad one."
"Then we're not going to have any problems. I'm offering the only good deal in town. This is my city. In exchange for forty percent of your earnings, including any record deals you sign, I can place you in the key venues. I can make sure your tickets get sold, I can get you media coverage, and I can paper the whole city with your tits." Lovell leaned back as Delia approached with our drinks on a tray. Sensibly, she served Lovell first, then me, then Tony. As she walked away, Lovell said, "Since when did you start employing pensioners?"
"All she does is sort the glasses and stock the bar. She's out of here before the punters start coming in. The girl¬friend's auntie," Tony said dismissively.
"I hear on the grapevine that there's been a bit of bother lately. Posters getting covered up, bands having their gigs wrecked, that kind of shit. What's to stop that happening to us?" I asked.
Lovell drummed his fingers on his brandy bowl. "Sign¬ing with us, that's what. You stupid cow, who do you think has been handing out the aggravation? I told you, this is my city. Anybody who thinks different has to take what's coming to them. You stick with me and nothing bad will happen to you. Ask Tony. He pays his taxes like a good 'un. You never have any bother, do you, Tone?"
"No," Tony said tonelessly, reaching for his cigarettes and lighting up. "No bother."
"Let me get this straight, then. You're saying if we pay you forty percent of everything we make, you'll sort it for us. But if we choose somebody whose prices are more in line with the rest of the planet, we'll live to regret it? Is that what you're saying?"
Lovell picked up his glass and wasted the brandy in one swallow. "Sixty percent of something's a lot better than a hundred percent of fuck all. There's a lot of things can go wrong for a band trying to make a break in this town. Posters that never make it onto walls. Tickets that mysteriously don't sell. Riots at the few crappy gigs they manage to pick up. Vans full of gear burning up for no obvious reason."
"You saying that could happen to us if we don't sign up with you?"
He replaced the glass on the table with infinite care. "Not could. Will. It was you asked for