The Picture Business

Illustration by Laurie Harden

Norton had both a gambling problem and a communications problem. The communications problem consisted mainly of Norton’s not listening when Helio told him about his debt problem. Finally Helio sent for Paulie.

“I want you to solve Norton’s problem for me,” he said, which Paulie did.

After Paulie dumped the body in a place he knew about on Saddle Peak, he returned to Norton’s home in Topanga Canyon to make sure he hadn’t accidentally left anything behind. He hadn’t, but he liked the house, which was spacious and filled with hght and had a beautiful view of Saddle Peak, where Norton was resting forever with all his problems solved for him, so Paulie sat down at Norton’s computer, logged on, and did a little credit check.

He found out that Norton owned the place free and clear, having bought it with the profits when his parents, who owned a cheese farm or something in Wisconsin, had died in a boating accident. So Paulie packed all of Norton’s personal stuff into cardboard boxes and heaved it off the redwood deck into the canyon below, and moved his own belongings from his apartment in Glendale. He changed the phone number and the locks, and told the post office that Norton’s new address was “Post Restante, Paris, France.” He sold Norton’s cars and motorbike to a guy that he knew in West Hollywood. When the gardener and maid came by, Paulie told them he was the new tenant, and he’d be paying them from now on.

In Norton’s office he saw the big mediatron console, the Digital DEC M5 with its three huge screens, but he ignored it. It was too big to toss off the deck, and besides it might be worth money if he could find someone to sell it to.

Not a single person ever came looking for Norton. That’s how popular Norton was.

Paulie liked to be alone after orgasm. He liked just to He there for several minutes with his eyes closed, and listen to the sound of his heartbeat as it returned to normal, watch little patches of phosphor light drift on the backs of his eyelids.

Women never seemed to desire this as much as Paulie did. Women liked to be cuddled and petted after sex, or they wanted to talk. Paulie hated talk after sex, he just wanted to float and be alone with himself. So Paulie usually preferred to have sex with women who wanted to leave afterward, because they had to go have sex with someone else.

Paulie knew that the escort service he used in Glendale was going to charge him an arm and a leg for driving all the way out past the Valley, so he looked in the yellow pages for a local service, and called the one in Malibu.

“Welcome to Gentleman’s Paradise,” said a staccato female voice. “If you have a push-button phone, press 1 now.”

Paulie pressed one, and the voice continued.

“If you would like a Model, press 1,” the voice said. “If you would like an Actress-Model, press 2. If you would like a Supermodel, press 3.”

Paulie pressed 1. He knew they were all the same women, but if they had a fancier title they charged more.

“If you want a Latin Lovely, press 1. If you want a Sensational Swede, press 2. If you want a Black Beauty, press 3. If you want a Gorgeous Geisha, press 4.”

Paulie wondered what happened if you wanted a white girl who didn’t happen to be Swedish, but he pressed 2 anyway.

“If you want a blonde, press 1. If you want a brunette, press 2. If you want a redhead, press 3.”

Paulie pressed 3. He knew the answer didn’t matter. He was only picking the color of the wig the woman would 9how up in.

“If you have special needs,” the voice chattered on, “such as French, Greek, two women, or golden showers, please press 1. If you have age requirements, such as Lovely Lolita, Cheerleader, College Girl, or Matronly Vixen, press—”

Paulie hung up. After a few seconds, he called the number again and refused to press anything. Eventually a male voice answered.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Listen,” Paulie said. “I want a white girl. For straight sex. Redhead. Not so young she pops gum in my ear the whole time, not so old she reminds me of my mother. That’s all I want. Got it?”

There was a long silence, and then the man said, “I’ll send you Gloria.”

“Fine,” Paulie said.

“I think she’s just your type.”

And what, Paulie wondered, did that mean?

Gloria was maybe thirty and had a nice woman-shaped body, generous hips and tight abs, and an unhurried manner. Paulie appreciated this last: he didn’t like it when a woman tried to rush him through it, like she was anxious to just punch the clock and leave. He didn’t like to be hurried, not when he was paying two hundred and fifty bucks in advance.

And, he was sort of surprised to discover, she was a real redhead, and not wearing a wig.

He told her that after he was finished, she should just get dressed and leave.

“You got it, big man,” she said.

He lay alone in bed afterward, floating, while Gloria went into the bathroom. As he slowly rose to consciousness, he became aware of Gloria’s voice coming from another part of the house. Paulie put on a bathrobe and followed the sound of the voice to the office, where he found Gloria standing next to the Digital while she talked on a cellphone.

“You sure you can’t get free?” Her voice was soft, suggestive. She rested a hip against the mediatron while she raised her foot and pulled on a shoe. “Just for a few minutes?” Apparently the answer was negative, because she pressed on with a more straightforward proposition, still in that soft, suggestive voice.

“I know you’ve got company, but if you could get away, we could meet at the Circle K, and I could give you a B.J. in the back seat.”

Apparently the answer was still no, because Gloria said goodbye, then hung up.

“Looking for some business, huh?” Paulie said.

Gloria dropped her seductive tone to answer, and spoke in a normal voice.

“He’s pretty regular, usually, but tonight his nephew is visiting with his family.”

Gloria paged through a digital appointment book, poking repeatedly at the plus key with her thumb. “I don’t have any dates till my 10:30.” She held the speed dialer to the receiver and pressed another button. Paulie heard the book make blipping sounds into the phone handset, and then Paulie heard a dial tone.

She held the handset slightly away from her ear so that Paulie could hear a woman’s voice answering. Gloria gave Paulie a meaningful look, then spoke in a brisk, businesslike voice.

“This is Mr. Steinberg’s secretary. Is Mr. Mason available to speak to Mr. Steinberg?”

Mr. Mason was. As soon as he answered, Gloria’s voice turned soft and seductive again.

“This is your lucky night, sugar,” she said. “Here I am in Topanga Canyon with nothing to do but make you happy.”

While Gloria worked out the details, Paulie went back to the bedroom and pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He returned to the office to find Gloria hopping into her other shoe.

“I knew they called it hustling,” Paulie said, “but till now I never knew why.”

“Time is money,” said Gloria. She glanced around the office.

“Are you in the business?” she asked.

Paulie looked at her. “The business?”

“The picture business. I figured you might be, because you’ve got the, you know, the mediatron.”

“No. I’m sort of between jobs right now.”

Gloria pulled on her grey jacket and fluffed the lace around her throat. She wore a conservative business suit to meet her customers, camouflage for hotels and residential neighborhoods. She wore more provocative stuff underneath. She buttoned the jacket, then swung her big shoulder bag onto one lapel. “Shall I call you next time I’m in the neighborhood?”

“If you like.”

Paulie followed her out into the driveway.

“Nice fuchsia,” she said.

“Huh?” Paulie wondered if this was some kind of strange sexual compliment he hadn’t heard before.

“Fuchsia. The plant you’ve got out here.”

“Oh,” Paulie said. “Thanks.”

“The stuff on the deck out back,” Gloria said, “is honeysuckle. And over in the corners, that’s bougainvillea.”

“No kidding.”

Paulie saw that she had driven here in a Toyota pickup with a camper shell. Nice, he figured, for quickies on a mattress in the back.

Entrepreneurship, he thought, imagination, professionalism.

It was what made America great.

Next day Paulie had to fly to Detroit to solve someone’s problems. After he came back, he decided to have a little housewarming celebration, so he asked Helio and Helio’s brother Raimundo, and their associates Leo and Marcio, and had them over for drinks.

“Nice fuchsia,” Helio said as he walked in.

“Thanks.”

Helio stood in the foyer and gave the place the once-over. “Great new place,” Helio said. “I didn’t know you were doing so well.”

“I got a great deal,” Paulie said, “and I just kind of stepped into the place.”

Apparently Helio had never been to the house when Norton owned it, and didn’t know who it really belonged to. That was fine with Paulie, because if Helio learned the place was Norton’s, he might try to make good on Norton’s debt by selling the furniture, burning the place down for the insurance, or turning it into a fuck pad for himself and his girlfriend.

“Great place,” said Raimundo. He was looking at himself in the gilt-edged mirror in the foyer. He smoothed down a lapel.

“Nice suit,” said Paulie.

“It’s a Princess Suwannee,” Raimundo said. “She’s expanded her line to menswear.”

“Nice,” said Paulie.

Raimundo lifted a foot off the ground. “You like the shoes? The belt? Gucci.”

“Nice shoes,” said Paulie.

“What’s this?” called Marcio. He had walked into the office and noticed the mediatron.

“It came with the house,” Paulie said. “It’s some kind of virt thing.”

Marcio, who spent half his life in virt when he wasn’t running his crew, sat down before the console and started pressing buttons. He propped some virt shades on his forehead, then called up a list of files. “How about Marilyn’s Humpday Surprise,” he sniggered, and touched the screen with his finger.

All three screens filled with the sight of Gary Cooper screwing Marilyn Monroe doggie-style. “This isn’t virt!” Marcio complained. “It’s just flatscreen!” He took off the glasses and tossed them on the console.

Helio looked at Paulie. “I didn’t know you went for this stuff,” he said.

“I don’t,” Paulie said. “It was on the machine.”

Helio just wrinkled his eyes a little. Paulie knew that Helio didn’t believe him, and that made him feel uncomfortable.

“Who’s the skinny guy with the hairy butt?” Raimundo asked.

“Gary Cooper,” said Marcio. He had probably cleaned up Dodge City with Cooper in the virts.

“Is he supposed to be famous or something?” Raimundo asked.

“He was a big star. Back before color.”

“I hate black-and-whites,” said Raimundo. “You got anything with real movie stars in it?”

Marcio poked around in the files and found a piece with Cher, Claudia Andropova, and Jack Nicholson in a three-way.

“Okay,” Raimundo grumbled. “But Cher wasn’t a real star.”

“She won an Oscar,” Marcio said.

“You’re bullshitting me.”

“You can look it up.”

They stood around the office for a few minutes watching the three-way. Paulie asked if anyone wanted him to freshen their drinks. None of them did.

After awhile Marcio got bored with the three-way, and he called up a file with Robert DeNiro and Brooke Shields. Only it was the twelve-year-old Brooke Shields, digitized from Pretty Baby or somewhere, and Paulie noticed Helio and Raimundo, who both had families, giving him disgusted looks from under their eyelids as if he were a pervert.

“I’m tired of this,” Helio said. He looked at Paulie. “You got anything on that machine besides porn?”

“I don’t know,” Paulie said. “I’ve never used it before.”

It was worth one last try, he thought, to explain that nothing on the mediatron was anything he put there.

Marcio ran a finger along a touchpad and gave the mediatron’s files a quick scan. “We got some Bruce Lee here,” he said.

“Bruce Lee is good,” said Helio.

What Helio said was good, the others watched. That was how things worked.

They got some chairs and fresh drinks and watched Bruce Lee break ribs and heads and limbs in Enter the Dragon, cheering and making learned professional observations as each of the bad guys bit the dust. “Now that’s a good picture,” said Helio. He gave a look at Paulie. “Not like that pedophile shit we saw earlier.”

Paulie wanted to protest again that none of these images belonged to him, but he knew perfectly well there wasn’t any point to it.

After the movie, Raimundo suggested going to a place in Santa Monica that he knew. Helio said that sounded fine to him, so that was the end of Paulie’s party.

They drove down to the club in convoy, one car after another. Helio rode in Paulie’s car and gave him a list of things that he needed Paulie to do in the next few days. Not solving problems, exactly, but preventing them, reminding people of their obligations so that they wouldn’t become problems. Pauhe said he would handle the situations.

“I know you will,” Helio said, and then he said, “By the way, I talked to Little Joe.”

Paulie thought about that for a moment, and then said cautiously, “You did?”

Little Joe had a lot to do with why Pauhe decided to move from Providence to L.A.

“He says he understands about Big Joe. He understands that it was just business, and that there was nothing personal in it.”

“That’s good,” Paulie said.

“He knows it was the Lukas that hired you, and he’s taken care of the Lukas, so as far as he’s concerned, that ends it.”

Pauhe didn’t think he wanted to trust Little Joe’s assurances anytime soon, but it was nice to know that Little Joe was at least being civil. Little Joe’s basic problem was that he was a hot-tempered, vengeful little fuck, and every time Paulie’s name came up he would start frothing at the mouth. Maybe by now he’d calmed down a little.

“I really appreciate this, Helio,” Pauhe said. “It’s nice of you to go out of your way for me.”

“You’re a good guy, Pauhe,” Helio said. “I don’t want my friends getting mad at each other over a misunderstanding.”

“Thanks again,” Pauhe said. “I owe you one.”

“Ever since you solved that Vitalio problem for me,” Helio said, “I knew I could trust you.”

Paulie was pleased to hear that. It was nice to know he’d found a place here with Helio, had established a good working relationship.

Still, he figured he was not going to test Little Joe’s good will by flying to Providence anytime soon.

“Little Joe called you Taco Pauhe,” Helio said. “Is that what they call you out East?”

“Not to my face, they don’t,” said Pauhe.

“I don’t get it, the names these Eastern guys have,” Helio said. “Crazy Al, Joe the Weasel, Fat Tony. They’re all little boys’ names.”

“Or baseball players,” said Paulie.

Helio laughed. “Well,” he said. “Here we call you by your grownup name.”

“Thanks, Helio.”

Pauhe wondered if he was becoming a part of Helio’s mob. He hadn’t been part of anyone’s mob back in Providence. Partly because he didn’t have the right ancestry to become a made guy, not being Sicilian or anything, and partly because he’d noticed that sooner or later all the guys who were mobbed up got arrested whenever the authorities chose to pay attention to that particular outfit. Whereas those who worked independently, solving people’s problems whenever anyone came up with the money, were almost never found out or arrested. Hundreds of people had their problems solved every year, but the people who actually did the work were almost never found out.

Paulie was in one of the safest lines of work available, criminally speaking.

So as he drove to the club he wondered if he was getting mobbed up with Helio, and if that was the right thing to do.

But if Helio could solve his problem with Little Joe, then maybe it was a good idea to get tight with him.

Maybe.

Paulie knew how everyone would behave at the club—which was make a lot of noise and spend a lot of money and eventually go home with a girl. Paulie used to enjoy this sort of thing when he was younger, but now he just went through the motions because it was what was expected. His girl was named Sondra, and she was a model-slash-actress who was woi’king temporarily at the cosmetics counter of a pharmacy. He didn’t want to bring her home, so instead he drove her to her apartment. She kept asking him questions about her appearance: “Do you like my hair?” “Do you like my dress?” “Do you like my shoes?” And when he said “Yes,” which was expected of him, it led her into a long conversation about how she had chosen, say, this particular hairstyle, and a description of the other hairstyles she had considered and rejected, and how this particular hairstyle should help out at the next audition.

This pattern of question, answer, and elaboration went on before, during, and after sex, depriving Pauhe of the time after orgasm that he hked to spend by himself, floating—in fact, she wanted him to spend that time looking at her modehng portfolio. He glanced at some of the pictures out of politeness, and Sondra told him all about the different hairstyles and fashion choices and so on involved in each picture, and he figured he had been polite long enough. He told her he had an early day tomorrow and had to leave.

“I’ll call you,” he said as he headed for the door.

Sondra closed her portfolio and looked sullen. “No, you won’t,” she said.

He thought about it for a second. “You’re right,” he said.

And left.

Next morning he answered the phone, and a seductive voice said, “Hello, big man. It’s your lucky day.”

“Hi, Gloria,” he said. He was surprised to discover that he was glad to hear her voice.

“I’m going to be in your neighborhood today. You want to get together?”

“When?”

“Well, I’ve got an appointment for a facial in Malibu at 11:30, and then I’ve got a date in the canyon at 1:30. Say 2:30?”

“Your 1:30 will be finished that soon?”

“Oh yeah.”

Gloria seemed confident on the matter.

“Okay,” Paulie said. “I’ll be here.”

Paulie spent the intervening time on the DEC. He had decided to delete any of the files that might embarrass him in front of company, but in order to do that he had to figure out how the unit worked. Loading or deleting files wasn’t difficult, not to anyone with basic computer skills, but there were hundreds and hundreds of files, not all of which had obvious names like Marilyn’s Humpday Surprise, so he had to load each one to see what it was before he could decide whether to delete it or not.

And so he found out how it was that Norman earned his living.

Norman acquired ordinary porn films, some of them pretty old, then digitized the faces and sometimes the bodies of famous actors onto the images of the porn actors. Apparently there was a demand for this sort of thing, and Paulie also found patches of porn intended to be inserted into famous movies. There was Clark Gable carrying Vivien Leigh up the staircase, ripping off her clothes, and fucking her silly to the romantic strains of a full orchestra, obviously intended to be spliced into someone’s home version of Gone with the Wind. There was Cary Grant and Eva Marie Sainte screwing in a train compartment in North by Northwest, and Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca, and even William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy indulging in some stately futuristic buggery. Some of the clips were done better than others, with the famous actors’ faces and bodies fading seamlessly into those of the porn actors, and even characteristic facial expressions didged into the mix; while others were done poorly, the heads stuck on any old how, with a clear dividing line between one image and the other, and no attention paid to matching skin tones, amounts of body hair, and even body type. Paulie concluded that Norman did just as much work on any one job as he was paid to do.

As for the porn itself, it was porn. As was usual with porn, Paulie found it sort of interesting for the first ten minutes, and then it started to lose its charm. He found himself paying more attention to the didge work, how the famous faces were superimposed on the anonymous porn actors, precisely how the matching was done. He ended up saving some of the well-done bits, and erased everything that was second-rate.

There were entire films in the files that seemed to have nothing to do with Norman’s work. Maybe, Paulie figured, they were the ones he watched for his own entertainment, or maybe they just came with the mediatron.

One of them, he noticed, was Public Enemy. Paulie had sometimes watched pictures about the kind of guys he knew, and he’d always been disappointed because they’d never really told the truth. But since he was tired of looking at porn, and because Gloria hadn’t turned up yet, he told the mediatron to run the file.

It was sort of interesting. The characters were just ordinary people who happened to get into the bootleg line, which strained Paulie’s credibility until he realized that this was about how gangsters got invented, it was about the very first people in his world. He had never seen James Cagney before, and he liked both the actor and his portrayal. He knew people just like Cagney’s character.

He watched until he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a voice. “Hello, big man.”

He turned his chair around to look at her. She had shucked out of her conservative business suit and stood in the black lace teddy she wore underneath.

“Hi there, Gloria,” he said. “Your 1:30 finished already?”

She slid onto his lap. “I’m late,” she said. “I’m disappointed you didn’t notice.”

“I was watching a movie.”

“I can give you something better to do with your time.”

Paulie reached past Gloria to the mediatron console and paused the movie.

“You bet,” he said.

Paulie floated, rising slowly to the surface of the world. He opened his eyes, saw Gloria sitting quietly in a chair, watching him.

“You’re not on the phone drumming up business?” he asked.

“Nope. I already called everyone in the neighborhood. I don’t have a date till 6:30.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

She shrugged. “Find someplace to hang out, I guess.”

Paulie sat up, swung his legs out of bed, and reached for his shirt.

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asked.

Paulie found himself squirming during the last part of Public Enemy. After it was over, he snapped off the mediatron with a grunt of annoyance.

Gloria looked at him. “Something wrong?”

“What a chump,” Paulie said.

“You didn’t hke the ending?”

“I thought Cagney was supposed to be a bright guy. Here he is, inventing how to be a gangster and everything, and he just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get the picture.”

“Well, yeah, some other gangsters kill him.”

“It’s not that he gets killed.”

Lots of people Paulie knew got killed. Getting killed was nothing.

“It’s the way he—it’s how he—” Words failed him. The movie just wasn’t right, and the mistakes were so basic that he had trouble working out just what they were.

“Okay,” trying again. “He’s part of this outfit, and this other outfit comes into town and starts giving him trouble, right? So does Cagney’s outfit give the other guy’s outfit trouble?”

“No.”

“No.” Paulie smacked his palm with a fist. “Exactly. Cagney’s outfit decides to surrender! Which is stupid, because they are established on this turf and the other outfit is not, and they have all the advantages. And it’s even stupider, because they don’t even tell the other outfit that they’re giving up, and Cagney and his boss get killed after they’ve already surrendered.”

“They didn’t want to hurt anybody,” Gloria pointed out.

Paulie waved his arms. “They are wise guys!” he said. “They are in the hurting business!”

Gloria nods. “I guess I see your point.”

“They gotta know what world they’re living in. You know what I’m saying?”

“Sure.”

“Like the way Cagney handled that woman.”

“Hitting her in the face with the grapefruit.”

“Right. Now is that any way to cope with some girl that’s giving you grief?”

“I guess not,” Gloria said.

“You bet. A grapefruit? I woulda tied her up and left her in the fucking closet.”

Gloria seemed startled. “Huh?”

“Slapped her around first, then tied her up and, hke, maybe called in a replacement.”

Gloria looked at him thoughtfully. “A replacement,” she repeated.

“An escort or something. Boink her in front of the stupid blonde to show that she can be replaced.”

“Replaced,” Gloria repeated, as if she was reaching for a meaning of the word she hadn’t encountered before.

“Anybody can be replaced,” Paulie said. “I mean, you think Cagney had this woman around for the pleasure of her conversation or something?”

“I guess not.”

“She’s getting nice clothes, nice jewels, a nice fuck pad to live in, and she starts giving him grief first thing in the morning? Right over breakfast? She was taking advantage. She needed a lesson. Just to show that she could be replaced.”

Gloria appeared to be trying to clarify something in her mind. “So if I, for example, were to complain to you in the morning—”

“Two hundred fifty bucks an hour,” Pauhe pointed out, “I’d better not hear any complaints.”

“Ah.”

“Besides,” Paulie added, “you’re not as dumb as that cooze in the movie.”

She looked at him. “Nice of you to notice.”

“So the problem with Cagney here,” Paulie said, “is that he kept letting people take advantage of him, and it got him killed. Which is why that other outfit, who ain’t even in the movie, are the real smart guys, and the movie should be about them!”

“They’re the heroes, you mean.”

“Yeah.” Paulie found himself glaring at the empty screen, upset with Cagney’s sheer stupidity. “Cagney should of just got himself some firepower and put that other outfit outta business.”

“Well,” Gloria said, “if you don’t hke the ending, you could change it.”

“Huh?” Pauhe looked at her in surprise.

She gestured toward the mediatron. “You’ve got all you need right here. Right in the mediatron. You could put any ending you want on that movie.”

“I don’t know how to work it. Not really.”

Gloria sniffed. “Anybody can learn to work a mediatron. A while back I trained for a year in order to learn how to work one of the old Scenelmagers, but then this thing came out, and there went my three-hundred-buck-an-hour job. Nowadays clerks at McDonald’s are paid more than mediatron operators.”

“Oh.” He looked at the mediatron, then back at Gloria. “Will you teach me?” he asked.

“At two-fifty an hour?”

Pauhe laughed. “Maybe I could hire somebody from McDonald’s.”

“Yeah, okay,” Gloria said. “I’ll get you started. But I’ve still gotta make my 6:30.”

After Gloria left, Paulie sat down at the DEC and tried to work out how to change Public Enemy into a movie that showed the world he knew. Gloria had managed to demonstrate a lot in just a short time, but there were still gaps in his knowledge. Fortunately there were a number of Norton’s projects, left in various stages, that illustrated how the machine could be used.

Generating whole new scenes was possible, though it seemed to require a lot of programming skill, and the mediatron was better at converting images that already existed, when he could point-and-click one image over another, and then craft in as much verisimilitude-enhancing detail as he liked. There were a lot of complex programs devoted to facial expression. Norton had a vast number of stock images on file that he used in his adaptions, but the majority were pornographic. If he wanted to make every change he wanted, Paulie would have to get some more stock footage.

It was easy enough to find on the net, he discovered, particularly the violence he intended to use in his last ending. And a whole log of props were available: digitized, three-dimensional images of old cars, airplanes, and clothes. But splicing it all together took time, and digitizing the old actors’ images over the footage took even more, and there were suddenly a number of professional engagements that took time away from Paulie’s project. Helio kept him busy, and since he sometimes worked for other people, he also had to fly to Boston—which was as close as he wanted to get to Little Joe for now—to New Orleans, and to Cabo San Lucas.

In Cabo San Lucas he took a few days off. The fellow whose problems he solved had a fishing boat, and so after Paulie weighted him and dropped him into the Sea of Cortez, he kept the boat for a few days, caught some albacore and tuna, and tried to relax.

But the old movie kept nagging him. When he closed his eyes, he kept seeing images, bits of the old movie mixed with parts of his own creation, and he kept working out dialogue in his head. Eventually, though he’d planned to stay a couple of more days, he left the boat and returned to Topanga Canyon and the mediatron.

He found a lot of old books about movies on the net—they always called the movies “film,” even though it was all digital now—and he tried to learn about how movies were put together, about jump-cuts and two-shots and fades and montage, all the stuff that the film critics thought was important.

He had to find out about that stuff, because Public Enemy used a lot of old-fashioned techniques, like lap-dissolves, that nobody ever used anymore, but which Paulie would have to use in order to make his new scenes match the old. The books on film called lap-dissolves “literary,” and jump-cuts “in your face,” and said that modern editors only used jump-cuts.

Paulie kind of liked the dissolves, though. They put a different kind of unhurried rhythm to things.

When he wasn’t out of town or working on Helio’s projects, he saw Gloria two or three times a week. She’d call if she were in the vicinity, and after sex he’d show her the parts of the movie he was working on, and she’d give him programming ideas and pass on bits of technique.

Not that he didn’t have plenty of ideas on his own.

Once, when he was showing a bit of the movie where Cagney was getting his revenge on the mob that had moved into his turf, Gloria shivered and said, “The dead people in your movie look so dead.”

“Well, yeah,” Paulie said. “That always bothered me about movies. When people die in the movies, they don’t really look dead, because the actors are still alive. An actor can’t fall like a real dead person, because the dead person isn’t in charge anymore. A dead person just drops—the shoulders falls in one direction, the hips someplace else, and the knees so in another place, because the only thing holding the body together anymore is skin and maybe a few big bones, the muscles that support it all ain’t working anymore.”

He went on to explain the mediatron hacks he used to make the dead cinema bodies behave correctly—it involved disconnecting certain elements of the geodesic structures that underlay the images, and he was proud of how he did it.

Gloria listened thoughtfully, then looked at him. “How do you know so much about how people die?”

Pauhe looked right back. “Because I know what’s what,” he said.

Gloria turned away and nodded, as if to herself. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’m also thinking of changing the title,” he said.

“Hm?”

“Public Enemy could be the title of any gangster film. So I thought this one should have a title that explains more what it’s about.”

“Like what?” she said.

“Like How Gangsters Got Invented.”

Gloria nodded, then turned away. Paulie saw that her shoulders were shaking.

“Are you laughing?” he asked.

Her shoulders kept shaking. She nodded her head, but couldn’t speak.

Pauhe rose from his chair and stood over her, and planted his fists on his hips.

“Is there something funny about my title?”

Gloria, her back still turned, shook her head. “It’s… perfect,” she said, and then began to laugh. She smothered her laugh with the back of her hand, but she couldn’t keep it from burbling out.

“If the title’s so perfect,” Pauhe said, “how come you’re laughing?”

Gloria began to laugh and hiccup simultaneously. She reached in her big shoulder bag for a tissue. “It’s perfect,” she gasped, “for you.”

“Whaddya mean for me?” Glaring. “It’s good for me, and it’s not good for someone else?”

He was not, he thought, going to spend two hundred fifty an hour to be laughed at.

Gloria’s hiccups got the better of her for a minute or so. Paulie considered grabbing her and throwing her off the deck to join Norton’s garbage in the canyon. But then, in between the little chirps she made when she hiccuped, Gloria explained herself.

“It’s a perfect title for your movie,” she said. “It’s so you—it just gets right to the point, doesn’t it? No time wasted, no fooling around, no poetry. How Gangsters Got Invented. Right to the heart of things.”

“No poetry ?” Paulie demanded, still annoyed. “I’m supposed to be a poet now?”

“You’re perfect,” Gloria hiccuped, “just as you are.”

Paulie stood over her and glared for another minute or two, but he couldn’t stay mad at someone who thought he was perfect. He returned to his chair in front of the mediatron console.

“Maybe you should get on your cellphone and hustle up some business,” he said. “I’m going to work for a while.”

Paulie finally finished editing his new ending. All the clips of violence he was using were in color, and he had put them through this process called “color-timing,” which made sure that the various shades of blue matched from one scene to the next—the mediatron did it automatically, in about twenty minutes—and then Paulie remembered that he might as well not have bothered, because he was going to have to turn it all into black and white to match the original footage anyway.

He ran the ending through the mediatron again, using all three screens. It was, he thought, really good; and he hated to lose the element of color, because there was this kind of visual motif of red that ran through everything. It had started accidentally, with blood getting spilled in a massacre, and in the next scene a woman bystander happened to be wearing a red dress, and Paulie thought the continuity of color was interesting, so he kept adding more. Some red roses in a flower shop that got bombed, and a red car that Cagney used for a drive-by, and red neon signs and red shoes on the women and red ties on the men, and red marinara sauce in a restaurant where somebody ended up face-down at his table…

And now he was going to have to lose all that. Damn.

And then he thought, wait a minute, maybe I don’t.

Because the movie was about how gangsters got started, back in the days of black-and-white; but the ending was about how they survived, right up into the era of color and virts. So maybe the ending could stay.

He spliced the new ending into the old movie and watched the transition. No, he thought, too jarring. The sudden shift into color took him out of the story, made him aware of the fact that he was watching something artificial instead of something real.

So maybe, he thought, the color could start more subtly. Like when Cagney’s boss was killed. So he went through and turned the scene black-and-white, but then added color to the blood splashes. Only slight color, not anything bright. He liked the subtle effect, so he went through the ending scene-by-scene, adding more color each time, making the reds brighter and brighter, until the final scenes blazed with color, more color than there ever was in real life.

He liked it, but he felt a bit uncertain whether other people would enjoy it or not. He’d never seen a movie that was partly in color and partly not, except for that dumb Oz thing he saw when he was a kid.

Maybe, he thought, he should do what they call a preview. So he got on the phone and called Heho.

“I’d like to invite you and some other people over Saturday night,” Pauhe said. “I’ve got a movie I’d like to show you.”

“What kind of movie?”

Pauhe detected a degree of suspicion in Helio’s voice. He wanted to reassure Heho that it wasn’t pornographic.

“It’s a sort of a gangster movie, Helio.”

“I don’t watch gangster movies,” Heho said. “They never get anything right.”

“I know what you mean,” Pauhe said. “But I sort of fixed this one.”

“What do you mean, fixed it?”

“I found this movie on the mediatron, and it was wrong, so I fixed it. I put a new ending onto it, and I made some other changes.”

“You mean you made this movie?”

“I made parts of it, yeah.”

“Well.” Pauhe could tell that Heho was impressed. “Sure I’ll come and see it. But is it a movie I can bring my wife to? She’s kind of conservative, and I don’t like to get her upset.”

Pauhe thought about it for a moment. “It’s a little intense in places,” he admitted.

“Could I come Friday night instead?” Heho said. “Friday night is the night for girlfriends, Saturday night for wives.”

And Sunday morning for church, Pauhe knew.

He should have remembered that Saturday was Wife Night. Not being married himself, he hardly ever thought about these distinctions.

“Sure,” Pauhe said. “Make it Friday night, then, and bring your girlfriend.”

He called Raimundo, Leo, and Marcio, and invited them and their girlfriends for Friday. And then he reahzed he didn’t have a date for himself.

Gloria probably didn’t count as a girlfriend, since he was paying her and everything, but she would have to do.

He realized then that he didn’t have her phone or beeper number. Once they’d first met, she’d always called him.

He called her service.

The man recognized his voice. “You’re white, redhead, straight sex, no kink, no kids,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Paulie.

He asked the service to page Gloria, and when she returned his call, he told her he wanted her for all of Friday night.

“Friday’s a busy night for me,” she said. “I’ve already got a couple dates scheduled.”

“Can you break them? I’d make it worth your while.”

“What’s the big occasion?”

Paulie explained.

“So this is a social event? You actually want me as an escort?”

“Escort,” Paulie said. “Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“And could you, uh…” Paulie was embarrassed to continue.

“Could I what?”

Nothing to do but plunge on. “Could you tell everyone that you’re my girlfriend?” he said.

Gloria gave a low laugh. “I’m already your girlfriend, sugar,” she said.

Paulie called a caterer and had them send food—ham, chicken, cold cuts, and various salads—and he fully stocked the bar. He got a bowl of cocaine for the younger guys and their dates, and put some bottles of Bollinger on ice. Gloria turned up in a print summer dress that made her look just like a girlfriend. And she surprised him by wearing a blonde wig.

“Don’t all wise guys have blonde girlfriends?” she asked.

The other guests arrived. Raimundo brought his new squeeze, and Paulie was surprised to see that she was Sondra, the actress/model he’d met in Santa Monica. She had a new, shorter haircut, and was blonder, if possible, than before.

“Nice haircut,” he said.

“I told her she should get it done that way,” Raimundo said. He started caressing her hair from behind, like a hairdresser. “She has pretty ears, don’t you think? So we agreed that she should sweep her hair back above the ears so that everyone could see them, and keep it short in back, so that the diamond necklace I was going to buy her would show.”

Paulie looked at the necklace. “Nice,” he said.

“The links are little gold flowers in the shape of chrysanthemums,” Raimundo said. “With a diamond in the center of each one. We considered a lot of them, though. We thought about this kind of interlaced rope design, and there was this other one where each hnk was a bird in flight, but we decided we liked the chrysanthemums best.”

“Nice necklace,” said Pauhe.

He was glad he hadn’t called Sondra again, otherwise he’d be babbling about her fashion choices just like Raimundo.

Before they could get to Sondra’s dress and shoes, Paulie asked if they wanted drinks, and when he brought Sondra hers, he suggested that she maybe not tell Raimundo about the night she and Paulie had spent together.

“You think I’m stupid or something?” Sondra asked.

The answer to that was a big Yes, but Paulie protested that he had meant no such thing. When everyone had arrived and had drinks—or a toot, depending—Pauhe showed them into the office, where he’d set up the buffet and some comfortable chairs, and he ran How Gangsters Got Invented.

As soon as the opening titles came up, Raimundo started to complain. “Does it haveta be black-and-white? I hate black-and-white.”

“Just watch,” Helio said firmly, and what Heho said went, so they all settled down.

Pauhe found as the movie went on that he was nervous. His heart beat hard and perspiration broke out on his forehead. Gloria noticed his nervousness and took his hand and held it in her lap.

He held his breath through much of the grapefruit scene, though he heard shouts of “Yeah!” and “Give it to her!” from Marcio and Raimundo, so it seemed to be going all right.

During the end he held his breath and clutched at Gloria’s hand. He could hear little grunts and exclamations from the others in the audience at the point where each realized that the movie was shifting into color. During the last few minutes of violence, with explosions and chases and Cagney machine-gunning everyone in sight, he heard shouts and cheers. At the end, there was applause.

Gloria turned to him and whispered into his ear. “I was wrong,” she said. “You are a poet. I don’t know what Norman Vincent Peale or those other poets would think of you, exactly, but you’re a poet, absolutely for sure.”

That made Paulie feel good. He turned the lights on and saw that everyone was grinning. “That was terrific!” Marcio told him. “I hardly ever like flatscreen any more, but that was a good movie.”

“Real triff!” said Raimundo. “That ending, with all those people getting shot, that was great!”

“It’s called montage, see,” Pauhe explained. “That’s where you have a lot of different pictures, only you edit them together in kind of like a rhythm—”

“It’s the only gangster movie I ever liked,” Helio pronounced.

Paulie looked at Gloria. “It was Gloria’s idea, really.”

“Smart lady,” said Helio.

“I didn’t like all the color at the end,” said Leo. Paulie felt himself tense.

“Well, see, I thought I would bring it into modern times,” he said. “Yeah!” Marcio agreed, “like from the time of black-and-white into the time of color!”

“I see what you mean,” Leo said, “but I still didn’t like it changing that way. It was too much like The Wizard of Oz.”

Paulie wanted to punch Leo in the face. “Well, see—”

“Too bad,” Marcio went on, “that you couldn’t bring it into the virts. Everyone could become Cagney, see, and shoot all the bad guys.”

“That grapefruit scene was disgusting,” Sondra said.

Everyone looked at her.

“Beating up his girlfriend, then bringing in some hooker?” Sondra said. “Nobody should treat a woman like that.”

Paulie wanted to rip her throat out.

“Well, see…” Raimundo said, uncomfortably.

“She deserved it,” said Marcio. “She was just whining all the time, and…”

“Nobody deserves treatment like that!” Sondra said. “Nobody deserves to get hit!”

The men all looked at each other. Nobody deserves to get hit was a concept alien to their world-view.

Raimundo went up to Sondra and patted her shoulders in an ineffectual way as he tried to explain. “No, darling, but see,” he said, “she was asking for it, she was complaining and he just…”

“So if somebody complains, she deserves to get hit?” Sondra’s voice was shrill.

Paulie saw a nasty grin on Marcio’s face as he said, “When she don’t got nothing to complain about, darlin’,” he said. “I mean, it’s not like he was married to her.”

So then Sondra started to yell about how bad it was to hit people and how it shouldn’t make any difference if they were married or not, and so of course Raimundo, in order to demonstrate that he could keep his woman under control in front of his friends, was forced to hit her; and that just made her louder, so Raimundo hit her again, and she ran crying to the bathroom, and a couple of the other girlfriends rolled their eyes and went to join her.

Raimundo stood there in the middle of the room, his face bright red, flexing his hands over and over. Helio put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You had to do that,” Helio said. “It’s time she learned what’s what.”

“Yeah,” Raimundo said, and flexed his hands some more.

Paulie pictured to himself Raimundo explaining to people that he and Sondra decided that she needed two bruised eyes in order to call attention to the subtle purple stripe on her new outfit.

Marcio just smirked and poured himself some more Bollinger.

“Well,” Gloria said, as she handed Pauhe a glass, “the critics have had their say, but I think your movie’s still a hit.”

“Yeah?” Pauhe asked.

“Yeah.”

Pauhe scowled. “I think critics should get killed.”

Gloria patted him on the arm. “Not now, big man. Be gracious on your big night.”

The rest of the party turned out okay. Sondra sat in a corner and sulked, but everyone else was high on the movie, on violence, or on something else.

“So what’s your next project?” Heho asked Pauhe as he was leaving.

“Whatever you want me to do, Heho.”

“No, I mean, your next movie.”

Pauhe had to stop and think for a moment. He hadn’t considered this. “Maybe Godfather Part II,” he said. ‘You know that scene where Corleone goes back to Sicily to get revenge on the guy who killed his family? And he just shts the guy up the middle with a butcher knife? That doesn’t make any sense—I mean, hasn’t anyone in this movie ever heard about ribs?”

“Why fool around with somebody else’s movie,” Heho said, “when you can make your own?”

Pauhe looked at him in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Why not? And hey, listen, I know some people on the distribution end. You make the right product, you could get it put into actual theaters, you know, where you can make real money.”

“You think I can do that?”

Helio clapped him on the shoulder. “You got the talent. Why not? Just don’t use any didged images that someone can sue you for.” And then he winked at Gloria, and went out the door.

Pauhe looked at Gloria. “You think I should do this?”

“I can’t think why you shouldn’t.”

She helped him clean up the trash. When they were done, she turned to Pauhe and said, “Do you mind if I stay here tonight? It’s a long drive home, and I don’t have any dates tomorrow till afternoon.”

“Only if you go off the clock,” Pauhe said.

“You bet,” she said, and began to take off her clothes. Pauhe saw that she was giving him the look she gave when she was working, and for a moment he was confused.

“Is this one, hke, for free?” he asked.

“I only do this for poets,” Gloria said.

After Paulie came floating back to consciousness, he found Gloria in the bathroom. She wore a little kimono she’d taken from her big shoulder bag. She’d taken off the blonde wig, and was brushing her hair.

“Paulie,” she said, “do you mind if I sleep in the spare room tonight?”

Paulie looked at her in surprise. “I got bad breath or something?” he asked.

“No, it’s just that I like to sleep alone. Sex with guys is okay, but when it comes to sleep, I’d rather be by myself. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Whatever,” Paulie said. He felt kind of disappointed.

“But I’ll sleep with you if you want,” Gloria said. “I don’t want to break any of these rules you got.”

“Rules?” Paulie asked. “Like what, rules?”

“Like Everybody can be replaced.”

“Okay.” Paulie conceded that one.

“Like if another outfit pushes, you push back. Like dead people should look like dead people, and you have to remember that people got ribs, and that gangsters are in the hurting business.”

“Those aren’t rules,” Paulie insisted. “They’re the way things are.”

“Whatever. But if the way things are is that girlfriends have to sleep with guys even when they’re not having sex, then I’ll do it.”

“I don’t think there’s anything hard and fast about that,” Paulie said.

But he was still disappointed when she went into the spare room.

Later, Paulie was glad that Gloria wasn’t next to him in bed, because he had a hard time falling asleep. He lay awake for hours and thought about his next project. He realized that all his thinking was on the wrong scale. Instead of just fixing pieces of other people’s movies, he could make his own from scratch. He could use practically any actor—well, practically any dead actor—and tell any story.

The sense of freedom was breathtaking.

He decided to make a movie about how things were.

When Gloria woke, Paulie was already at the DEC. She made some coffee and went into the study to hand him a cup.

“Working on the new thing already?” she asked.

“I’m just sorta throwing ideas together.”

She sat on the seat next to him. “What do you have so far?”

“A story about a guy who has to start over. He gets into trouble with this one outfit, see, and then he has to move to a new area and work with a new outfit. And he has to prove himself to this second outfit before they’ll accept him.”

“How does he prove himself?” Gloria asked.

“Oh.” Paulie shrugged. “He solves their problems for them.”

Gloria left around midmorning to get ready for a date, and Paulie worked on till noon, when he remembered he had an appointment to meet Marcio and burn down someone’s donut shop. As they were splashing the cooking grease around prior to lighting it off, Marcio told him again how much he liked How Gangsters Got Invented, and Pauhe said he was already working on something new. Marcio laughed and asked for two tickets to the premiere.

Afterward, reeking of cinders, they had a few drinks in one of Helio’s bars, then Paulie returned to the mediatron. Burning down the donut shop had given him some ideas.

Someone’s problem, he thought, could get solved in a donut shop. He liked the combination food/hot grease/fire. He liked the contrast of the mundane setting, rotating stools and Formica countertops, with the potential for unique and extraordinary violence.

It was much more original than having someone get killed in an Italian restaurant. Half the gangster movies ever made featured somebody face-down in the marinara. He’d even used it himself in How Gangsters Got Invented.

No one who saw his new movie, he thought with satisfaction, was going to forget the donut shop scene.

Weekends were Gloria’s busy time, so Paulie didn’t see her till Monday. By then Pauhe had roughed out the movie, even dictated little bits of dialogue. Gloria came in and looked over Paulies shoulder at the mediatron.

“How’s it going, sugar?”

“Fine.”

“Anything I can see yet?”

“No. Just httle bits and pieces. I’m trying to get the story first.”

Gloria looked at Paulie’s share from the donut shop arson, bills with rubber bands around them just tossed up on the mediatron console until Pauhe decided what to do with them.

“Know what you’re going to do with your profits yet?” she said.

“Haven’t thought about it,” Pauhe said.

Gloria shd onto Pauhe’s lap, and put an arm around his neck. “Here’s what I’d do,” Gloria said. “I’d release How Gangsters Got Invented on one of the pirate copyright boards on the net, out in Sinjiang or the Dutch Antilles or someplace, and then I’d launder my profits back through there.”

“Huh,” Pauhe said. The idea seemed perfectly plausible.

“The thing is,” Gloria said, “your line of work is profitable but highly speculative, so your investments should be conservative. A nice Fidelity mutual fund or something. You see what I’m saying?”

Paulie nodded. “Yeah, I see.”

Gloria smiled. She kissed his cheek. “Would you like to go to bed? We can talk about investments later.”

“Sure,” Paulie said. He saved his work, then walked to the bedroom with his arm around Gloria.

“One thing before we start,” he said. “Are you my girlfriend?”

She looked at him. “I am if you want me to be.”

“Okay,” Paulie said. ‘You’re my girlfriend, then.”

She leaned close so that their foreheads touched, fiddled restlessly with the lapels of his shirt. “You don’t mind that I’m a hooker?”

“Not if you don’t mind what I do.”

“You don’t want me to quit?”

Paulie thought about it.

“See,” Gloria said into the silence, “I don’t want to break any of those rules you got.”

Paulie couldn’t think of a rule that applied in this situation. “Do what you want,” he said. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“Well,” Gloria said, “it doesn’t exactly make me happy, I mean it’s work, but I’d like to build my portfolio some more before I retire.”

“Fine,” Paulie said.

She nestled up against him. “I’m glad we got that settled.”

As he kissed her, Paulie couldn’t help but think this was just like a scene out of a movie.

He couldn’t work on the new project all the time. He had to do his work for Helio, and every so often fly out of town on an outside contract, and now, thanks to Gloria, he had investments to keep track of.

He spent money on Gloria, because that’s what you were supposed to do with girlfriends. He took her to boutiques and bought her a lot of clothing and jewelry that she could wear in front of Helio and his crew. Sometimes he even spent his own money instead of using hot Kash Kards. They went on trips together, like to Grand Cayman, where they both had money they were keeping away from the IRS. Paulie stole Gloria a Porsche convertible, and had its color changed from silver to red in a chopshop that Helio had an interest in, then gave it to her with a big blue bow around it.

He put How Gangsters Got Invented on several boards for downloads, and it even got some good reviews in online publications like Pirate Media, which meant that people paid to download it and he got some of the money to buy some more mutual funds.

But he spent almost all his free time at the DEC. Images continually floated through his mind, a continuous blur of faces, angles, movement. Sometimes a new approach, or a new image, would flashthrough his thoughts in his sleep, or while he was talking to Helio or Gloria, and then he couldn’t wait to get back to the mediatron and see it blossom before his eyes in its full digital majesty.

Once, in Toronto, Paulie almost messed up a job because he kept looking at it as a movie director would, wondering how he would shoot the picture, what angles to use, what lighting. He had to stab the guy twice, because his mind wasn’t on the first thrust. He hadn’t had to stab someone twice in years.

People got ribs, he admonished himself.

It took him eleven months, but finally he had his movie finished. He decided to call it Nick Starts Over, because Nick was the name of the main character and starting over was what he did. He did the titles himself, but he knew he didn’t know enough about music to score the thing, and so did a httle job in New Orleans so that he could afford to pay a specialist to add the music to the movie. He never met the man, who lived in Kinshasa, only communicated with him on the net—he, like Norman, didged movies for a commission.

Finally he called Heho and his crew and invited them over for a Friday Girlfriend Night.

“So we thought about alligator and rattlesnake,” Raimundo said, “but we thought the Gila monster pattern, with all the red and black beading, would go best with Sondra’s new Vasquez catsuit.”

“Nice boots,” said Pauhe.

“You like the red earrings?” Raimundo said. “They’re designed by Croissant. They match the red of the boots exactly.”

“Nice,” said Pauhe. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Got any of that coke you had last time?” Sondra said.

“You bet. Silver bowl. Bathroom.”

Sondra rocketed off toward the toot, with Raimundo trailing behind.

After they were out of earshot, Gloria murmured in Paulie’s ear, “Don’t you think Raimundo’s a httle old to be playing with Barbies?”

Paulie had to turn his head away to keep Raimundo from seeing him laugh.

The mediatron and its multiple screens had been wheeled out into the parlor, where Pauhe had also set up comfortable chairs and a buffet. After thanking everyone for coming, Paulie told the mediatron to play Nick Starts Over.

The movie started off fast, with the donut shop scene close to the beginning. The scene was played to loud shouts of approval from Heho and his crew, though a couple of the girlfriends turned their heads away at the sight of death by hot grease. There followed the scene where Young Mike tried to assassinate Nick, and Nick turned the tables on the killers and made his escape from Philadelphia to the City of Angels, a scene that was greeted with cheers.

“Great stuff, Pauhe!” said Leo.

“You got a winner here!” Marcio said.

“Your dead people sure look dead,” Sondra complained.

As the movie went on, Paulie began to sense a loss of enthusiasm on the part of his audience. He saw Helio leaning forward, looking thoughtfully at the screen while fingering his chin. Occasionally he would exchange a glance with his brother Raimundo. Leo and Marcio continued to respond enthusiastically, but they sensed the more somber mood of the older men and their response grew more muted as the film approached its conclusion.

Paulie felt anxiety gnaw at him. The big climax was building, the scene where Nick fixed everyone’s problems, and nobody seemed to be enjoying it.

“This is the best part,” he said hopefully, but no one responded.

Nick shot, stabbed, and blasted his way to stardom, but to a baffling lack of reaction from his audience. Feeling a knot in his belly, Paulie turned on the lights. The somber faces of the other men looked at him from their seats.

“Paulie?” Helio said. “Can we talk to you in the other room for a minute?”

“Sure,” Paulie said. He looked at Gloria. “Can you entertain the ladies till I get back?”

He took Helio and the others into the office. There was a big hole in the room arrangement where the mediatron had been. “What’s the problem?” he said. “You didn’t like the movie?”

“It was a good movie.” Helio gave a slow, sage nod. “It was a really good movie.”

“You got the talent, all right,” Raimundo said.

“Maybe too much talent,” Helio said. “Because, Paulie, you got to change this movie.”

“Change the movie?” Paulie looked from one grave face to the next. “What do you mean, change the movie?”

“It’ll bring heat on us,” Helio said. “Everything you had in there, it all happened.”

“No, it didn’t,” Paulie protested. “I made it all up.”

“It’s you,” Helio said. “Nick is you.”

“No, he’s not!” Paulie insisted. “I got the face out of freeware!”

Helio spoke patiently. “Changing Big Joe’s name to Big Mike, changing Little Joe to Young Mike, moving things from Providence to Philadelphia, that doesn’t alter the fact that it’s about the Big Joe situation.”

Marcio spoke up, a big grin on his face. “Did you really kill Big Joe in a donut shop, Paulie?”

“No!” Paulie shouted. “Big Joe died in back of his garage! I made the whole donut scene up!”

“You see the problem,” Helio said. “Anyone who knows anything about us, he’s going to know right away who all the characters are, and what really happened to some people. Maybe, hke Marcio, he’ll think Big Joe died in a donut shop instead of a garage, but he’ll still know that Big Joe died, and now if he sees the movie he’ll know who did it. And that’s going to bring us too much attention.”

“It’s a movie! Who’s gonna know?”

“The cops, the feds,” Heho said, “they don’t go to movies?”

“And the Vitaho situation,” Raimundo added, “it’s all there, it’s in the movie.”

“It’s not!” Pauhe said. “The guys Nick works for, I made them Latins.”

“We’re Brazilians,” Heho said. “Brazilians are Latin.”

Pauhe was taken aback. “You are?” he said.

“Sure. What did you think?”

“You’re not Spanish Latin,” Pauhe said.

“It’s still too close,” said Heho.

“But it’s not! The cause of your problem with Vitalio, that had to do with the bet on that horse race that he fucked with. But with the guy in the movie, I made it a situation in a card game in Vegas.”

He was particularly proud of the digitized Caesar’s Palace that he’d found on the net.

Raimundo was red in the face. “What does that matter? Nobody cares how the Vitalio thing got started! But you got everything else! You’ve got every situation, every problem, every solution!”

Helio put a soothing hand on Paulie’s arm. “We’re only asking you to change a few things, Pauhe.”

“A few things! Like what?”

“Well,” Helio said, “hke the plot.”

Paulie was outraged. “The plot?”

“Those action scenes,” Heho said reasonably, “they’re the heart of your movie. You don’t have to change a thing there. All you got to do is change who the characters are and what they do.”

“I spent a year on this thing!” Paulie said. “A year! I’m not gonna change it for some dumbshit reason like this!”

Heho’s lips were pressed into a thin line. “It’s not dumbshit. Prison is not dumbshit.”

“This is my movie!” Paulie shouted. “I sweated over every frame of it!” He pointed at Helio. “You are not going to fuck with it! You are not going to take my movie away from me!”

They glared at each other for a long, furious moment, and then Helio shrugged. “Just think about it, Paulie,” he said.

“I don’t gotta think about nothing!” Paulie said.

Helio patted Paulie’s arm again. “Just think about it for the weekend, Paulie. We’ll talk about it next week, when we’ve had a chance to calm down.”

“Yeah,” Raimundo said. “Let’s join the ladies.”

They began to shuffle toward the door. “Good movie, Paulie,” said Leo as they left the office. “Real good movie.”

“What was that all about?” Gloria asked, when she had a chance to get Paulie alone. “Jesus, you were screaming at each other.”

“Fucking critics,” Paulie said.

“What’s their problem?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

The party was sort of okay. Helio and his crew seemed relaxed, and they had some fun. After the Brazilians had gone, while Gloria took off her blonde wig and brushed out her hair, Paulie told Gloria what the argument was about. She looked at him in the bathroom mirror and frowned.

“This is a real problem, isn’t it?” she said.

Paulie shook his head. “It’ll blow over.”

“No. Seriously. You broke a rule.”

“Gloria,” Paulie said, “it’s a movie. It has nothing to do with anything.”

“You should get this straightened out with Helio. I want you to call him tomorrow.”

“I dunno,” Paulie said. “It’s really not important.”

Gloria put her brush down. “Paulie,” she said. “Listen to me. I want you to call Helio and tell him you’ll fix it.”

“Yeah,” he finally conceded. “Okay. I’ll do it if you insist.”

So next day he called Helio, and he said he was willing to make a few changes. Not the story, not anything crucial to the movie or anything, but he was willing to change how the characters looked, or whether they were Latin or not, or their names. He was willing to go that far.

Helio listened and seemed to agree.

As Helio hung up the phone, Raimundo said, “We got a problem here, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Helio said.

“A tough problem.”

Helio sighed. “Tough,” he said, “yeah.”

“Who’s going to solve it for us?” Raimundo asked.

Helio wrinkled up his face. “I don’t know,” he said. “I gotta think.” When he got home he called Little Joe in Providence, and then contacted the guy in Boston that Little Joe recommended.

Nice fuchsia, Al thought as he looked at Paulie’s former home. He had dropped the body in a place on Saddle Peak that Helio had told him about, and now he returned to the scene to deal with the mediatron. Because he didn’t know much about electronics, and wasn’t sure he could erase its contents properly, he’d brought a crowbar with him just to make sure.

He unplugged the mediatron, unscrewed the console panels, and smashed everything inside. Then he rolled the wrecked machine out into the driveway so that he could push it up into the truck he’d rented for the purpose of carrying it to a scrapyard Helio had told him about, where it would be crushed into a small metal-and-plastic cube.

He lowered the truck’s ramp to the pavement, and maneuvered the mediatron toward it. It was at that moment that a Porsche purred up into the driveway and a woman got out. Al walked toward her.

Al was supposed to clip Paulie’s girlfriend, too, but all he knew about her was that her name was Gloria and she was a blonde. Nobody in Heho’s crew knew Gloria’s last name, or where she worked, or where she lived, and Al hadn’t been able to find her phone number written down anywhere. So Helio had just told him to hang around until Gloria showed up, and then do the second half of his job.

The woman in the Porsche was a redhead. That made Al hesitate. She was also dressed hke a businesswoman, in a suit, and not like a person that someone hke Pauhe was likely to have for a girlfriend.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

The woman seemed puzzled. “Is Pauhe in?” she asked.

“He’s gone out for a little while,” Al said. “Are you Gloria?”

The woman was looking at the smashed mediatron. She looked rapidly at Al, then back at the mediatron again.

“No,” she said. “I’m not. My name is, ah, Miss Gross.” She licked her lips. “Pauhe said he wanted to talk about, ah, insurance. For his electronics.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Al said.

“Well.” The woman turned and walked quickly back to her car. “Tell him I came by, okay?”

“I’ll do that,” Al said.

The woman drove away fast as if she had another appointment.

Al pushed the mediatron up into the truck, then strolled back into the house. It was nice, he thought, full of light. And he liked the smell of honeysuckle wafting into the house from the deck out back.

Wonder who owns it? he thought. Since he was waiting for Gloria anyway, maybe he should start making himself at home.

Other than the insurance lady, nobody ever came by looking for Paulie.

That’s how popular Paulie was.