"Karl Edward Wagner - Deep in the depths of the Acme Warehouse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wagner Karl Edward)

“What’s that?” Mina wondered if she were the only one here without
mirror shades.
“Blacklight sometimes helps me with negotiations. And I sense that you
are not happy.”
“Personal matters.”
“The elusive Miss Lucy Minx?”
“Is she under contract, as well?”
“Eventually, everyone is.”
“I want her.”
Kane considered his drink An admirable choice if dicey Anything may be
obtained.”
The drink was making her giddy. Mina asked, “What’s the price? My soul?”
Kane seemed offended. “Worth nothing to me, Mina. All I want is your next
album. The one that’s so overdue. I think, once released, platinum in three
weeks. I’ll personally produce it for you.”
“So. What have you ever done?”
“Far more than you’ll ever live to guess.”
“You’re most reassuring.”
“You can’t do the album without Lucy. I’ll give you Lucy. You give me
the album. I’ll even write some of your material. But we’ll discuss this in
good time.”
Blacklight had reappeared. Only the three of them seemed to be at
poolside. He handed Kane a glass phial with a silver spoon attached. Kane with
surprising delicacy snorted a spoonful of white powder paused and remarked:
“Nearly there, I think.” He then handed the phial to Mina. “Yours to keep.”
Mina tasted a few spoonfuls. If it was coke, it was better than any
she’d ever had. Perks of being a rising star. She had another couple. Kane was
watching her with more than casual interest. Mina tried to say something, then
felt Kane inside her mind.
“Most interesting,” Kane said. “Did you know she has a thing about
Elvis?”
“Obviously.”
“She’s a wicked twist.”
“Obviously.”
“You’ll need a proper dildo.”
“Are you through?”
“Do you remember the Plaster Casters?” Kane suddenly produced a yellowed
issue of Rolling Stone.
“They were a joke.” Mina glanced at the tabloid paper. “Jimi nearly lost
his cock when they worked on him.”
“Not the only joke about,” Kane said. “There were more than a dozen like
them. Groupies, whatever. They made plaster casts of their favorite rock
stars’ cocks. Messy job, if you haven’t tried it. Not so much the erection—the
plaster is an exothermic reaction. Bad job getting it loose from the pubic
hair. The fad didn’t last all that long.”
“I’m sure I can’t relate to this.” Mina’s head was increasingly clouded.
She tried a few more spoons to clear it.
“Well,” said Kane, finishing his drink. “The deal is simply this. I have
available a latex replica made from a plaster cast of Elvis Presley’s cock,
captured by a couple of really serious fans in 1969.1 offer this to you. You