CHAPTER TWELVE“Right,” said Jimmy, bounding back into Sam’s living room. “Let’s get this script treatment sorted.”There were coke crumbs around his left nostril. Sam knew he thought the stuff made him more creative, but it also make him a bit of an arsehole. Especially if they were under pressure to finish something. It was already late, and they had to be up early tomorrow to prepare for another day of shooting.“What we really need to work out is how the whole story wraps up. Did find out how that myth ends?”“Not yet, I’ll get around to it later.”“I thought you said you were going to read up on how it ended before we started the script.”“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been a little busy of late.”“It’s just that it might help us come up with a conclusive ending,” said Sam. “Something that will tie up the whole plot.”Jimmy frowned. “Does it have to be totally conclusive?”“Yes, we don’t want to cheat the audience.”“We’re not cheating them if we leave the end

CHAPTER FOURTEENJimmy’s phone buzzed as he turned off Oxford Circus into Berwick Street. It was Sam.“Any sign of her?” said Jimmy, hopefully.“Nope, this is the fourth day she hasn’t shown up. I told you she’s not coming back. We’re pissing away money here, money we don’t have. We need to regroup, come up with a new plan and hold some more auditions. And we need to do it now. No more wild goose chases.”“Just let me chase down this one last lead.”“Listen to you, when did you become Sam Spade?”“Fuck off, I think I’m finally on to something.”“We can’t find her, just admit it. We’ve been through every single headshot on spotlight.com, contacted all the agents we can think of, looked at every actor’s directory there is. There aren’t any other leads. We need to start focusing on the project otherwise it’s gonna go tits up.”“Look I know you’re right, but let me do this one last thing. I got out some old copies of Spotlight from the local reference library this morning, from bef

CHAPTER SIXTEENSam stood up, closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He wondered if the work would be any easier if he were stoned, or did a couple of lines? Probably not, it might even make him worse.Only H, or crippling amounts of alcohol, could make him numb enough him to deal with the footage, and he didn’t like either of those highs;, certainly couldn’t work on them. It wasn’t just the extreme images that were getting to him, it was also his Mac. It kept playing up.As he’d promised Jimmy, Sam was using the dead time to edit the footage, taking out the worst bits and preparing clips to splice into the film. He was working in the studio space. They’d already rented it and he might as well put it to some use. Plus he was reluctant to work on the footage in his home. As stupid as it sounded, he was afraid it might taint his apartment.It had actually taken him a while to build up the courage to go through the footage. Every time he viewed it he was back in the lock up, taped

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN“Course, Hackney’s nothing like it used to be,” said the Big Issue vendor, as Jimmy fished around in his pocket for change. “Ten years ago it still had an edge. You could get all manner of dodgy goods from the market. And the squat parties, that’s what I miss the most, them and the crack dens with the boarded up windows. All these yuppies who’ve moved in, they’ve fucking ruined it.”“A wise man once told me it’s still all there,” said Jimmy. “Underneath the surface of the city”“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”“How should I know, I’ve never driven a mini cab.” Jimmy handed the guy his money and headed off down the street still smiling.The house he was looking for was in a little cul de sac, off the Lower Clapton Road. It was one of those Victorian terraces that were popular round these parts. It hadn’t been renovated, as so many of them had. Melissa’s sister Suzy had told him where to find it.Incense and patchouli wafted out as she answered the door. Suzy wa

CHAPTER TWENTYThe footage ended and the screen went blank. Sam got carefully up from the sofa, so as not to hurt his cock. It was so chafed and raw it hurt to even look at, let alone touch.He couldn’t decide whether to re-watch the footage, or grab a beer and some left over pizza. He hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in over eight hours. He looked around the room at the chipped paint on the floorboards, the mouldering furniture and the curtain-less windows. There wasn’t any pizza left. The discarded box was empty and so were the beer cans scattered at his feet.His stomach rumbled in complaint. He was hungry, but he’d run out of provisions. He could order another pizza but that would mean going downstairs to the pub; the delivery guy wasn’t allowed up to the room. Going downstairs meant he’d have to interact with the people in the bar. It also meant putting pants on, and he wasn’t sure his poor cock could take that.Maybe it was best if he just stayed in his room and watched th