Foul Matter Read Online Free PDF

I intend to. But Isaly and Kidd, that’s not all we’d lose. Tom Kidd has the four best writers in this house. You know what would happen; they’d all follow Tom. Tom would get his own imprint, deservedly so, no matter where he went, and in that imprint would be included four of the perhaps dozen honest-to-God writers we or anyone else has.”
    Clive sighed. He hadn’t thought that far. Of course, Bobby was right. He usually was. Clive took another sip of the velvet bourbon and remembered he had a lunch date. He looked at his watch; he could still make it, but what on earth was the reason for it now? “To say nothing of there not being anything in that contract which would let us slide out smoothly.”
    Bobby was staring at some point over Clive’s shoulder, deep in thought. He shook himself and said, “Oh, that’s the least of it.”
    Least of it?
    “Isn’t the date for the delivery of his new book nearly up? He’s got another couple weeks, from what I remember.”
    How in hell did Bobby remember all of these details? “I think you’re right, yes. But, good God, we’ve never invoked that clause in the case of a writer as important as Ned.”
    “No, but we could. Or demand to see part of it and reject it. Though that wouldn’t go down well either with Tom. There are a lot of ways I can get out of a contract, but none of them private and none of them without repercussions.”
    Clive thought for a moment. “And we haven’t even mentioned the acrimony it would stir up in the publishing community.”
    “ ‘Acrimony’? I don’t think so. More like laughter. More like Mackenzie’s loss of face, a lot worse. We’re famous for publishing good books, literary books, not Giverney-style books. In the wake of getting him, we lose not one but four”—Bobby held up four fingers as if Clive couldn’t count—“writers. To say nothing of the best editor we or anybody else has.” Bobby shook his head and held out the palms of his hands as if to forestall an unbelievably evil image. “No, no.”
    “Then I’ll tell him it’s no dice. After all, we just signed Dwight Staines.”
    “Don’t remind me.” Bobby slugged back his drink.
    Bobby hated that science fiction-horror writing genre, except for Stephen King. Oddly enough, though, Bobby wasn’t a book snob; he’d read anything. And Dwight Staines, phenomenally popular, would have sales high enough to offset any triviality such as artistry.
    Clive was considerably disappointed in throwing the Giverney contract to the winds. He wanted to be the editor who signed him up. What was he going to tell his luncheon companions now? “I’ll tell Paul it’s a nonstarter, then.”
    “A nonstarter? Did I say that?” Bobby unscrewed the bottle again.
    “I certainly infer that’s what you’re saying; signing Paul Giverney wouldn’t be worth losing Kidd, Isaly, Eric Gruber—” He stopped.
    Bobby sat there, eyes closed, shaking his head. “No, Clive, what I said was breaking the contract wouldn’t do it.”
    “I must be dense.”
    Bobby leaned way back in his ergonomically designed chair. “Think about it, Clive.”
    Clive frowned. He felt the onset of a migraine. “I don’t—”
    Bobby sighed. “You remember that Bransoni snitch? We did his book—probably got his dog to write it—a couple years ago.”
    “Sure. Danny Zito. Actually, he did write it himself.”
    Bobby tossed back the rest of his bourbon. “Believe that, you’ll believe anything.”
    Clive smiled. “No, I’m telling you. Fallguy. It sold much better than we thought it would. Why?”
    “Well, you could look him up.”
    “ ‘Look him up?’ ” Clive gave a laugh that turned into a choke. “Zito’s been in the witness protection program ever since the trial. You know the way they do that. Change of name, change of home, change of everything; buried so deep he couldn’t find his own ass.” So what in hell was Bobby doing, bringing up Danny Zito?
    “Come on, all you have to do is