Pimp Read Online Free PDF Page B

angry than flirty. “
Spaced Out
isn’t getting made, it’s not set up at Fox, and certainly not with Tom Fookin’ Selleck.”
    The lilt wasn’t so sexy anymore.
    “What makes you so sure?” Larry asked.
    “It’s called Google,” Brandi said. “If it was really a hot project there would be something about it online.”
    Fucking Internet. It was impossible to keep a good lie going these days.
    “Not necessarily,” Larry said.
    “You don’t have to bullshit me anymore,” Brandi said.
    Coming clean, he said, “Okay, smarty pants, so if you know
Spaced Out
is dead, why’d you agree to work for me?”
    “Maybe it’s because I like you.”
    Larry wanted to believe this lie.
    “You’re full of shit,” he said.
    “Maybe,” she said, “but not any more than you.”
    He had to smile. She was moving toward him again, eyes aimed at his lips.
    “What if I told you I could get you the next big thing,” she said. “The TV project you’ve been dying for, that could take you to the next level, put you on the map?”
    “I’m the producer, you’re the blond bimbo. I’m supposed to be promising you this shit, not the other way around.”
    “You want to hear it or not?”
    Oh no, she wasn’t going to pitch him, was she?
    “It’s
Breaking Bad
meets
Pulp Fiction
with an Irish twist.”
    Yes, she was.
    “Sounds like a hit,” he said.
    “Oh, it will be,” she said. “It has it all. Violence, action, humor, sex. Lots and lots of sex.”
    “Okay,” Larry gave in. “What is it?”
    “It’s called
Bust
.”
    “
Bust
?” Larry said, as he felt hers pressing up against his chest. “Wait, I read about that in the trades the other day, didn’t I? It’s the book written by some American girl and a Swedish guy.”
    “That’s the one,” Brandi said.
    “This is your pitch?” Larry laughed. “The hottest project in town? How’re you supposed to get me in on that?”
    “Let’s just say I know how to get things done.” She finally kissed him. Then she reached into his boxers and grabbed L-Rod with a strangler’s grip and smiled, but not happily, and went, “Why, what have we here?”
    * * *
    Larry got home to his place in The Canyon at around five-thirty and was planning to take a hot shower—always a good idea after banging another woman; wives, fuck, they were like bomb-sniffing dogs when it came to pussy—and then, after a couple brews and some fast lines, he’d try to figure out how to use his Kindle, get a copy of this
Bust
book. Wait, what was he thinking? He was a Hollywood producer, he didn’t actually read. He’d find some reviews, or maybe there were Cliffs Notes.
    But when he got in the door he got a slap in the mouth. Managed to see Bev tied to a chair—weirdly his first thought was,
Shit, and she never lets
me
tie her up
, and then a kick in the balls put him on his knees.
    When that pain subsided, he looked up at two guys. No masks.
    Uh-oh.
    One was so thin he was practically see-through, tattoos up his arms like the fucking Sunday comics, wearing a black T with the words: NO SHIT SHERLOCK .
    The second was as wide as his partner was thin, was something Spanish, not Mexican—Larry, like all Angelenos, knew his Mexicans.
    The skinny guy went, “Hey Larry, we’re Mo and Jo. I’m Mo.”
    Mo had some kind of hick accent. Southern, not Texas, maybe Florida. There was something wrong with his speech so it sounded like one of the Waltons with nerve damage.
    “Hey, Jo,” Larry said to the Spanish guy. “If your name was Curly we’d be the Three Stooges.”
    Going for a laugh to lighten to the situation, but getting a dumb deadpan glare instead.
    “Jesus, how old am I?” Larry said. “Doesn’t anybody even remember the Three Fucking Stooges? Come on, didn’t you even see the piece-of-shit remake? I wanted my buck twenty-nine back from Redbox.”
    Mo kicked Larry in the gut and Jo slapped him in the face as Larry went down.
    Keeled over, Larry caught a glimpse of Bev bound to the