The House Read Online Free PDF

he shot the movie—the rough cut—in three days. You see, luck continued to pour forth from the sky like rain in Seattle. Not only had he gotten his loan as quickly as if he'd summoned a genie from a lamp, some sympathetic tenants at the Works attended the City College's drama classes, and they eagerly had helped him out—for title credits, no money—and—more, more luck!—it just so happened that the City College Drama Department was in the middle of an adaptation of Macbeth. When the Tawes Building closed for the night, Leonard snuck in with his pals and, utilizing the impressively crafted "witches' scene" set, along with a terrific dry-ice fog generator, he was able to put the whole thing in the can in three nights. The costume department provided the Confessor's black raiments, while the Confessor himself was played by one of Leonard's new-found neighbors. As for the role of the truth-seeking writer...Leonard played the part himself while yet another buddy ran the camera. This seemed to add even more verity to the heart of the creation.
    Three days and— boom! —it was done. In a manic spurt, he then edited the movie and processed the sound in another 48 hours. The postmark deadline for the Sundance Festival was just another day away, yet Leonard managed to mail the final cut of The Confessor in just a nick of time. Ten months from now he'd be rich, and he had a year to pay back the loan, and better yet, the total production costs—thanks to the "borrowing" of the set from the college—came in at a scant $700. This enabled him to maintain rent at his cheap room at the Works and not worry about a job. Instead, he began his followup script so he'd have the next one ready for Hollywood when The Confessor  won Sundance and then went on to Cannes.
    It was a wonderful  dream.
    Then came a knock on the door. Just a few days later.
    "Hi, Rocco!" Leonard greeted his friend. "I shot the movie already! It's going to be better than The Tenant! "
    "Great, kid," Rocco cordially remarked. But behind him stood a man who had to be bigger than Bill Brundige. Bill Brundige was a defensive end for the Redskins, and he was, like, six-foot-five, 270, which meant that the guy behind Rocco was even bigger, and that was big.  Big jaw, big nose, big arms, big everything. And the same shifty, beady kind of eyes that Rocco had.
    "Kid, this is Knuckles. I bring him along as muscle on pickups. Knuckles, meet Leonard."
    When Leonard shook hands with this suited giant, something in his stomach seemed to drop. Why are they here?  
    "Glad to hear about your movie, kid," Rocco commented, "but we gotta a bunch more pickups today. So let's have the dough."
    "The. Dough." Another drop—PLOP!—in Leonard's belly.
    "You got the dough, right kid? Please tell me you got my eight large."
    "I. Uh. Eight large."
    "Yeah. Let's have it."
    He was joking, of course! Right?
    These guy's didn't look like they were joking. "Wellawellawella," Leonard attempted.
    "I gave ya four on a hundred points. Ya owe me eight. Like we agreed."
    "Wellawella-uh-uh...that was an interest rate based on a year, right?" Leonard said. "You know, like the banks?"
    Rocco and Knuckles busted out laughter.
    "Do I look like Suburban Trust? Kid, don't fuck with me. It's a week . Everyone knows that. Points tabulated on a weekly  basis."
    Only now did the mammoth Knuckles speak. "He ain't got it, Roc."
    Rocco's leer spiked Leonard in the face. "Well, do ya, kid?"
    "Nuh-nuh-nuh, no," Leonard blabbered.
    Silence, then.
    "This is why we call my pal here Knuckles. Knuckles, show him."
    WHAP!
    Suddenly, Knuckle's ham-hock-sized hand was queerly covered by a black glove that had protruding knuckles. These were knuckle saps, or sand mitts, not that Leonard particularly cared what the implements were referred to as. He went down like the clichéd ton of bricks once the knuckle saps were introduced to the side of his head. Half-conscious, half-paralyzed, much like when J—, er, The Boss at