Goldberg, Lee Matthew - The Mentor by Goldberg Lee Matthew

Author:Goldberg, Lee Matthew [Goldberg, Lee Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

19

AFTER THE EDITORIAL meeting later that day, Kyle walked out confused. He’d expected Brett to try to sell Carter on Devil’s Hopyard, but Brett had responded that he was no longer interested. Carter asked why and Brett was very vague in his answer. The next bit of business dealt with Carter taking on Tucker Noley, which left Shane Matthews’s Dead Can’t Hunt You Down available for another editor. Kyle was even more surprised when Brett suggested his name. Carter agreed to think about it while Kyle was on “vacation”—his boss actually made air quotes—and he would come to a decision when Kyle returned.

Outside the meeting, Brett cornered Kyle. “We need to talk.”

“So talk.”

Still in shock from what transpired at the meeting, Kyle was unsure how much to trust Brett.

“Not here,” Brett said. “Let’s go to Jimmy Malones. A double of whatever you want on me.”

As they got to Brett’s office, he popped inside and came out with a manuscript box that looked heavy in his hands.

“What’s that?”

“Devil’s Hopyard almost in its entirety,” Brett said, a twitch in his eye. “Pretty much a thousand pages of madness.”

Now Kyle knew why Brett was acting so strange. William had finally revealed his psychotic tendencies to someone else.

* * *

JIMMY MALONES WAS a mainstay of old New York. The place had been around since the 1800s and had a dumbwaiter and the best Buffalo wings outside of Buffalo, tongue-tingling hot and greasy as fuck. They also weren’t stingy with alcohol. Brett was two drinks in and already three sheets gone.

“So after the hullabaloo last night, I offer to take William back to where he’s staying,” Brett said. “The guy’s bleeding, since you might have broken his nose.”

The bartender came over, an old guy in suspenders.

“Give me four Kick in the Balls,” Brett said. “Cuervo Gold, Jack Daniel’s, and Yukon Jack. Actually, just keep them coming.”

The bartender poured the concoctions. Brett downed a shot without even toasting.

“So he’s subletting this place on the Upper West Side. We go back there and he disappears into the bathroom. For like a half an hour. Dude has an unfurnished place, just a couch and an old TV that has fucking bunny ears. Anyway, he comes out and this gash on his forehead has opened up, like blood everywhere.”

“I didn’t do that to him,” Kyle said, jumping in. “I punched him in the nose, man, that’s it. Well, maybe the back of his head hit the floor—”

“So the door to the bathroom is open and the mirror is covered in blood, like it’s dripping onto the sink. William sits down on the couch like nothing happened, like that was totally normal.”

“What did you do?”

“I got him some paper towels. We mopped it up because it was all over his shirt. It was even on my hands. So I go to wash it in the kitchen sink, and when I come back in the living room he’s holding onto Devil’s Hopyard.”

Brett hoisted the manuscript up on the bar.

“He tells me it’s so close to being finished.

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