Dexter's Final Cut Read Free Page A

um, BTN. Big Ticket Network.” The man nodded back at Matthews with a very deliberate display of patient contempt. “And, um. They’re here, in town. In Miami,” he added, in case we’d forgotten what town we lived in. “They want to shoot a movie. A, um, TV show, you know.”
    The man in the sunglasses spoke up for the first time. “A pilot,” he said, without moving his face, parting his lips only enough to reveal a blinding set of perfect teeth. “It’s called a pilot.”
    The beautiful woman rolled her eyes and looked at me, shaking her head, and I found myself smiling eagerly back at her, without any conscious decision to do so.
    “Right,” said Matthews. “A pilot. Okay. So here’s the thing.” Heslapped the table softly with both hands and looked back at Deborah. “Mr. Eissen has asked us for our cooperation. Which we are very happy to give them. Very happy,” he said, nodding at Eissen. “Good for the department. Positive image, and, uh, ahem.” He frowned again, drummed his fingers on the table, and stared at Deborah. “So that’s what you do, Morgan.” He frowned again and shook his head. “And, uh, Morgan. Both of you.”
    Perhaps it was merely because I hadn’t finished my cup of awful coffee, but I had no idea what Matthews was talking about. And so, since Dexter has always been a quick study, I cleared my throat, too. It worked; Matthews looked at me with an expression of surprise. “I’m sorry, Captain,” I said. “But exactly
what
am I supposed to do?”
    Matthews blinked at me. “Whatever it takes,” he said. “Whatever they ask you to do.”
    Mr. Mustache spoke up, again without moving any facial muscles. “I neeeed,” he said, drawing out the word pointlessly, “to learn Who. You. Are.”
    That made even less sense than what Matthews had said, and I could think of no reply more penetrating than, “Oh, uh-huh …” It must have sounded just as feeble to him as it did to me, because he moved at last, turning his entire head in my direction and flipping up the sunglasses with one manicured finger.
    “I need to watch you, learn to do what you do, figure out how to
be
you,” he said. And he flashed his perfect white teeth at me. “Shouldn’t take more than a few days.”
    The beautiful woman next to him snorted and murmured something that sounded like, “Asshole …” The man’s face gave a very slight twitch of irritation, but otherwise he ignored her.
    “But why?” I said. And because I like to give as good as I get, I added, “Don’t you like who you are?”
    The Goddess snickered; the man merely frowned. “It’s for the part,” he said, sounding slightly taken aback. “I need to research my character.”
    I think I still looked a bit confused, because the beautiful woman gave me a dazzling smile that curled up my toes and made me happy to be alive. “I don’t think he knows who you are, Bob,” she said.
    “Robert,” he grumbled. “Not Bob.”
    “Some people actually haven’t heard of you, you know,” she said, a little too sweetly.
    “He probably doesn’t know who you are, either,” Robert snarled back at her. “Unless he reads the tabloids.”
    Mr. Eissen, the man in the wonderful suit, tapped one fingertip on the table. He did it very quietly, but everyone got silent and sat up a little straighter. Eissen gave me a microscopic smile. “Robert,” he said, emphasizing the name slightly, and then adding, “Robert Chase.” He gave a slight, dismissive shake of his head. “Robert is a well-known actor, Mr. Morgan.”
    “Oh, right,” I said, giving Robert a friendly nod of the head. He flipped his sunglasses back down.
    “Most actors like to get a sense of the … 
reality
 … behind the part they’re going to play,” Eissen said, and somehow he made it sound like he was talking about small children going through an unpleasant phase, and he gave me another condescending smile to go with it. “Jacqueline Forrest,” he went on, with