Horror Show Read Free Page B

the “RECORD” button on his cassette machine.
    â€œWell, you gotta understand, making movies was different in those days.”
    A flutter of wings and a high-pitched shriek interrupted Woodley and drove Clint from his chair in a burst of panic.
    Something sailed over his head.
    Woodley laughed, his throaty guffaw thick and mean.
    â€œIf you’re a red-blooded horror fan, you won’t mind my bats. There’s only a couple of them left, and they aren’t rabid.”
    Clint noticed his hand shaking. He sat back down, his eyes scanning the rafters overhead.
    â€œScared the shit out of you, didn’t it?” Woodley said.
    â€œYes, sir, it did.”
    â€œGood. Scaring people has been my main gig for over fifty years … and I still get a kick out of it.”
    â€œYou were saying that making movies was different in those days,” Clint prompted.
    â€œRight. Well, all I can tell you is that we had to improvise all the time. We had to think on our feet. I’d like to see Spielberg or Lucas try to pull off some of the stuff we did. Forget it! Anybody can make a movie for fifty million dollars. Hell, it’s as simple as making a few phone calls. In those days, we were forced to really get creative. We put our balls on the line every time. These guys today don’t have a clue.”
    Clint nodded. Good start, now let’s get the old fart to open up .
    â€œWhat was your favorite film to work on?”
    Woodley took a sip of the whiskey. It had been fermenting in the glass, looking like a curious mixture of motor oil and urine. Clint noticed a slick on top. The old man’s frown straightened slightly, then cracked. What passed for a smile on Landis Woodley’s face appeared as joyless as a dog baring its teeth.
    â€œFavorite film? Let’s see … probably Blood Ghouls of Malibu . We got to work on the beach all day on that one, plus the late Jonathon Luboff was such a joy to work with. He was the consummate pro, always knew what to do. We never had to waste any time with him. Not like that idiot Tad Kingston.”
    â€œKingston gave you problems?”
    Landis snorted unhealthily. “He was a royal pain in the ass. Of course, the kids loved him, so we had to use him. He did most of his acting with his hair.”
    Clint laughed. The old man had made a joke. It was the last thing he’d expected.
    â€œDid Buzzy Haller have anything to do with that hair?”
    â€œNo. That’s about the only thing he didn’t have a hand in. The man was a real genius. He worked on every one of my productions, and believe me, if he couldn’t do it, it couldn’t be done. We were pretty close … used to play poker every week. He lived over at the Roosevelt Arms, a basement apartment. The Roosevelt’s a shit-hole, you know.”
    Clint nodded. Buzzy Haller became a true legend around Hollywood and his special effects work ranked right up there with the best of them in the early days. It was Buzzy’s misfortune to fall in with the B-movie people, and he never had a decent budget to work with.
    Also, Haller had a drinking problem. Judging from the look of Landis Woodley, it must have been the one true bond that held their friendship together. It seemed the height of irony that, in this town of successful drunks and dreamers, alcohol and imagination kept Buzzy Haller from working—until he killed himself.
    Clint decided not to broach the subject of Buzzy’s suicide.
    â€œTell me about Luboff.”
    â€œJonathon was a master. He knew what to do when the cameras were rolling, I’ll tell you that. Unfortunately, the man had a major drug problem. He was addicted to heroin for twenty years. It was starting to affect his work toward the end.” Landis paused to relight his cigar.
    â€œYou helped Luboff, didn’t you?”
    â€œYeah, I dragged him to the hospital a couple of times so he could kick. The guy was a real mess.