“Glad it entertained you,” said Mr Fudgepacker.
A door slid open and the champagne arrived.
“Just leave it, Doris,” said Mr Nelluss. “I’ll pour the drinks.”
After the door had shut once more, Mr Nelluss poured champagne and passed glasses round. “You didn’t bring the other guy with you,” he said. “Your producer, Russell. Where’s he today, then?”
“Russell is no longer with us,” said Mr Fudgepacker. “I don’t think we’ll see Russell again.”
“Shame. I kind of liked the guy. Although all I saw of him was him wielding the prop pistol. Seemed like a crazy dude.”
“Can we just talk about the movie?” asked Bobby Boy. “And the money?”
“Sure we can. Sure we can. That’s what we’re all here for, after all. Now, I’ve got contracts drawn up and you’re gonna like them, I promise.”
“How much?” asked Bobby Boy.
“For what?”
“For a start off my fee as star of the movie.”
“I thought twenty-five million,” said Mr Nelluss.
The corners of Bobby Boy’s mean little mouth rose halfway up his cheeks. “Sounds about right,” he said.
“But it’s chicken feed in the ultimate scheme of things. Now, before we start any signing, I have to know, did you bring everything? Everything I asked you to bring?”
Mr Fudgepacker nodded shakily. “Everything and I wouldn’t have done so but for your reputation and your standing.”
Mr Nelluss smiled once more. “But of course,” said he. “I know what I’m worth and you know what I’m worth. I am the power behind movies. You had to choose me, you know you did.”
Mr Fudgepacker nodded again.
“So you’ve brought it all with you? The negatives, the rushes, the out-takes, the videos and the Cyberstar equipment? That alone is going to gross us more millions than, well, shit, than I’ve had business lunches, for God’s sake.” Mr Nelluss laughed. But he did so alone.
“Quite so. Quite so. But this is an exciting day for me. If I was to tell you that I have looked forward to this day throughout all the long years of my career I would not be exaggerating. No siree, by golly.”
“Let’s get the contracts signed,” said Mr Fudgepacker. “I want to go down to your laboratories and personally supervise the copying of the negatives. It is absolutely essential that it’s done under my personal supervision.”
“No problem there. We’ll have them coming hot off the press and I do mean hot.”
“Give us another glass of champagne,” said Bobby Boy.
“Help yourself, my good friend. Help yourself.”
Bobby Boy helped himself.
“Some over here,” said Julie. Bobby Boy passed her the bottle.
Mr Nelluss rose from his big red chairman’s chair and took himself over to the boardroom window. “This is one hell of a day,” he said, flexing his shoulders. “One hell of a day.”
“Can we get on with the signing?” asked Mr Fudgepacker.
“Yeah, sure, that’s what we’re here for. But hey, what are those guys down in the car park doing?”
“I don’t give a damn,” said Mr Fudgepacker. “Let’s get this done.”
“No, you really should see this, come over to the window, do.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Sure you are, sure you are. Come over. Bobby Boy, you come over too and Julie, come on, all of you.”
“Oh all right!” Mr Fudgepacker struggled from his chair and limped over to the window. Bobby Boy joined him in the limping. Julie didn’t limp, she sort of “swept”.
“Look at those guys,” said Mr Nelluss. “What do you think they’re up to?”
Many storeys below tiny figures moved in the car park. They were tossing things into a skip.
“Just builders,” said Mr Fudgepacker. “Now let’s not waste any more time.”
“I don’t think they’re builders,” said Mr Nelluss. “Surely those are cans of film they have there.”
Mr Fudgepacker’s eyes bulged behind the pebbled lenses of his spectacles. “Cans of film?” he croaked. “That’s my film, they’re opening up the cans. They’re exposing the negatives.”
“By God,” said Mr Nelluss. “That does look like what they’re doing, doesn’t it?”
“They’re chucking it onto the skip.” Mr Fudgepacker swayed to and fro. “They’re destroying it.”
“Hey, and look at that guy.” Mr Nellus pointed. “Surely that’s the Cyberstar equipment he’s got there. He’s not going to … oh my lord, he’s thrown that on too.”
“No!” Mr Fudgepacker croaked.
“And who are those?” Mr Nellus pointed once more. “Those guys in the protective suits. Are those flamethrowers they’re carrying?”
Mr Fudgepacker chewed upon his fingers. “Bobby Boy, do something. Do something.”
“What can I do?” Bobby Boy had fingers of his own to chew. “Look what they’re doing now.”
“Isn’t that gasoline?” Mr Nelluss asked. “Surely it is. They’re pouring it into the skip.”
Mr Fudgepacker gasped and tottered.
“They’re lighting it up.”
From below came a muffled report, a flash of flame and a mushroom cloud of oily black smoke.
“Dear, oh dear, oh dear,” said Mr Nellus, returning to his chair. “Now is that a blow to business, or what?” He perused the piles of contracts on the table before him and then, with a single sweeping gesture of his arm, he drove the lot into a wastepaper bin, positioned as if for the purpose.
Ernest Fudgepacker sank to his knees. Bobby Boy stood and made fists. Julie’s face wore a bitter expression, tears were welling in her eyes.
“Why?” croaked Mr Fudgepacker. “Why? Who did this? Who?”
“I did it,” said Eric Nelluss, suddenly losing his accent. “It was me.”
“It was you? But why? All the money. Everything. Everything lost. The future lost, oh the future, the future.”
“I did it,” said Eric Nelluss, “because my name is not Eric Nelluss. Can’t you guess who I really am?”
“You’re a mad old man,” shouted Bobby Boy. “And I’ll take your head off.”
Bobby Boy lunged across the table, but the Eric Nelluss who was apparently not Eric Nelluss skilfully caught him by the left wrist, snapped it and cast him down to the thick pile carpet.
“I could always take you,” said not-Eric Nelluss. “I did ju-jitsu at night school, remember?”
Bobby Boy clutched at his maimed wrist. “Russell?” he gasped. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me.” Russell settled back into his big red chairman’s chair.
“But how? You’re old, or is that make-up? You bastard.”
“It’s not make-up.” Russell took a sip of champagne. “I am old. I’m more than sixty-five years old. I gave up my life for this day. For this moment. My time. I gave up my time.”
“But how?”
“I know how,” said Julie. “He came back from the future with one of the time belts and he went into the past.”
“Correct,” said Russell. “It was a one-way journey. You were always one step ahead of me. That’s what gave me the idea. I would be one step ahead of you. I went back to 1955 and I took a job in the film industry. Just a humble gopher, but I worked hard. You know me, Mr Fudgepacker, I work hard and if I’m given a job to do, I do it. I worked my way up. Well, I knew which films to invest in, didn’t I? But it was hard work. But as the years went by I grew more and more powerful. I only had one ambition, you see, to be top of the heap.