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."
        "I saw the papers," affirmed Lucas. "Yes, indeed."
         The Nam was a surrealistic film about the Vietnam War-not the real war, but the fantasy version presented to the American viewing public throughout the 1960s and 1970s on television. It walked off with a wagonload of Oscars. The Interloper had been a science-fiction thrill ride about a horny alien trapped aboard an interstellar freighter. The creature spent ninety percent of the film's running time raping the female crew members and eating the males. The kicker was that once the ship was completely subjugated, it charted a course for Earth, piloted by a new crew of insectile alien monsters… and the final woman survivor turned hunter and bumped off the aliens, ten-little-Indians style. What made The Interloper notable was, largely, the promotion cooked up by Charisse Hope. The film grossed $3 million every two days during its first three weeks of release and secured a prime position on Variety's "Top Ten Moneymakers for the Year."
        The fifth member of the pool was Gustavo de la Luces. Gustavo of the Lights, as he often signed his name-an energetic and volatile man Burt had signed on after incorporating as Kroeger Concepts, Ltd. Lucas had expected him to burst forth at the office, with his dark, twinkling eyes and generous, fraternal smile. Burt was obviously holding the news on Gustavo back for last. He and Lucas had been close co-workers and fair social buddies… before.
        "Gustavo's out there in the smogscape, ramrodding with the Randell and Kochner boys."
        Lucas whistled. "The billboard mafia?" Randell and Kochner owned half the billboard space in Los Angeles County. Kroeger Concepts dealt with them not through choice, but through necessity. "I take it from your tone that Gustavo is not absent from this party because he is dickering over cost per foot on ad space."
        "Nope. He's in court with a platoon of lawyers from Marina del Rey. Randell and Kochner pulled a little game of hide the financial salami with us. Gustavo found out, and he's sinking some fingerholds into about a quarter of a million bucks that should be ours."
        "When you want to claw something out of the hole, you send in a badger. Those suckers haven't got a chance. But like I said, I saw the papers. How'd I miss that one?"
        "Ha, ha-are you serious? You'll never see this case covered in any paper." Burt let it hang until Lucas caught on.
        Lucas banged his temple with the heel of his hand. "Right. I got it now. They got deep hooks in newspaper advertising. Right."
        "You can bet the Times is gonna look for something else to cover, rather posthaste." He picked out a cold nacho chip from the appetizer basket and nibbled, more out of frustration than culinary interest. His hands needed something to do beside hoist his pilsener glass. He'd tried tracing patterns on its foggy surface, but that was unfulfilling. "You want anything else?"
        "A Coke, maybe. All that beer makes me thirsty -it's the alcohol, dehydrating away."
        "Caffeine will do the same thing."
        "Don't chide me or I'll tell you you're too old to play my dad."
        Burt beamed crookedly. "Me, I think I'll have a straight shot and blast it down with another brew. You?" Lucas shook his head. The thought of swallowing a shot of Black Jack (which was what Burt would demand, he knew) was chased by the unexpected thought of vomit. "No hard booze for me. I'm such a sicko that liquor unleashes my bete noire. One whiff of booze turns me into an instant werewolf."
        "Smartass. Knock that shit off." Pause. "Beta what?"
        " Bete noire . The 'black beast' that croucheth behind the revolving hotel door, or some such biblical hoohah. Kind of like a rampant force of id. Your basic, uh, primitive hostility, as opposed to your rational, civilized mind. Well… mine, anyway."
        Burt repeated "Smartass" in a low, sardonic growl. "Just the