Shoot the Peacock , livre ebook

Penguin Books Ltd - Nico Raposo

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

91 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

There was a twanging sound; and she felt her harness shudder. Reality seemed to slow down; as she looked up at the crane and saw her wire falling away; down into the gorge. It s hard being the only son of a Bollywood superstar; and seventeen-year-old Raj Kapoor s life just got a little bit more complicated. Preeti Shabbir; the beautiful starlet acting in Amit Kapoor s latest film; is almost killed in a suspicious accident on the set. Raj and his friends Nagi and Madhuri resolve to find the would-be killer and stop him before he tries to finish the job. But is Preeti the intended victim? Or is the killer s aim something even more chilling? In the first book featuring the detective trio from Mumbai s glittering film world; Shoot the Peacock will take you on a wild ride through the fabulous and mysterious world of Bollywood at work and at play.

Informations

Publié par	Penguin Books Ltd
Date de parution	09 novembre 2011
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9788184754971
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0300€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

NICO RAPOSO
Shoot the Peacock
Book 1 Bollywood Knights
PENGUIN BOOKS
Contents
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Acknowledgements
Copyright Page
PENGUIN BOOKS
SHOOT THE PEACOCK
Nico Raposo is a writer who lives and works in New York s Hudson Valley. He comes from a long line of storytellers, musicians and entertainers and whose family has called many countries home, from England to Turkey, India to Brazil. Nico grew up in New York City. He has written fifteen feature film screenplays, three books, seven plays and dozens of teleplays. He has been nominated for two Emmy Awards as well as for the Humanitas Award. Nico is a graduate of Harvard College. To learn more about him and his work, visit www.nicoraposo.com.
Read more in the Bollywood Knights series
Shoot the Crow
This book is dedicated to my family.
Prologue
It was midday, but inside the empty dance club it could have been midnight. The lone figure at the bar was so focused on the expanse of white powder before him that he didn t notice the other man. He bent his head to the powder and inhaled. The warmth spread through his head and down his neck. Working its way down his spine, the amphetamine lightened his body, clarifying everything, pushing away the anger, the frustration, his father, his mother s death, his brother, and that girl-mocking him, smiling, like she didn t even know who he was. The drug helped him see all this clearly.
Rolling his head to one side, he saw the figure in the dim light at the end of the bar. He looked through the concentrated fire of the drug behind his eyes, his gaze settling on a death s head sitting at the end of the bar. Hey, there isn t supposed to be anyone in here, he said, picking his face up off the bar and screwing up his eyes to look at the figure more closely.
The death s head stared at him fixedly and only after a moment did the empty eye sockets resolve themselves into sunglasses, the rictus smile turn into a set of uneven, bright white teeth grinding on something powdery.
Who are you? he asked.
A friend, the death s head said. His voice was like splintering wood, the deeper notes obscured by the pounding bass from the club s stereo.
No friend, he said to the spectre, putting his nose back down to the pile of powder. I don t have any friends.
Death s head seemed not to understand him and just kept smiling. He took out a tin of breath mints and placed one between his teeth. He bit down and ground it to dust without closing his mouth. Oh, but I am your friend, he said. This is my bar. Those are my drugs.
They re mine, he said, a spasm of fear wrenching his gut. I paid for them. Where s Momo?
Momo s gone, death s head said.
Where did he go? He was like a child now, the chemicals working their way through his neurons, distorting his already jangled perception of the world around him. What did you do with him?
I asked Momo to go for a walk because I thought it was time for you and me to have a little chat.
Little chat? His tone was outraged.
Here, death s head said, would you like some more? He produced an orange glass phial with a white plastic cap. Inside was more of the drug. He put it on the bar between them.
The other man raised his eyebrows, though his eyes were still searing from the drug. Chat about what?
There s a young lady you re working with, death s head said.
Who? he asked.
Preeti Shabbir.
Bitch, he said.
She may be. That s of no consequence, death s head said.
What about her? he asked, brushing some of the powder off his face and back onto the bar.
I want you to kill her.
Why not hire a shooter? the drugged man said, eyeing the phial of speed on the bar between them.
It s not quite that simple.
She s protected, okay, the younger man said, by K Company. I m not stupid.
That s why it has to be an accident. I m settling a debt, death s head continued, and until I m ready for an all-out war, Preeti Shabbir is the only thing that will balance the scales.
Who are you? he asked, lowering a rolled bill to the crushed amphetamine and inhaling.
You can call me Lal, death s head said. Mr Lal.
Lal? he said. That your real name?
To you it is.
What s in it for me? he asked, feeling another wave of that crystalline awareness starting at the back of his throat and shooting forward to banish the fire behind his eyes.
If you succeed, I won t have to kill you, the man calling himself Lal said, his lips peeled away from the impossibly white teeth in a ghastly smile.
Chapter 1
How are you doing, darling? Amit Kapoor asked.
Preeti smiled through gritted teeth as she was jerked backward. Fine. The harness she was wearing was supposed to be tight, but she thought Neeraj was taking a little too much pleasure in pulling so hard.
Is that really necessary? Mr Kapoor asked.
Yes, Neeraj said, and tugged at the D-ring between her shoulder blades again. The tiny actress jumped like a puppet on a string. Then Preeti felt his fingers work themselves between her skirt and the webbing strap around her hips. Still too much room, he said.
Preeti waited for the tug. I won t be able to breathe.
Then don t. Neeraj tugged at the strap around her hips, twisting her away from Mr Kapoor. Stand still!
You stand still, Preeti said angrily.
Are we ready? Mr Kapoor asked.
Neeraj nodded. Give me five minutes.
Five minutes, Mr Kapoor said, turning his back and walking away.
Preeti couldn t believe she was working with Amit Kapoor; that he was talking to her in real life, asking how she was. Bollywood s greatest star shone undimmed in her eyes. Long before she left Lucknow for Mumbai, she d watched his movies, the ones from the 1980s, when he d been the original bad boy of Indian cinema. He was older, fuller now than when he d been Bollywood s young gun and she a plump seven year old. But he was now a director, producer and unassailable superstar.
Amit Kapoor had done all his own stunts, which was why Preeti was standing here getting ready to jump off a moving train over a two hundred metre deep gorge. Being a real star and earning the respect of both the audience and people in the industry required sacrifice. Also, she realized she was still quite madly in love with him and desperately wanted to impress him.
Turning, she noticed a young production aide snapping photos of her with his mobile phone. She was wearing little more than a micro-miniskirt and sports bra as the harness had to go under her costume. The images would be all over the Internet by tomorrow. God, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes, I just love show business.
The costume master, Farah Merchant, strode over clutching the tiny outfit that matched yesterday s shots. The tank top had a bloodstain across the front, and the skirt was torn on the side.
Is that going to cover the straps? Preeti asked.
They ll take it out digitally in post-production, said Farah, who was only friendly when she wasn t working. Preeti wriggled into the skirt and pulled the tank top over her head. The harness cut into her taut shoulders.
Does this make me look fat? she asked.
Would you listen, if I said no ? Farah said.
The things we do for art, Preeti muttered to herself.
The things we do for money, said Farah through a collection of safety pins held between her lips. She was pinning the shoulder straps of Preeti s tank top.
That, too, Preeti sighed.
A few minutes later, Preeti was standing atop the train car with Anil Prasad, shivering a little in the cool mountain breeze. Neeraj appeared at the roof s edge, climbing up the ladder at the end of the car to go over the stunt one more time. Preeti knew it by heart.
In the script, Preeti is standing at the end of the train car as Anil runs toward her, grabs her hand, and jumps with her off the train and into the gorge. They d been shooting the scene for four days. In it, she and Anil fight off a team of Ninja assassins but are stuck atop the train car just as the bomb inside it is about to go off. The stunt was one of the biggest in the film. Today s shot was the last in the train sequence, when she and Anil leap from the roof of the train into the gorge.
Anil, one of Bollywood s new, young action stars, was nodding his head eagerly as Neeraj went through every step of the stunt.
Okay, you ve both checked your cables? Neeraj asked. The two actors nodded, even though Preeti hadn t bothered. The stunt crane loomed above them, its shining steel arm dangling the wires that would suspend them in mid-air once they jumped from the car. Then buckle up, Neeraj said, and walked to where the ladder descended and disappeared over the edge.
Here, Anil said, I ve got yours. Preeti turned around and allowed the actor to fasten the guy wire to her harness.
Shall I do yours? Preeti asked.
No, Anil said, I ve got it. Putting his hands behind his head, he clipped the locking hook to the harness.
Scared? she asked him.
Never, Anil said, shaking his head.
Ready on the set! shouted Mr Kapoor, and the train shuddered into motion, heading back to its start position a hundred metres up the track. As the train moved, the piston driven arm of the stunt crane remained stationed above them, its operator conducting its motion with two joystick controls. The train stopped as it hit its start mark. In the film, the train would look like it was hurtling out of control as it came around the bend. In reality, it would be travelling at a little under fifteen kilometres per hour.
Anil shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable under his harness straps. Preeti tried to do the same, but the straps were so tight it was hard for her to move.
Are we ready, or what? shouted Mahesh Nadar, Amit Kapoor s director of photography. Mahesh was in charge of making sure whatever Mr Kapoor wanted to see actually appe