Story by Ken Bruen and Russell Ackerman
Ken Bruen is one of the most celebrated crime novelists of our time.
Black Lens is his most secret project.
Read on as the unveiling continues.
With art by Jonathan Santlofer.
Missed Part 1? Or Part 2? Read them first.
Blade in the Stream.
The movie ended and the great director moved to the screen, peered at the credits, sighed; so many of that illustrious cast had passed.
He thought as often in French as he did in the other languages he had been fluent in. Muttered softly
“Quel dommage . . .” (What a pity.)
Sounds from the quiet Parisian street reached him, a woman singing off-key, a street vendor hawking his wares in that defiant tone that only the French could muster. He looked at his watch, a Patek Philippe, a gift from Harrison Ford, when they worked on that piece of cinematic fluff, like the horror of that pirate movie. A small smile touched his thin lips as he thought, peut-être, he was before his time, then along came Pirates of the Caribbean. Johnny had been in touch a few weeks back to moot the possibility of the bio-pic of his life.
His children would be impressed with Depp playing their boring dad.
The plans for the next movie were on his desk and he wondered if he had the energy needed to regain the ruthless vision of the early wild days. Galliard were pressing him for an answer on his projected memoir.
A slight tremor of dread crept along his spine, reaching his neck and forcing a thin line of perspiration on his small brow. That call. A deeply respected and reliable source warning that his coming trip to Switzerland was a trap. The damn incessant Americans continuing their ceaseless crusade to bring him to their justice.
A brief montage of stills crossed his mind, black lens, Jack Nicholson’s house, the girl, the dope, the awful screaming, his own included.
He exhaled, the camera of his mind lighting the scenes, the scenes that had forced him into exile. Hadn’t he lost enough? And still they came, with their Big Macs and bigger grudges. If, shudder, that extradition was ever to become reality, they’d bring him in chains. He knew, oh he knew, the deal was done, the vigilantes of the Bible Belt, the moneyed majority, who would never rest till he was dying in a cell.
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