The Fictional Man by Al Ewing Read Free Book Online

very much in the public domain – another Bob Benton, just different enough to avoid copyright claims, seemed like an ideal use of the money. What had to be changed would be changed for the better – they’d re-introduce Tim as the Terror’s sidekick, but change him to a her, a vivacious brunette who’d remind the Dads in the audience of the long-missed, never-forgotten Terrorgirl. In place of Furst’s chilly, art-deco Cryme City, with its endless darkness and neon, they’d set the action in Bowery Bay, an ersatz San Francisco with as many sunny days as gloomy nights. Most importantly, instead of the cold, calculating Robert Benton – whose humour seemed limited to the occasional barbed quip and who seemed quite willing to kill criminals as long as their bodies could be immediately hidden off-screen and forgotten – they would create a warmer Benton, more melancholy, carrying an inner sadness in place of the frozen heart of the movie version.
    Not so much a ‘Robert,’ the memo said. More of a ‘Bob.’
    Bob Benton was the first ‘duplicate’ Fictional, and his appearance on the Hollywood scene caused a stir in the gossip magazines and – once ParaVideo were informed – in the courts. The landmark ruling – that duplication of public domain characters contravened neither ParaVideo’s established copyright nor the right of all Americans, Fictional or otherwise, to their own unique identity, just as long as there were definite physical and psychological differences between the different versions – opened the door to a fascinating world where Zorro could fence against Zorro outside Mann’s Chinese Theatre, or two entirely different Draculas could sit under parasols on the beach, discussing the relative merits of a third and fourth in their thick Transylvanian accents.
    It also opened the door to Rob Benton, the third Black Terror, whose newest film – a nastily half-baked examination of modern politics wrapped up in a superhero cape, of the kind that Dean had clearly been attempting to get Niles to rip off – had just shattered all known box office records. Rob was angry, conservative, over-muscled, given to putting on a ridiculous voice when in the mask, and apparently almost impossible to have a real conversation with. Audiences couldn’t get enough of him.
     
     
    B OB STARED AT his empty bottle with an air of loathing. “Did you see the clip online of that little bastard screaming at the sound man? And that’s The Black Terror now. Christ. I had a voice gig for a Terror videogame last year – they wanted me to do it in that stupid voice of his, that dumb croak. They kept saying, no, make it deeper, make it growlier – eventually nobody could understand what the hell I was saying. They said it wasn’t working, paid me for the morning and threw me out. Not even the full day. Assholes.”
    “Well, did I tell you my news?” Niles smiled, telling himself it’d be a good idea to get Bob’s mind off his problems. Bob had been created to be somewhat morose – morbid, even – and Niles felt a distraction from his ever-present black cloud would be welcome. Besides, it was big news, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t heard this particular song and dance from Bob before.
    Bob sighed, rolling his eyes. “Is it happening at last? Am I finally going to get to meet Kurt Power – is there going to be a team-up? I mean, I’ve heard so much about the guy.”
    Niles was vaguely hurt by the tone. Bob was obviously jealous, the writer reflected, smiling inwardly at the depth of his insight into the human condition. But even in a world where Kurt Power existed, Bob would still be a valued friend. Less valued than Kurt Power, admittedly, but still valued for all that.
    “Not quite,” Niles said, getting the barmaid’s attention. “Two more over here.” He turned back to Bob, smiling genially. “You’re in the ballpark, though.”
    Bob looked up as the beer arrived, narrowing his eyes slightly.