Djinn Rummy by Tom Holt Page B

later.’
    â€˜And then there’s this big fight with chainsaws with this psychotic rogue cop -’
    â€˜He’s a robot, too.’
    â€˜And then we have the big chase sequence and that’s basically it. That’s it, isn’t it, guys?’
    The other two nodded. ‘Except for the bit where she spends three years working with disadvantaged Puerto Rican kids in the barrios of LA, of course,’ the skinny man
added. ‘But that’s really still at the concept stage right now. We’re working on that.’
    The girl frowned slightly. ‘That’s it, is it?’ she asked.
    â€˜Yeah,’ replied the bald man. ‘Plus, of course, she gets killed in the first ten minutes, so all this is her coming back as a ghost.’
    â€˜We’ve already got Connery for God,’ added the freckled man. ‘Him or Streisand. Or both.’
    â€˜Both,’ interjected the skinny man, ‘and why not Newman as well? Goddammit, the guy’s meant to be a trinity, why not really go for it?’
    The girl considered, and stood up. ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘Good afternoon.’
    â€˜We were thinking of calling it Space Trek 9: The Search For -What did you say?’
    â€˜I said,’ said the girl, ‘no, thank you. Goodbye.’
    The bald man stood up, and then collapsed back into his chair. ‘Hey,’ he said weakly. ‘I don’t remember even offering you the goddamn part.’
    â€˜That was just as well, then, wasn’t it?’ said the girl. ‘Thank you for your time.’
    â€˜Hey, wait a minute . . .’
    Half an hour later, the girl left the office. In her bag she had a signed contract, and a cheque, and the star role in what was now to be called A Thousand And One Dalmatians II: The Search for Spot .
    Three hundred yards down the street, she stopped, looked carefully around and turned himself back into a man. Well, a genie. Genies, as noted above, have a certain leeway in matters of morphology.
    Some of them also have a certain amount of low cunning.

    Kiss stood back to admire his handiwork, and saw that it was good. Well, he thought it was good, anyhow. And, since he was a genie and gifted with supernatural good taste in aesthetic matters (not that he ever used it if he could possibly help it; his personal preference when it came to interior decor was plaster ducks and little straw donkeys with ‘A Present From Marbella’ written on them) he knew that he was right. These matters are, however, essentially subjective . . .
    â€˜No,’ Jane sighed, ‘it’s still not right. God should be older.’
    Kiss sighed, and squeezed a big dollop of white on to his palette. ‘You’re making,’ he said, ‘a big mistake, I hope you realise that. Generations yet unborn will curse you for this.’
    â€˜Older,’ she said. ‘And more cuddly. Do it.’
    Kiss winced, and assumed painting position: flat on his back, hovering eighteen inches from the ceiling. Overhead, the greatest artistic masterpiece ever, the fresco God Creating Adam And Eve glowed in a scintillating melange of colour. He soaked a rag in white spirit, and dissolved God.
    â€˜Fine,’ he snarled. ‘Why don’t I just wipe the whole damned lot and do the ceiling over in woodchip and white emulsion?’
    â€˜I’m the one who’s got to live with it,’ Jane replied evenly. ‘All I said was, would you help me with decorating the new flat. You were the one who thought it’d look nice with paintings . . .’
    â€˜Or perhaps,’ Kiss went on, ‘you’d prefer cuddly rabbits and kittens and adorable little puppy-dogs with ribbons round their necks. If so, just say the word. I mean, your wish is my -’

    â€˜If you say that just once more,’ Jane told him, ‘I shall scream.’
    Offended, Kiss painted in silence for a while. Under his brush, the splodgy void