TWENTY-NINE
“It’s perfect, it’s just fucking perfect,” Dex Dexter gushed as he circled around the horse drawn hearse that had come to a stop outside the show’s large hospitality tent.
Michael Davis took a sip from his chilled champagne and watched as the host ran an exquisitely manicured hand over the black lacquered wood of the carriage. He was flanked as ever by his personal make up girl Sandy who kept trying to touch up his face as he walked. The host looked comically camp as he moved, he still had a wad of tissues tucked into his collar to keep his suit make up free.
“I knew you’d like it,” Davis said.
“What are the chances of me keeping it after the show? Can you imagine riding around in this thing all day?” Dexter asked.
“Less than zero,” Davis replied. “It costs a fortune just to rent. It goes straight back after the show.”
The horses began to shy slightly as Dexter reached them, unnerved Davis mused by the host’s bright sparkly silver jacket. And their owner who doubled as the coachman had to brace himself against one to steady the beasts. “Hey, steady now girl,” he whispered.
“Magnificent creatures,” Dexter said and gently patted one on the flank.
“Sure are,” Davis agreed. He allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Hiring the hearse had been an idea he had been toying with for some time now. Dexter would be driven into the arena in the hearse then emerge from the back. Not cheap but the effect of his reveal would be worth the two grand euro price tag.
Once they were back inside the hospitality tent, Dexter went back to his schmoozing. He slumped himself down onto one of the large sofas that were dotted around the place and he took yet another glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.
Davis himself hated this part of the show. Meeting and greeting all the V.I.P guests who paid upwards of a grand to gain access to the back stage area and a chance to meet the host and see how everything was put together behind the scenes.
And inevitably there would be those, usually the more wealthy and bored amongst them, who would seek Davis out and pull him to one side conspiratorially to request an audience with the real star of the show. And as always Davis would politely decline even when the wallets came out and the wads of cash were waved under his nose.
He always refused not only to maintain the mystique surrounding Minx’s existence, but more importantly for fear of what the creature would do to them if it got close enough. (Maybe he should film that!)
Davis checked his watch, show time was now only thirty minutes away. As was usual at this time he got an acidic ache in his stomach. Would tonight be the night the priest actually won, and all this would be over? Or worse still, would this finally be the night Mister Minx somehow got free and could finally complete the mission that had no doubt been festering in the thing’s addled brain ever since it’s capture? Kill Michael Davis in the most horrible of ways.
He took in the tent, more to take his mind of that doomsday scenario than anything else. This corporate hospitality side of things had really come into its own in the last couple of shows. Some thirty people, all paying customers were enjoying the complementary food and drinks before they took their places in the more expensive seats out front.
And there was Dex Dexter, holding court, surrounded now by half a dozen admirers. Looking at him now it was hard to believe just how destitute the entertainer had looked when Davis plucked him out of obscurity to front the show.
The first time Davis had seen Dexter in the flesh he looked to the producer like the personification of the phrase ‘crawl into a bottle’.
The sometime entertainer, comedian and gameshow host, depending on what the occasion demanded. Had been washed up and barely employable after his ill-fated (though obscenely popular in its homeland) stint hosting the Japanese game show ‘Kamikaze Krazies.’
Although Davis hadn’t seen the show itself it had become increasingly notorious for the near deaths of several of its contestants. It was apparently a cross between gladiators and live action dungeons and dragons. Where the contestants would have to negotiate a labyrinth of traps and obstacles in order for the final two to then fight for the prize of fifty grand U.S.
As Davis understood it, the more the show grew in popularity the more dangerous the public demanded it to be. Health and safety rules were bent to breaking point, injuries grew (as did the ratings.) Until finally two contestants in the last five shows were killed, live on camera.
And through it all Dex Dexter’s smiling face could be seen hosting the show, thrusting his mic into the bleeding faces of the fallen. It had later emerged that allegedly the producers had deliberately steered the show towards being little more than a glorified snuff movie.
Police had been called, arrests made and Dex Dexter had fled the county in disgrace barely escaping with his liberty and life intact. That was when Davis had come across the host in a seedy Soho night club. Davis had heard Dexter was fronting an X-rated comedy revue so had gone to see for himself.
Whilst the quality of performers on show left much to the imagination the booze addled Dex Dexter still had a certain sleazy charm about him, charm that the producer knew would be perfect for demon time. Once the drunk was cleaned up and sent away to de-tox for a week or two of course.
A bell over the tannoy signalling the ten minute warning before the show was to start, pulled Davis back to the here and now. He watched as the tent slowly began to empty and the V.I.P’s were shepherded away to their overpriced seats.
A production assistant he didn’t recognise came up to him carrying an iPad clutched to his chest. “Erm, Mister Davis?” He asked timidly. “Show’s about to start, sir. The director wanted to know if you’ll be watching from the control room as normal?”
“I will,” Davis told him. “Tell him he can start the preshow whenever he likes, I’ll be up in a moment.”
“Yes sir,” the assistant said and darted away.
Davis followed the boy out into the balmy night air as the behind the scenes hustle and bustle played out around him. He glanced over to the large trailer the priest was in and contemplated going over there for a moment but then put the idea out of his head. After all, what could he say?
So instead he began to make his way over to the stilted prefabricated production office which held the main control centre from which the show would be directed.
He passed the hearse which was getting a final polish before its grand entrance and as he did so the first cords of the demon time theme tune blasted out through the PA system some way off. A massive roar from the assembled crowed made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge.
“Magic time,” Dex Dexter said as he appeared from around the other side of the hearse. He ran a comb through his thick dyed black hair and put it into his jacket inside pocket.
“Knock ‘em dead, Dex,” Davis said.
“Always,” the host replied flashing his bright teeth. “Say, Mike,” (Christ how Davis hated that.) “I was thinking, maybe I’d go onto the porch tonight during my opening speech...”
“No!” Davis snapped back a little too fearfully. He took a breath. “Stay away from the house, Dex. You know the rules.”
“Oh, c’mon, just onto the porch, the crowd’ll love it. Whip em up into a frenzy.”
“I said no!” Davis said with finality.
Dexter shrugged. “Okay, you’re the boss.”
“I mean it Dexter. Stay on your mark. Do that thing you do, but stay away from the house.”
“Your concern is very touching,” Dexter told him.
Davis was about to reiterate his point when an assistant director came jogging over. “Places please, can’t you hear the music?” He threw a thumb at the hearse and addressed the coachman who was now in a crisp black undertaker’s suit complete with black top hat. “Get this creepy thing over to its mark. Mister Dexter you’re on in five. We’re already live!”
“Well I’ll see you later, Mike. It’s show time!”
Dexter gave a theatrical flick of his hand and followed along by the side of the hearse as the coachman led the horses over to the edge of the arena.
The crowd let out another raw of approval as no doubt the demonettes were starting their opening routine.
“My life,” Davis said with a shake of the head and began to make his way over to the production office to watch the show unfold.
And thus began the final ever episode of demon time.