psubrat | Dresden Fic: Hollywood Sellout

Author: PSUbrat
Rating: PG-13 (Some language)
Disclaimer: Jim Butcher owns these characters. I don’t. I’m just borrowing them for a while and promise to return them unharmed.
Spoiler Warning: This ficlet is based upon all Dresden books up to Proven Guilty, with some spoilers for the beginning of the TV show.
Summary: Harry sells his soul to pay the rent.
Time frame: Takes place between Proven Guilty and White Knight

Many thanks to

scarlett2u for the beta and many, many thanks to the girls at the Veranda for letting me run it by them first --

pfeifferpack,

bandcandy_peach,

fraidycatx3,

pufles65,

pjzallday,

babydo8312, Kat and Biff -- without all of your support, this would probably have gone unposted.

Hollywood Sellout

Sometimes, when you’re desperate enough to pay the bills, you’ll do anything. And I mean, anything. Sometimes you’ll even sell your soul.

Being a Warden of the White Council isn’t enough to pay the rent and the “consulting” for the Chicago PD that I used to do on a regular basis is almost nonexistent since Lieutenant Murphy became Sergeant Murphy – all because of her involvement with me. I feel awful for her, but she won’t hear any of it. Instead, she keeps telling me to shut up. She’s sweet that way. Though whenever she comes up against something unusual, she still calls me, usually paying for my services out of her own pocket.

As much as I needed the dough, I couldn’t let that continue. I wouldn’t. It was like taking candy from a baby, or in this case, from a petite woman with badass knowledge of the martial arts. In short, Murphy is a friend, and I hate taking money from friends. I’d probably hate taking money from family too, if I had any family outside of a White Court vampire half-brother who is currently up to something that just can’t be good. Since he moved out, he’s been doing pretty well for himself and I’m afraid to ask him how he’s doing it. Sometimes ignorance is better for everyone involved. Besides, I wouldn’t take money from Thomas even if the money he was making were legitimate. I have some pride.

Okay, so maybe I don’t have much pride, but damn it, there’s no budging on this one. It didn’t matter that all that was left in my refrigerator was enough food for my oversized cat and my even more oversized dog, and none for me. I’d gone longer with less. I could do it again if I had to. The problem was I didn’t want to. So I sold my soul to the Hollywood devil.

************************

A few months back, I was across town in my office, hoping for the phone to ring with a case, when the door burst open. Several smartly dressed young men and women filed in, each holding a stack of papers against their chest with one hand and holding their ear with the other while talking quickly and loudly to someone who wasn’t there. Before I could even stand up and object to the intrusion, they crossed that invisible line that separates me from modern technology. There was a high-pitched squealing and every one of them yelped as they threw down their hand and a wireless earpiece. Whoops. That’s one of the hazards of being around a wizard: we don’t do well with modern technology. This is why I drive an old, beat-up Volkswagen Beetle, live without electricity and own an old icebox for a refrigerator. Just ask Murphy about the three or four computers that I’ve fried.

Anyway, once they recovered from the shock, they all turned to me with bright, fake smiles. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought they were ghouls masquerading as humans. That’s when he walked in, looking every part like an executive should, right down to the overly polished wing-tip shoes.

“Mr. Dresden, I presume?” he asked, extending his hand to shake mine. He had that same fake smile that the others were wearing. It was creepy.

“That would be me.” I didn’t return the gesture and his hand fell limply to his side after hanging in the air for those few awkward moments. And that’s when the whirlwind started.

“Harry-- I can call you Harry, right.” It wasn’t a question and he didn’t give me a chance to respond before sitting down in the chair across from my desk. “Harry, I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” This should be good.

“Do you know who I am?”

By the tone in his voice, it was obvious that I should have known who he was, but I didn’t have a clue. “A potential client?”

“Ah yes, Harry Dresden, Wizard. Lost items found and all that. Fascinating.”

“Nothing fascinating about what I do.”

“But there’s where you’re wrong, Harry. I think our viewers would find your stories immensely entertaining! I mean, a detective who’s not just a detective, but a wizard who goes around saving the world….”

“What? Where did you hear that?”

“I have my sources,” he said with a smug little smile.

It made my blood run cold. Who the hell were these sources? Certainly Murphy wasn’t talking. And the guys down at the station weren’t going to talk about what we did either for fear of being sent to a rubber room.

“Harry, I’m here to offer you the deal of a lifetime,” he stated, leaning closer to the desk. “My boss has sent me to secure the rights to your story and to do whatever it takes to get that story. You’re a very lucky man, Harry. Very lucky indeed.”

Who was this guy? I wasn’t getting a read off him, and he at least knew enough about me to not meet my gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

“So why don’t we get these negotiations started?” He snapped his fingers and the blonde woman with the long, slim legs stepped forward to hand him a thick folder.

“Okay, first, I don’t know who you are. Second, I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about, and third, I have no interest in negotiating anything with you. So if you’ll excuse me, I have other things to do today.”

“Harry, Harry, Harry. Don’t be a fool. What I have to offer you will solve all of your problems.”

I stood up, almost knocking over my chair. The sudden action startled the groupies but didn’t even faze the guy in front of me. “I don’t have any problems.” Liar.

He looked around the office slowly. “I’d say you do. It looks as if you haven’t had a client in months. That can’t be good for the old pocketbook, now can it?”

“Did Marcone send you?” It was the first thing that came to mind. Don’t ask me why, but it could have something to do with the fact that Marcone didn’t like me very much – the feeling was mutual – and he would do something like this to throw me off balance while he committed some crime elsewhere in town.

“No, no, not at all, but it seems that Mr. Marcone is a great fan of yours. He had nothing but wonderful things to say about you.”

This was getting creepier by the minute. Time to end this little meeting and send this idiot packing. “I think you should leave,” I demanded with my best menacing scowl.

“But Harry, we haven’t even started talking compensation yet and my boss would be really quite displeased if I didn’t at least offer you something in return.”

Compensation? Now he had my attention. If I hadn’t been so hard up for the cash, I would have booted him from the office. “Go on,” I said, sitting back down in my chair. “At least tell me who you are first.”

“I’m terribly sorry. How rude of me.” He started snapping his fingers again. This time a short, brunet male stepped forward, handing me a business card.

“Griffen Howard. Programming for the SciFi network? What’s that?”

“Don’t you watch television, Harry? We’re the hottest network around.”

“I don’t watch TV.”

“At all?”

“Nope. I’m much too busy saving the world apparently.”

Griffen chuckled and the groupies chuckled with him. When he stopped, they stopped. “Let’s cut to the chase, Harry. I’m willing to offer you upwards of six figures to procure the rights to your story.”

“Six figures?” If I hadn’t already been sitting down, I think I would have fallen over.

“A significant six figures. How does three hundred thousand sound to you?”

“Three--three hundred thousand?” I asked, trying to clear my throat and get the words out at the same time.

“Okay, I take that back. How about five hundred thousand? Does that sound more appropriate to you?”

I blinked. Then I blinked again. I was stunned into silence. Hell’s bells! That was a lot of money!

“You’re a tough negotiator, Harry. How about seven hundred and fifty? That’s my final offer. I suggest you take it.”

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight, you’re offering me seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars for what?”

“We want to do a show based on your life. Our viewers will eat this stuff up.”

“I’m not sure I understand. You want to tell my story on television?” Why on earth would anyone care about what I do for a living--or anything about me, for that matter?

“You’re a captivating person, Harry. So, are you going to take the deal or not? Mr. Cage is very excited at the prospect of producing this show.”

“Mr. Cage?”

“Yes, why, Nicolas Cage, of course! I’m sure you’ve heard of him even if you don’t watch television.”

“Indeed.” What the hell? It had to be Marcone. Who the hell else would have that kind of connections to the industry? How else would these people have found out about me?

“So if I can just get you to sign here…” he said, tapping his finger by the line marked by an “x” while sliding the folder across my desk. “That would just be great.”

He passed me the pen, which my left hand seemed to take of its own accord. Lasciel! Back off! I bellowed in my head. This is my decision to make.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice stated, As you wish, my host, but allow me to point out that you need the funds; if not for yourself, at least for supplies to help others and for the teachings of your apprentice.

Damn her for making sense. I sighed, which Griffen took as a negative sign.

“Harry, you’ll be famous. And rich.”

“What if I said I didn’t want to be famous?”

“Who doesn’t want to be famous? Everyone wants to be famous and rich. The richer the better, I say.”

The better to pay the bills, I say. “So all I have to do is sign this paper, and you’ll give me seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars to do a TV show based on my life?” I just wanted to clarify things before I signed anything.

“Absolutely.”

He gave me one of those brilliant fake smiles again. I shuddered. What in hell was I thinking? I know what I was thinking: I was thinking that I could eat tonight. I was thinking that I could pay the rent. I was thinking that with that kind of money, I wouldn’t have to think about anything for a very long time.

I read the release form. It seemed like everything was in order, not that I could understand legalese, but seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars was seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars no matter how you looked at it.

With one last look at Mr. Howard’s megawatt smile, I gave in and signed the paper.

“Congratulations, Harry. Not everyone gets a television show. We’ll be in touch shortly to go over a few things. Have a great day.”

And with that, he left, his entourage following closely at his heels.

I immediately called Murphy and told her what had happened. At first she didn’t believe me, but in the end I convinced her it was true. She told me that I was a sellout. I agreed. But that little thing about eating and paying the rent sort of trumped everything else.

************************

The other day, the phone rang. It was Murphy.

“I meant to call you a couple of weeks ago to let you know that your show started up.”

“That was quick.”

“You don’t know much about television, do you, Harry? They probably already had most of the episodes outlined before they even came to you. Getting you to sign on the dotted line was just a formality.”

She was probably right. It didn’t matter though; I had a full bank account and a full refrigerator. Mouse and Mister were living high on the hog and I was living debt-free. It was a beautiful thing.

“So what did you think?” Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? Or at least the seven hundred and fifty thousand dollar question.

“Well…” she started, hesitating to continue. “It was…interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

“Let’s just put it this way, you’re much more suave on the show. And good looking.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for that ego boost, Murph. Really appreciate it.”

She snorted. Murphy actually snorted at me. “Anytime, Dresden. Oh, and just so you know, you carry a wand.”

“What? You mean like Harry Potter?”

“Yeah. Only yours is a drumstick.”

I rolled my eyes. Stars and stones, why does there always have to be a wand involved? What a crock. “What else did they change?”

“Pretty much everything. Like I said, you’re much more suave than you are in real life. Shouldn’t that say enough?”

It was my turn to snort. After a few more minutes of her telling me about the other changes, like her being Connie Murphy instead of Karrin and that my character was quite the ladies man, we hung up. At least I was getting lucky somewhere. Also, from what I could understand, even Bob had been changed. There was no way I was going to tell my Bob that on TV he could leave his skull and take human form, even if it was non-corporeal. I’d never hear the end of it.

I made a mental note to see if I couldn’t get hold of a script or something, since there was no way I’d be able to watch a TV anytime soon.

I don’t care about the changes. Not really. This is free publicity and as long as I look at it that way, it’s all gravy, right?

On the plus side, my phone doesn’t stop ringing and I have more cases than I can handle. Murphy’s even thinking about coming on board to help me out.

Life should be good.

But it’s not.

See, there’s one thing I didn’t think about before signing that damned contract: now everyone knows who I am, including the bad guys that didn’t have a clue I – or the Council for that matter – even existed. That could turn out to be a very bad thing for everyone involved. Not good.

Now I figure it’s only a matter of time before Morgan, or even the Merlin himself, gets here to smite me down for putting myself and the Council out there like that.

Hell’s bells, what have I done?