He stood, walked to the far wall, and pressed a hidden switch. A panel slid open, revealing a tiny theater—no, a screening room—with three rows of velvet seats. Each seat was occupied by a figure in shadow. One of them applauded, slow and deliberate.
He shoved it in his pocket and ran up the stairs, out the alley, into the cold Brooklyn night. His hands were shaking. His heart was hammering. And somewhere deep in his chest, a small, terrified voice whispered: You’d do it again. You know you would. backroomcasting brooklyn
Behind him, the red light on the camera blinked off. And in the backroom, someone started to weep. He stood, walked to the far wall, and
Leo sat on the floor. There was no other chair. One of them applauded, slow and deliberate
A woman in the front row stood. She was wearing a long coat and holding a leather briefcase. She walked toward Leo, pressed a business card into his sweaty palm, and whispered, “We’ll be in touch.”