The Death Row Show is a futuristic satire about reality television, modern terrorism, drug legalization, and the constant allure of fame.

The Death Row Show

By Gary Gose

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Gary Gose
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-2888-6

Chapter One

One of these days this job is going to kill me.

The new season for the network had just begun and I couldn't wait for it to end. Six grueling months of producing and creating this crap, I mean quality television for the apathetic masses and all I could think of was my vacation home in the Bahamas.

The smoke from the motorcycles was giving the whole crew of Modern Daredevils a heavy dose of oxygen deprivation. The set looked like the ruins from an old forgotten rerun of Roller Derby and we were way over budget. Again.

The take was supposed to be easy. All we had to do was get a shot of Mr. Denile jumping with his tricked-out Yamaha motorcyle jumping over a ramp over 20 SUVs. One take and we all go home to our miserable little lives. Was that too much to ask? But it isn't that easy in Hollywood, there is this crazy obsession with safety. Safety, what is this nonsense about safety. All I want and what America wants is to see this lunatic crash his monstrosity into oblivion. And don't tell me that we watch for the sport of it. You mean to say that all of America watches auto racing for the thousands of left hand turns. There praying for a crash.

"Cut, I said cut," I screamed at the stagehands. Mr. Denile was revving up his bike to make his final descent onto the ramp. He looked like he was amped on caffeine the way his eyes were bulging out of his head.

"Come on Rudy, I am ready to go" Mr. Denile growled at me like he just ate my children.

"Mr. Rudy Reicher. Are you the one in charge of this production?" A voice said from across the room.

I have heard that voice before but I couldn't quite place where I have heard it. Could it be the censor nazis or the network brass?

"Mr. Reicher, I am David Schwartz, and you need to shut this down immediately." Just what I thought he was a lawyer. Only a lawyer talks that politely. If it was network brass, it would be like a mafia hit and I would have never saw it coming.

The stagehands, the camera crew all were stopped in their tracks. As if someone had given them their last checks. Mr. Denile didn't care that his own lawyer was there to stop the proceedings. He was set on one mission and one mission only. To go over that ramp in a blaze of glory and on national television no less. And no corporate, fascist lawyer was going to stop him. Even if it was his lawyer.

Mr. Denile is a complex character. First of all, his name is Jerry Denile. He didn't come from a long line of daredevil families. In fact, no one knew where the psycho daredevil came from and no one was brave enough to ask him. But the greatest thing about Jerry Denile was he was cheap. We paid him nothing. He just wanted his shot on television. In fact, one time in the green room he said in his Psycho voice. "Don't tell anybody this Rudy, but I would do this for free." "Mr. Reicher, this operation is unsafe and I believe my client, Mr. Denile is in extreme danger," Schwartz said. Schwartz was one of those brash Jewish lawyers who wanted everything done by the book.

"But were in the middle of a take and this soon will be over. Come on we all have been here since six am," I pleaded with him. "Yeah come on five more minutes," Camera man Spiegel said.

"Well if I have to I will go over your head and I don't think you want me to do that Mr. Reicher," Schwartz said in his Harvard monotone. I could tell he went to Harvard. I went to Princeton. And I always hated those arrogant pricks from Harvard. You can sense it in his condescending tone. It was like one of those proffesors you had in college who said he would report you to the Dean if you didn't shape up. He reminded me of Al Pacino in in that late seventies lawyer drama, "And Justice For All". And he was making a mockery of my beloved set. "Your out of order. You're all out of order. This whole trial is out of order". The only difference between Al Pacino and me is I couldn't overact.

While all this was going on, I totally misplaced where Mr. Denile was.

There he was at the top of the ramp. Decked out in black leather Jacket and pants. His Helmet was a shiny silver color with a black logo of skull and crossbones. The Yamaha 3000 was squealing at an incredible rate. He popped a wheelie and pointed at Camera 3. Pointing to the sky like he was the chosen one. "Are we ready. Cameras, light... and Action ..." Mr. Denile screamed like a banshee. I was praying that Camera 3 wasn't recording this because if he did, I would be in the unemployment line. Schwartz headed toward the ramp, and I tried to restrain him. "Don't Jerry, You have a wife and kids," Schwartz pleaded with him. Jerry then whipped down the ramp like a bat out of hell. I grabbed Schwartz by his sports coat and took him to the ground. The Yamaha 3000 zoomed off the ramp and catapulted into the air. It looked like he was going to make it. But then tragedy struck. As soon as he hit the Landing ramp his back tire freakishly swerved and before you know it Jerry fell off the Bike headfirst. He must have tumbled at least twelve times. Yes sir Jerry did it. But at what a cost. He probably broke every bone in his body like his great idol, Evil Kneivel.

"I hope you are happy, Mr. Reicher," Schwartz said as he brushed himself off the ground. "You can expect a hefty lawsuit on your hands". At first I couldn't respond to Schwartz. I was frozen to the spot. I really don't know what came over me. I would normally backhand this S.O.B. with a sarcastic remark. "Don't Jerry you have a wife and kids". All that was echoing in my head like a bad pop record. All I could picture was little psycho daredevils running around the house without a daddy who might be paralyzed. And I was the one that put him there. All in the name of entertainment. Unlike the clown that you see get kicked in the balls. At first you feel sorry for the clown then you can't stop laughing. And your hoping that someone will kick him in the balls again so you can laugh again.

"Well I don't think so. You obviously went to Harvard," I paused before I went in for the kill. "I , I don't. know what you mean," Schwartz nervously said as he was searching for words. "You sure do. Its called insurance waiver. And Mr. Denile never signed one.

He said he did it for the sport of it and that nothing was going to happen him. He said it was fate."

"Well do you call this fate?" Schwartz said while pointing to Mr. Denile as the paramedics were working on him. "I call it a contract and you don't have one." Uppercut. He had to be stinging from that final blow. Or maybe he is a masochist and he likes pain.

The paramedics hoisted Mr. Denile onto the stretcher. It must have taken at least five Orderlies to do this. I am not sure but I think they had to reinforce the stretcher for him. Jerry Denile had to be at least 300 pounds. Unlike his idol, Evil Kneivel, he was not skinny. "Well Schwartz if you are going to sue the network you better do it on your own time. And let these people get Mr. Denile to the hospital," I said. Schwartz couldn't say anything. He knew he had to retreat to his corner. It was time to throw in the towel. Schwartz just shook his head and walked off Lot #3. Meanwhile the paramedics took Mr. Denile to LA General. "Julie," I said. "Yes Rudy," my assistant said. "Make sure you contact the Denile family and inform them what has happened to him. "Yes sir," she said with every ounce of compassion. "And Julie this never happened," I said with a wink from my eye. "What happened?" Julie said...