Lords of Salem by Rob Zombie

they definitely drank the Devil’s Kool-Aid,” said Herman. “Speaking of Kool-Aid, who’s in?” He held up the cups.
    Whitey yawned. “Always thirsty for dinner,” he said.
    “Hand it over,” said Heidi.
    “A team that drinks together stays together,” said Herman. He passed out the cups of wine.
    He’d just settled down and begun to drink when Chip stuck his head through the door. When Herman and the others ignored him, he rapped on the wall to get their attention.
    “Drinking at work again, I see,” he said. When nobody chose toanswer and Herman didn’t rush to offer him a mug of his own, he turned to Whitey. “So, we’re good for tomorrow, I take it?”
    “Good for what?” asked Whitey.
    Chip looked startled. “Please tell me he’s fucking with me,” he said. He turned to Heidi. “He’s fucking with me, right?” Heidi just shrugged.
    He turned back to Whitey. “Francis Matthias…,” he said, and waited. Whitey’s face remained blank. “The witch book guy…”
    Whitey shook his head. “No clue,” he said.
    “What do you mean no clue?”
    “Dude, you’ve lost me.”
    “For the Fantastic Fest promotion,” said Chip, and motioned with his hand for Whitey to pick up the thread.
    But Whitey just continued to look blank. Chip’s expectant face slowly took on a frown.
    “You son of a bitch,” he said. “You forgot to book him.” He grabbed his head with both hands. “No, it’s even worse,” he said. “You forgot I even told you to book him. I knew it! You’re the one always screaming, ‘Let me book some talent. Give me some responsibility!’ Jesus!”
    Whitey had brought his feet down off the table, was squirming awkwardly in his chair. He started making excuses. “I was gonna… I just had to… this thing came up and…”
    “Oh, Whitey,” said Heidi.
    Herman took a sip of his wine, trying to keep from smiling.
    “Fantastic Fest is important to me,” Chip said. “I need asses in seats or I can kiss it good-bye. I need gimmicks to promote! That is why I asked you to go down to the book signing and book him in person. ‘No prob,’ you said. ‘You can count on me.’ ”
    “That doesn’t sound like something I’d say,” said Whitey. “I don’t remember any of this.”
    And then Herman could see that Chip was really going to blow. Enough fun and games, he thought. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I already booked him.”
    “You did?” said Chip. He shook his head. “Why do you cover for this fool?”
    Herman shrugged. “It’s what I do,” he said. “And you’re damn lucky it is. What, no ‘Thanks, Herman. I couldn’t live without you’?”
    Chip gave a little cry of frustration and stormed out.
    Herman took a sip of wine and waited. Once he was sure Chip wasn’t coming back, he turned to Whitey, gave him a hard look. “You know how he gets with that film festival shit,” he said. “You owe me, man.”
    Whitey shrugged, already returning to his usual lackadaisical self. “What else is new?”
    They drank their mugs dry and then clanked them against the table like convicts until Herman sighed and got up and brought them some more. As usual, he took more for himself, but Heidi didn’t care; he was the one, after all, who always bought the wine. And he was older, so maybe he needed it more. And as she’d proven last night, maybe she didn’t need any at all.
    She was sipping from her mug, letting her gaze drift around the familiar break room, when she saw it. Something wooden, the wood lacquered but somewhat distressed, had been crammed into her mail slot, on top of some magazines and other mail. An old box of some kind. Where had that come from?
    “What’s that?” she asked, and pointed.
    “What?” asked Herman. “Where you pointing?”
    “The mail slots,” said Whitey, in a way that made it hard for Heidi to decide if he was joking or serious. “They’ve always been there.”
    She stood up and went over to the slot, grabbed the box. It was