Mike's Fictional Audiobook Narration Demo
Description
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Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Chapter one. I wasn't surprised to find my old friend in one time consigliere easy Zeke Stanton holed up in a hospital in the San Fernando Valley. The two packs a day of lucky strikes he'd finished off for most of his life had finally taken its toll. You can't outrun old habits. Nobody's that lucky. He looked to be in good spirits and didn't seem the least worried about his imminent demise. Have you been, Bub? Zeke said with a smile. He gazed out from his bed with dreamy eyes that were half closed. Not too bad, I said. I was expecting you. You made it sound like a real opportunity. So I came right over. I figured you would. I'd found Zeke on my voice mail the day before, informing me of a lucrative job offer that would get me back on my feet. I had been desperate for work since my parole ended, and I came to the hospice to get the fine details. Zeke licked his lips and started mumbling something about stolen art and big money, then nodded off in a morphine haze. There's an upside, the hospice. Living, too. He shared a room with a couple of other terminal geezers who were carrying on like it was another day at the coffeehouse. I suppose we all make too much fuss about dying. The world goes on very well without us. I hung around the lobby for over an hour and watch the withered and fetid frames of those awaiting their final call somewhere in wheelchairs and others walk the halls, helped along by hospice aids with long faces and sad looking eyes, I couldn't find a smile in the place. An aide called me back to Zeke's room, and my old friend appeared more chipper. This time, the morphine had worn off and his eyes stayed open and gazed out invitingly. His roommates were fast asleep, and he looked comfortable in the relative privacy of the moment. It's great to see again, Bob. Same here, Zeke, you're looking pretty good. I have to say, I'm not getting any better. They tell me it's only a matter of weeks. Sorry to hear that. As if on cue, he broke into a coughing fit. I kept a solemn pose and waited for him to recover. I'd like you to go to New York and meet someone he said in a hoarse voice. He needs a guy with your experience for a job he has in mind. What do I have to do? It entails a work of art. That's all I know. From what I hear, it's big time. There's good money in it for you. I have to think about it. You had some bad breaks, Bob. I wanted to do your favor before. No, Zeke, you're not going out so easily. Don't worry about me. He licked his lips again. They were chapped in his face, was pale and looked ghostly. He struggled to keep his eyes open. You don't have time to think about it, Bob. Take the job before someone else does. He reached over to the night table and picked up his wallet, a thin piece of leather with nothing in it except a few business cards. He handed me one call, this guy. He'll set up the meeting. I read the card. It was some import export business in Santa Monica and looked legit. I'll call the guy Zeke. Sure, he nodded back and smiled, then closed his eyes. I watched him for a few minutes before slipping away. I didn't think we'd be talking again.