The Perdition Score (2 page)

I can't help wondering what Abbot does and who he talks to when I'm not there. Does he discuss me with whoever his personal friends and advisers are? No, that's not really in doubt—of course he does. The question is what he says and why. I mean, he's the augur. He'll play whatever angles he needs to stay who he is. That means he'll use me against
the blue bloods, the blue bloods against me, then he'll turn around and use us all against each other. None of this automatically makes him a bad guy, just a politician. For now, I'm going to assume he's on the level with me. But if I get one whiff of nefarious unpleasantness, I'll dump him in one of the open graves in Teddy Osterberg's cemetery collection in Malibu and bury him alive.

Right now, though, I need to get off the road as soon as possible. The headache wants to come back down on me. It tightens the back of my skull like an anaconda wrapped around my head. But Abbot's flower-power pills keep it at bay. I just need it to work for another hour or so. Then, depending on how things shape up, I'll go to Allegra's clinic or the other place.

The one I really want to get to.

B
UT FIRST, MORE
work.

Julie's detective agency is on Sunset Boulevard in Silver Lake. I push the button on the front door and get buzzed in.

The office is up a flight of stairs. She's fixed it up a bit over the last couple of months. Built herself an office with a door at one end of the space. I tap the glass gently and she gives me a quick wave. Candy's desk is in the large open space so she can greet potential customers when she isn't working her own cases. Small-time stuff mostly, but she's only been at it for a few weeks. Julie fired my ass after just one case. A case I solved, I'd like to point out.

One more indication of what a great employee I am.

Candy in her Chihiro drag doesn't look like her old too-large-leather-jacket-and-jeans self. She's dressed in a short,
tight black dress with skeleton bones printed on the front and back. Her stockings say
BITCH
on them about a thousand times and her bag is a bloodshot vinyl eyeball. Her only concession to her old look is that she still wears Chuck Taylor sneakers.

Candy is at her desk laughing with a redhead I haven't seen before. Each of them has a Styrofoam tray full of noodles. Candy puts down her chopsticks and comes over to me. Gives me a big kiss and takes me by the arm to her friend.

“Stark, I want you to meet—”

“Alessa,” I say.

Alessa, the redhead, opens her eyes a little wider.

“Alessa Graves. How did you know?”

I shrug.

“It's just this funny trick I can do.”

“See?” says Candy. “Didn't I tell you he knew cool stuff?”

Alessa nods.

“Cool doesn't cover it,” she says.

“Fairuza introduced us. Alessa plays guitar. Like real guitar,” Candy says.

“Nice to meet you, Alessa,” I say, holding out my hand like a gentleman or a Realtor. She takes it and we shake briefly.

Alessa looks to be in her late twenties. She's pretty. Her red hair falls just below her shoulders. She wears a lot of kohl around her eyes, probably trying to hide the lines at their edges, lines she's too young for. My money says she had drug problems in the past. Meth, I'd guess. Fucked up her skin some, but the addiction wasn't so bad she lost teeth. I can tell by her smell that she's clean now. Her heartbeat kicks up a little when our hands touch, but it's not that she's all excited
to meet me. She's here to see Candy and talk music. They're just getting to know each other and suddenly the boyfriend walks in and crashes their guitar geeking. That's easy enough to fix.

“You should hear Alessa play sometime,” Candy says. “She's awesome. Her old band toured with Skull Valley Sheep Kill. That's Stark's favorite band,” she says, leaning confidentially in Alessa's direction. She smiles.

“What's your favorite album of theirs?” she says.

“
Plan Nine from Fresno
. What's yours?”

“That's a good one. I like
Cannibal Holiday
.”

“That's a good one too.”

“Hey, maybe you saw her open one of Skull Valley's shows,” Candy says. She turns to Alessa. “When did you tour together?”

“It was just before we recorded our album. About eighteen months ago.”

I shake my head.

“Sorry. I wouldn't have seen you. Eighteen months ago . . .” A quick flash of pain in my head. I picture the arena for a second. “I was out of town.”

“Well, if you're interested we have some live stuff on YouTube.”

“What should I search for?”

“‘Django's Coffin.'”

I'm starting to warm up to her. “Is
Django
your favorite western?”

She shrugs.

“My old girlfriend loved it. I like it, but I like
The Furies
more.”

“Barbara Stanwyck. When she takes away Rip's derringer and points it at him.”

“It's a good way to end an argument.”

“I've ended a few that way myself.”

“You should show me sometime.”

“Sure. You, me, and Chihiro can go by the L.A. Gun Club.”

She makes a fist and holds it out. I make one too and we bump.

“Alessa plays surf guitar. She totally kicks Dick Dale's ass,” says Candy. She holds up an LP that's a bit battered at the edges. “Look what she gave me.”

The cover is greenish, with a man holding a guitar case on a long stairway. A pagoda in the background. Printed on the front is
RASHOMON. TAKESHI TERAUCHI AND THE BLUE JEANS.

“Early-seventies Japanese surf rock. She knows all about it.”

I get it now.

“And you bought her noodles to join your band.”

Candy picks up some chopsticks.

“She brought a record, so I brought noodles.”

“That sounds fair.”

Alessa says, “It's not quite that simple. Chihiro played me a recording of her band rehearsing. They're not bad. They need work, but they're not bad.”

Chihiro
. Good. Candy's staying safe, using her new identity even while she's trying to lure a professional guitarist into the clutches of her garage band. Maybe Alessa's drug problem was worse than I thought. For a pro to want to work with Candy's group, she must have burned some bridges with the local L.A. players.

I look at Candy.

“That's great. You'll be playing with Skull Valley soon yourself.”

“Wouldn't that be great?”

Alessa picks up her chopsticks and pokes at her noodles.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” she says. “We need to learn some actual songs first.”

Candy sits back down at her desk.

“Yes. Songs first. Then touring. See? She's a total professional.”

I nod.

“Sounds like it,” I say. Alessa continues poking at her noodles. Even I can take a hint. She's done with me being there. Candy looks at her. She's done with me too for the moment.

“Listen, I have to talk to Julie, so I'll let you get back to work.”

Alessa looks up and smiles, glad I figured out what's what.

“Nice meeting you, Stark,” she says.

“You too.”

I head to Julie's office. The moment I'm gone they're digging into their food, Candy talking excitedly through a full mouth. Alessa laughs at her and hums a staccato surf melody.

I knock on Julie's door. She looks up and nods. I go in.

“How's it going?”

Julie shakes her head.

“I'm glad I got myself a door. The Bobbsey Twins out there have been yammering for an hour.”

“Chihiro gets a little nuts when the subject of music comes up.”

“‘Nuts' is the nice word for it. What are you up to these days? If this is a social call, I have a lot of work I have to do.”

I take Abbot's folder out of my pocket and drop it on her desk.

“Be happier to see me. I'm bringing you business.”

She opens the folder and picks up the photo.

“Is he missing?”

“That's what Abbot said.”

“Abbot?
Thomas
Abbot?”

I look at her.

“Happy to see me now?”

“Happier. Do you have any background information on the kid?”

“There's some stuff on the back of the photo. His name is Nick, Abbot says. It might be a parent abduction, but I don't know.”

Julie turns the photo over and scans the information.

“You don't think he's telling the truth?”

“I don't know that either. I just know that he went out of his way not to say what his relationship was with the kid or his parents. He just kept saying ‘my friend' wants me to get you to look into it.”

She turns the photo over and looks at Nick's face.

“Normally I'd be reluctant to go with a case with so little information and a cagey client, but—”

“Yeah. It's the augur asking. He's got money and he's got pull. It seems like one to take.”

“And so we will. Thanks, Stark.”

I always feel funny when Julie thanks me. She's the friend who helped keep Candy out of that Lurker relocation camp
so she could become Chihiro. Then she gave her a job. We're both a long way from paying her back for that. Any case I can throw at her, I will.

From the other room we can hear Candy and Alessa laughing. Julie holds a hand off in their direction

“Can you have a word with her? I mean, this
is
supposed to be a place of business.”

“Looks like she's on her lunch hour to me.”

“Lunch hour and then some.”

“Look, you made it clear you didn't want me involved with the agency. I'm not about to go out there and scold Chihiro for a noodle break.”

“Point taken. Just do me a favor and look at your watch on the way out. Maybe she'll take the hint.”

“I don't wear a watch.”

“Right. Well, pretend. Stare at your wrist for two seconds.”

I get up.

“I'll wrestle them to the ground and give them detention.”

Julie gives me a curdled smile.

“Late at night, if you ever wonder why you don't work here anymore, remember this moment.”

I open the office door.

“I'll tell Abbot you're on the case when I see him Monday.”

“Tell him to call me. It would be nice to discuss a fee.”

“I'll give him your number.”

“Good night, Stark.”

“Good night.”

I walk over to Candy's desk and make a big show of looking at my wrist.

“What are you doing?” says Candy.

“Looking at my watch.”

“You don't have a watch. You barely have socks.”

“I'm supposed to be hinting about the time. Julie's request.”

“Oh.”

Candy glances at Julie's office.

“I guess I lost track of time.”

“It's cool,” says Alessa. “I don't want to get you in trouble with your boss.”

She gets up. Candy comes from around the desk and gives her a hug.

“Call me tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Let's figure out a time to get the whole band together.”

“Great.”

Alessa tosses her noodles into the trash and heads for the stairs.

“See you around, Stark.”

I give her a wave.

“You too.”

Candy comes over and kisses me hard.

“Isn't this the best thing ever? We might be an actual band with an actual guitarist.”

“You're a guitarist.”

“I'm a guitar player. I know three chords. Alessa is a
guitarist
. Big difference.”

“Well, I hope it all works out and you get to work together.”

“Me too.”

“You need a ride home?”

She shakes her head.

“I have tons of reports and paperwork to do. I'll be here late.”

“Okay. I might stop by Bamboo House myself. I'll see you at home.”

She sits down at her desk.

“Tell Carlos hi for me.”

“I will.”

I start for the stairs and she blows me a kiss. I wink at her.

I head for the Catalina parked around the corner and see Alessa smoking a cigarette on the corner. She turns and sees me.

“You need a ride or something?” I say.

“No thanks. I have a cab coming.”

“Okay. Chihiro is pretty excited about working with you. I haven't seen her this happy in a while.”

“Chihiro's cool. And her band is all right. I can work with them.”

“Good luck. They're a handful.”

She takes a drag on her cigarette, blows out the smoke.

“So am I.”

“I don't doubt it. Well, I'll see you around.”

“Good night.”

I go back to the Catalina and get in. Candy is working late. My head is mostly better, but not one hundred percent. I can get drugs for it or I can do the other thing. A stab of guilt gets me in the gut. I don't like keeping secrets, especially from Candy, but I don't know if she'd understand this and I need it right now. Just until I can get myself together again. I'll stop by Bamboo House later and bring home some food so the evening won't be a total lie.

In the rearview mirror, I watch Alessa get into a cab. It swings around and its headlights reflect into my eyes. Icepicks again.

That settles it. I start the car and wait for whoever is hiding in the backseat to do something. When they don't, I pull out and head south.

About two blocks on, I hear a moan and pull over into the parking lot of a Spanish Evangelical church. I don't say anything, waiting for the moaner—it sure sounded like a guy—to show himself. He doesn't and I slip the black blade out of my coat.

“Anytime now, sunshine. Kill me or get out.”

Someone rustles around and slowly sits up. I turn halfway in my seat.

He's pale. Thin. Unshaven. Three days or more. He doesn't smell that great either. He leans against the side of the door where his face falls into line with the blinking sign in front of a bodega. There he is, yellow one second, then swallowed in black the next.