Shade City (15 page)

How had I been so blind?

I tried to rationalize the deception. She had only been a kid listening to her father. She didn't know what she was doing. She had tried, in the end, to do the right thing. But all my excuses rang hollow.

Alexander Ambrose stood tall and proud over my hunched form that leaned against the wall, and only the guilty tears of my friend mattered.

"You told me Pearl was an accident," said Violet, under her breath.

Alexander furrowed his strong brow. "What?"

"Fingal's wife," said Violet, raising her voice. "You told me she fell down the hill by accident."

"Ah," replied the man, a morose look on his face. Perhaps he had gotten carried away in his exposition and revealed too much. He had likely mentioned facts that Violet herself had never known. He'd told so many lies over the years that he probably didn't even realize what it was she was supposed to believe.

"You monster," I said. "How could you have done all of this to those people? To your own daughter?"

I stood up feebly as I addressed him. I had no strength. Or will. All it took was his cane to hold me at bay, the alabaster rose at my chest.

"Tut, tut, Mr. Butcher. I have come to you to confess the past with the purpose of putting it behind us."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I do," he answered. "I will not pretend to be a noble man—pragmatism has always defined me—but a checkered past will either force a man to take stock of himself or continue on his way to destruction. I have shattered lives. I have lost my daughter. My prizes? Suffering at the hands of the Royals, withstanding a prison sentence, and bearing the agony of coma."

I considered them both. Violet's expression showed that she thought he was just as full of shit as I did. The girl had worked over the years to show remorse. I didn't know her intent, I had to admit, and she had continually lied to me, but she had stopped killing people.

"What's your business with Alexander McAllister?" I demanded.

"He is a susceptible man and he is rich," he replied. "I should know—I made him both of those things. I admit I have watched him. Purely for his benefit, of course." Alexander must have seen the disbelief on my face, so he explained. "You must have noticed I have not taken the man. Does that not lend me a spatter of credibility?"

"I know about Bedros," was all I answered.

"Yes, of course. Your touch. The Armenian was an associate of Finlay's, by which I mean, mine. His watchful eye has done much of my work for me. Although you must excuse him. He is quick to judgment and action alike, and he had you pegged for a thrall of Red Hat. You will find the man completely harmless from now on."

"Harmless?" I asked incredulously. "He's supplanting the life of a human being. He's next on my list for expulsion, if you don't mind." I added the last part in a tone mocking the polite indifference of Ambrose. He actually seemed amused.

"Of course," he said. "By all means, you are certainly welcome to try, but the sage that you find so efficacious against the addicts may do you little good against the Armenian. And I am afraid he is well past my advice on the matter."

I thought the situation over. It would have been great to not have to worry about Alexander McAllister anymore. If Ambrose truly cut him free, if Bedros backed off, then half my worries would have been solved. I didn't even need to consider how to approach the man again or introduce him to Violet—his true daughter was far from my reach, and I had no more business with him.

But it seemed too easy. I had looked in on the family too far to just let it go that quickly, especially since I only got the confession when I was on the verge of discovering it myself. It's easy to apologize after getting caught—the true merit of a man lies in what he does beforehand.

"You killed a man," I said, my confidence against the man growing. "Just two days ago, to avoid being caught. That doesn't strike me as someone who's turned a new leaf."

Ever formal, Alexander conceded my point with a nod as if we were debating politics. "My morals have never aligned with most, Mr. Butcher. I have already admitted that killing Sal was a mistake, but ultimately he was just a tool in a larger project."

"And what kind of tool am I?" I asked indignantly.

The man smiled softly. "A hammer, Mr. Butcher. For the first time in a century, I have met another man who would go against the Royals. It is true what they say," spoke the man, looking to his daughter and then back at me. "Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows."

The lobby of the St. Angelo Hotel drew silent as Alexander Ambrose waited for my answer. Violet, drying her face, maintained her balance of animosity and fright. I had been told not to trust shades, and the events taking place supported that maxim, but I could have used a tool or two myself.

"Go on," I said.

"You've got to be kidding me," berated Violet. "After everything he just told you, Dante."

"At least he told me."

The girl's look pierced my heart. I felt subdued on the inside, unable to continue, but my practiced countenance remained firm.

Alexander proceeded to explain his plan. "I have already admitted to being in league with Red Hat as a means of spying on them, but I owe them no affiliation for previous favors. In fact, the Royals know nothing about who I truly am."

"Who are they?"

"The more powerful of the shades who control the company, many having lived at the time of the Royal Ruby Millinery. Make no mistake, sir, they are your enemy. Not the company. Certainly not me. I will stay out of your affairs save to assist you against the Royals."

"You can't trust him," said Violet.

Alexander did not appear miffed. "I do not ask for trust. I have laid the truth bare for your sole discretion, Mr. Butcher. Keep your actions to yourself. Involve my daughter or do not. It is entirely up to you. Just know that a hammer striking nails into a wall makes a great deal of sound, but unless you are hitting the studs true, your work is for naught."

The man had charisma. No one else could sound a convincing ally so soon after confessing to murder.

"So where do I strike?" I asked.

"I would recommend surveying the scene first," he answered. "You have a party to go to, Mr. Butcher."

 

 

 

A thick rain fell on Los Angeles through the morning. It was the season for it, but weeks could pass before it happened again. This type of weather, the type that blots out the sun and lingers more than a day, is not a staple of the city. It happens once or twice a year. But it never feels native.

LA is meant to be mired in dirt, caked in its own decadence. No rain or snow or gloom; the constant sameness disguises the passage of time. The unending sun serves as a source of pride to the city's inhabitants. It also prevents their rebirth. There is no pause for reflection on the lives led under the spotlight. The sun rises and sets, like divine clockwork, and we power ever forward.

Being from Miami, I'd always found moments like these to be a gift. It was the rain that stripped us of our pretenses, that beleaguered us with our own helplessness. This mortal coil had a grander design than I'd ever ventured to explain. And why try? It wasn't for me to set all right with the world. I didn't need any master plan. For the most part, I'd always settled for the washing away of the dirt.

I lay in my bed staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the patter of drops die down. The pocket watch sat on my nightstand. I knew it was there but I kept my gaze off it. My thoughts, however, were not as tightly under my control. I had stripped away all of Violet's past deeds and reacquainted her with her father. What more evil could I have wrought on her?

I left her quietly and jumped into the shower. Defining the past helped little to predict what was in store for me tonight. The unknown was ahead. Like the city, if I was to face it, I could use a cleaning.

I let forty-five minutes pass before I was back in my room, renewed. It was brighter in here. I could see the sun gaining strength between the vertical blinds. I trudged over to the window and drew it open. The clouds were set to give way and the earth, to dry. It was to be a normal Southern California day after all.

So much for reflection.

* * *

"That's the one," I said to Violet, pointing at my laptop screen. I was sitting in the living room now, pillow behind my back, leaning towards the coffee table. It was a meager workstation, but it was the only one I had.

"I can't just stroll into a private party," I reasoned. "Not one run by Red Hat. They're professional event organizers. They also happen to be run by a secretive cabal of shades. I think the security's bound to be tight."

I shook my head. I agreed that it wasn't ideal but Violet couldn't offer anything better. It was a silly argument, but it allowed both of us to stall the inevitable conversation of trust and betrayal until later. It was enough to process that Violet was really Viola Ambrose, the daughter of my enemy. The fact that she was ashamed of her past scored points with me—I just didn't know if it was enough. I decided that distracting myself was all I could handle right now.

"You would have me just walk up and, if I get caught, play dumb? Just tell them I thought the party was open to the public?"

Her argument was sound. The image of me trying to rationalize myself out of that situation brought a smile to my lips. But it didn't solve our problem.

I had known about this party for days. Instead of preparing for it, I had spent the week digging into Violet's history. Now the moment was upon us and I felt unready. Between Red Hat and Alexander McAllister and work, I was stretched too thin. It was likely to lead to mistakes where they were least afforded.

"So then we need to go to Red Hat," I said. "We need to see if there's a way we could schmooze ourselves into the party."

"And Soren?" I offered. "He's a guest of honor. Maybe he could score us an invite."

It seemed easy enough, except he hadn't told us about the party. In fact, I had to go through his things to discover his secret gig in the first place.

"Shit, I have no idea. The Royals are placing themselves close to Soren in hopes of possessing him without much notice. That requires a change in his lifestyle and circle of friends. This party is a start to that."

"We can't rule it out. We need to be ready for anything." I leaned back on the sofa, abandoning the research into the service companies at the party. "One thing is for sure, he will have contact with Red Hat agents, maybe even the Royals. Trailing him will get us a list of people to watch."

I picked up my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts until my finger rested on Soren. Violet had a point. What I did best was blend in with the other partiers. Showing up in the garb of an employee would hinder me more than help. Better to keep things natural.

I knew it was. I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't show up with nothing.

Before I could call Soren, I heard a firm knock on my door.

No one visited me. Not unannounced. I had no family in California. I wasn't dating anyone, and if I were, they wouldn't show up without a phone call or there wouldn't be any more dates. No. It had to be a mistake. Or a solicitor. I remained seated and waited for the person to go away.

Instead, they knocked again, this time louder. I sighed and got up, in a mind to not be very polite to the person handing out flyers or trying to sell me magazine subscriptions. Without much thought, I swung the door open. A large Armenian man towered in the hall.

I nearly jumped but I didn't want to alarm him. Really, I didn't want to show him that I was alarmed. "Bedros," I said coolly.

He pulled his hand from behind his back and presented it in front of him. I'm not proud to admit that I flinched. Then I saw that he was offering me a glossy black envelope. "With compliments. From Mr. Ambrose."

I almost laughed. I was a bit embarrassed about the flinching thing, but it was more than that. This gruff man was attempting to be genteel. It was unnatural. Just as it was for Bedros to be an ally. He should be trying to smash my face in. I should be putting him in a headlock. Still, the man harbored no hostility towards me at the moment. While I didn't reciprocate the feeling, that grudge was best left for another day. I took the envelope.

Bedros gave a curt nod and walked away without another word. He didn't even gloat.

Back on the couch, I opened the envelope with the delicacy of a child on Christmas. Inside was a rectangular flyer on thick stock, twice as glossy as the wrapping. A small red bow was tied around the bottom and held a ticket the size of a business card, in the shape of a red hat.

It was a formal invitation to the party.

"Still think your father can't offer us anything?"

It was a petty retort. I regretted bringing it up, mainly because the topic skirted dangerously close to admitting that the two of us had a lot to talk about.

In truth, I wasn't comfortable with Alexander Ambrose one bit. Case in point: he'd sent his goon to my front door. No one had ever come to me like that before.

I hurried to the closet and retrieved a hammer from my toolbox. I pounded a single nail in the middle of the doorframe, above the front door. Then I scooped Soren's horseshoe ring off the coffee table and slipped it in place. In the old days, real horseshoes were hung in thresholds to ward off spirits. I was hoping the ring at least worked on Armenians.

* * *

Griffith Park is a funny place. It's the Central Park of Los Angeles, more or less, except that it's much larger and more sprawling. The park contains mountains, hiking trails, the famous Hollywood sign, the Greek Theatre, and the Los Angeles Zoo. Still, despite its size, it is easier to miss than its New York counterpart. It doesn't sit in the middle of Downtown flush with skyscrapers; it's offset from the city proper a bit, extending to Hollywood and Burbank and lining the Valley.

The scope of the park is impressive. In places it appears feral, more like a state park than a municipal one, but if one keeps to the roads it's easy enough to navigate. Near the bottom edge of the grounds, sitting on the top of a mountain and facing the LA Basin, is the Griffith Park Observatory.

This public science center is an Art Deco wonder. Besides the planetarium shows, everything is free, making accessible to the public, among other things, a Tesla Coil and a pendulum that swings with the rotation of the Earth. The large domes, intricate tiling, and mountainside grounds create pure architectural splendor.

And tonight it was all closed for a private party.

On the road below, a guard checked my invitation just to drive farther in. I found a parking spot with some difficulty, and it was still a fifteen minute hike to the peak, during which I passed another security checkpoint on foot. There were lots of trees and natural paths that avoided the street. I silently took note of which routes were clear in case I would need to sneak out. From my passing observations, no staff was guarding the forest.

The sun was nearly set and the sky was filled with an otherworldly pink that blended into a deep blue overhead. Not a cloud on the horizon. The view of the city, washed clean of the smog by the recent rain, was breathtaking. The air was clear and the streetlights began to glow: the magic of the night was upon me already, even before I heard the music.

Techno winded through the trees and descended the mountain to the ears of those climbing the steps. A series of blue lights around the observatory lined the large courtyard and revealed the packs of people standing on the grass. Although I could see the event in the distance, it still took another five minutes to wind around the street to reach it. There, a man in a suit patted me down and checked my invitation. Easily enough, I entered as a guest.

The trance music was deafening.

This was an industry party, for sure. From their styles of dress and their attitudes, I quickly pegged several musicians, promoters, and donors. It wasn't just Red Hat either, but their associates. There was enough here to appear legitimate, at the very least.

As I stepped through the crowd, I brushed my shoulders against the throng, searching for second shadows. Again, despite my initial expectations, everything was above board. Not a shade in the house. That set my mind at ease. I'd been afraid I was walking into a wolves' den. Now I was just hoping I'd be able to find the predators among the prey.

I slipped the Hamilton watch into my hand.

"Mmm hmm," I hummed under my breath.

"Isn't it obvious?" I asked, watching the crowd swirl before me like the rough seas. "It's time for a drink."

I found the bar and ordered a Bacardi and coke. The selection wasn't my fault—that was the only rum they had. And if that was weak, the pour was even worse. It was hard to work the bartender at a place like this, too. Either they had been told to skimp on the alcohol or they didn't know what a proper drink tasted like. I finished my cup in the same area while I got a lay of the land, then ordered a double the next time around.

"I've—"

I smiled. She was familiar with my methods by now. I wanted to give her a snarky reply but there was a cute girl standing next to me and I didn't want to explain about my talking watch. Still, Violet had a decent point. It wasn't that I couldn't handle my drinks—but it was quickly getting dark.

The courtyard was divided by a stone spire. The DJ, and the thick of the crowd, were on the opposite side. After I sipped my drink down enough so that it wouldn't spill, I entered the fray. On the makeshift stage were two guys spinning on old-fashioned turntables that sat in antique suitcases. Their music was spooky and sampled old radio shows and the like. It was experimental in a way that Soren might have liked, better than his stuff even, but DJ Ingress was nowhere around. I kept wandering.

The inside of the building was closed off. That's what I was told, anyway, when I approached. It seemed believable since I doubted the museum could handle this kind of crowd. No one visibly went inside, either. But since I found myself with nothing else to do, I decided to double-check.

The side of the grounds had a line of port-o-potties, each attracting a pilgrimage of worshippers. I strolled past to the walkway running along the observatory and climbed the stone steps. There was no security in sight.

The building had multiple levels and paths surrounding it, all outdoors and freely accessible. As I headed to the back, some small groups walked by me. The strong smell of pot flooded my nose. Of course. The music was fainter here and there was less added lighting due to the event. This was the perfect place to chill out away from the crowd.

Just in case Soren was somewhere out here, I circled the grounds.

"It's still early," I said, swinging the watch.

"Nah. No way Soren is headlining. They'll put him up first."

"Maybe, but he'll be around otherwise. That's when we need to be watching him anyway. I was hoping there would be another DJ booth somewhere, but that doesn't look to be the case."