The Big Sheep (14 page)

An hour later we were inspecting the site of the explosion. Cleanup was already well under way; most of the rubble had been cleared, and there was no sign anyone had been killed. There was also no sign of Priya's body double. We asked around a bit, and nobody seemed to know where she was. Priya hadn't been seen on the set since the explosion either. Roy was beside himself. I was sorely tempted to tell him we had just seen Priya alive and well at a hotel a few miles away last night, but Keane insisted that was a bad idea until we knew exactly what was going on. Keane and I were debating what to do next when we saw Élan Durham walking our way.

“Do you think he knows what's going on with Priya?” I asked.

“I would guess we're about to find out,” replied Keane.

But Élan didn't want to talk to us about Priya. In fact, Durham didn't particularly want to talk to us at all. “Somebody wants to see you,” he said gruffly. “This way.” He turned and started walking back the way he had come.

I looked at Keane, who shrugged. We followed Durham to his trailer. He opened the door and gestured for us to go inside.

As we entered, Keane and I both balked. Sitting on a burgundy leather couch inside the trailer was Selah Fiore, the legendary actress and current CEO of Flagship Media. Keane did a better job than I of hiding his surprise, but I think we were both a bit starstruck. Fiore smiled and got to her feet. After getting a scowl from Fiore, Élan did the same. “Mr. Keane,” she said, shaking his hand. “Mr. Fowler.” Élan nodded curtly to us, not saying a word. Clearly, this meeting was not his idea.

“It's an honor to meet you, Ms. Fiore,” said Keane. I nodded. Now in her late sixties, Selah Fiore's beauty had begun to fade a bit, but she was still a head turner—not to mention one of the most powerful people in Los Angeles. “Please, gentlemen, sit down. Can I get you something to drink?” She held up a ceramic mug with the
DiZzy Girl
logo on it. “The coffee is excellent.”

“I'm fine,” said Keane.

“I'll take some coffee, Ms. Fiore,” I heard myself saying.

“Please,” she said. “Call me Selah.” She turned to Durham. “Élan, get Fowler some coffee.”

“Seriously?” asked Durham. Selah glared at him. Durham got up and poured me a cup of coffee.

“Cream, two sugars,” I said with a smile. I hated cream and sugar in my coffee, but I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to have Élan Durham wait on me. Durham grumbled but fixed the coffee and brought it to me.

“Thanks, Élan,” I said with a smile. I took a sip. Even with the cream and sugar, I had to admit it was damn good coffee.

Durham turned toward Selah. “Anything else?” he asked, a tinge of irritation in his voice. “I've got a scene to shoot.”

Selah gave him a dismissive wave, and he left, slamming the trailer door behind him. Selah laughed. “Talented guy,” she said, “but a bit of a prima donna. Has to be reminded who signs the checks.”

Keane and I nodded as if we understood.

“I'm surprised Mr. Durham is shooting today,” I said. “After the explosion yesterday, I mean.”

“We're on a very tight schedule,” said Selah. “The explosion was a setback, but I'm dealing with it.”

A
setback,
I thought.
That's how she thinks of an event that killed at least three people.

“How is Priya this morning?” I asked.

Selah smiled at me. “Priya is taking the day off,” she said. “She's a little shaken up, but she'll be fine.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, and took what I hoped was an ominous sip of coffee.

“I didn't ask you here to talk about Priya, though,” said Selah. “I would like to talk to you about a completely unrelated matter.”

Yeah,
I thought.
Anything other than Priya Mistry, probably.

“Really,” said Keane. “And what might that be?”

“I understand, Mr. Keane,” said Selah, “that you're the best private investigator in Los Angeles.”

“Phenomenological inquisitor,” said Keane. “But yes, I am.”

“Good,” said Selah. “I'd like to hire you.”

“I'm rather booked up at present,” said Keane.

“I'll pay double your normal rate.”

“Hmm,” said Keane. “And if your case happens to distract us from another investigation we're engaged in, that's purely incidental.”

Selah sighed. “Feel free to follow Priya around the
DiZzy Girl
set if you like,” she said. “She should be back tomorrow. But you're wasting your time. She's in no danger. Meanwhile, I have a very pressing matter I would like you to look into.”

“I'm listening,” said Keane.

“To be blunt,” said Selah. “Something has been stolen from me. I want it back.”

“I see,” said Keane. “And this stolen item, what might it be, exactly?”

I took another sip of coffee.

“A sheep,” said Selah.

I came very close to spitting out the coffee. Instead I swallowed hard and coughed violently for a while. Selah Fiore, world-famous film star and multibillionaire, couldn't possibly have just said what I thought she said. I had sheep on the brain. It was the only explanation. “I'm sorry,” I croaked. “Went down the wrong pipe. I thought you said someone stole your
sheep
.”

“You have to understand,” Selah said, regarding me disapprovingly, “this is no ordinary sheep.”

So I
had
heard her correctly. “Lot of that going around,” I murmured.

“And you're the legal owner of this sheep?” Keane asked hurriedly, shooting me a disapproving glance.

Selah took a sip of her coffee. “Ownership is a tricky thing,” she said.

“Not in my experience,” I said. “Either you own something or you don't.” I was starting to really dislike the vibe I was getting from Selah Fiore.

“It may help if I give you a little background,” said Selah, studying her coffee cup. “A parable, if you will. The parable of the lost sheep.”

I gave Keane a dubious look, but he just shrugged.

“Once upon a time…,” started Selah.

“Hold on,” I said. “I thought this was a parable. Not a fairy tale. Parables don't start with
once upon a time
.”

“This one does,” said Selah, irritably. “Once upon a time,” she said again, glaring at me as if challenging me to interrupt. I shrugged and took another sip of coffee. She continued, “There was a king of a very large and very powerful kingdom. This king became overconfident in his wealth and abilities, and overextended himself fighting wars against other kingdoms. His resources were spread so thin that eventually his own kingdom fell into anarchy. It took him five years to get control of the kingdom again. Now in this kingdom there were certain wizards, practitioners of what you might call black magic—a kind of sorcery that had been outlawed by the king. When the kingdom collapsed, these wizards seized up their chance to pursue their arcane work. But the work these wizards were doing was expensive. They needed gold to buy … let's say, materials.”

“Eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat, and tongue of dog,” said Keane.

“Right,” said Selah. “That sort of thing. Now, a certain merchant gave a certain wizard a lot of gold to buy newt eyes and the like, with the understanding that the merchant would be given access to the fruit of the wizard's sorcery. But then the king reasserted control over his kingdom and threatened to imprison any wizards who had been practicing black magic. A few of them did get imprisoned, but most of them just destroyed the evidence and kept the results of their work to themselves.”

“And our generous merchant got screwed.”

“Precisely. The wizard claimed not to know anything about any black magic, so the merchant never got what she paid for. Now let's suppose the merchant became aware of some of the fruits of the wizard's work, and found an opportunity to avail herself of those fruits. Under those circumstances, Mr. Keane, wouldn't you say that the merchant would be justified in claiming the fruits for herself?”

“The scenario is too abstract for me to make any definitive judgment,” Keane said. “Let's just say I can see the merchant's point of view. But whether or not the fruits belong to you, I'm not a thief. I'm not going to break into a lab and steal your fruits for you.”

“Just so we're all on the same page here,” I said, “you do both realize a sheep is not a variety of fruit?”

Selah glared at me.

“I'm just saying,” I grumbled. “The story was supposed to be about a sheep.”

“The sheep has already been removed from the lab,” Selah said. “But it never got to me.”

“You hired someone to steal the sheep, but they double-crossed you,” said Keane.

“Something like that,” replied Selah. “I'll give you the details once you've agreed to take the case.”

I suspected we already knew quite a few of those details, but I kept my mouth shut.

Keane shook his head. “I'm sympathetic to your plight, but I'm afraid I have to decline. I have a conflicting engagement.” Presumably, Keane was talking about the fact that he had already promised to return the sheep to the Esper Corporation. After all, it had to be the same sheep, didn't it? How many genetically modified sheep could be at large in Los Angeles at any given time? But of course Selah thought he meant he was busy on Priya's case.

“I'll triple your rate,” said Selah. “No, quadruple it. Hell, Keane, name your price. I need this sheep found.”

“Why do you even want this sheep?” I asked. “You're a movie star and a powerful executive. What possible use do you have for a genetically modified sheep?”

“That's my business,” said Selah curtly. “I'll tell you anything that might help you find the sheep, but why I want it is none of your concern. What do you say, Mr. Keane?”

“I'm sorry,” said Keane. “I just can't do it.”

Selah sighed. “A man of principle, eh? So there's nothing I can offer you that will change your mind?”

“I'm afraid not,” said Keane.

“In that case,” said Selah, her jaw set firmly, “I have no more use for you.”

 

THIRTEEN

We took the hint and got the hell out of Selah's office. I was doing my best not to read too much into her comment about having “no more use” for us—I'd heard stories about Selah Fiore's ruthlessness, and after witnessing her reaction to an explosion that killed three of her employees, I wasn't eager to see what she was capable of.

“Did you notice anything strange about that conversation?” Keane asked as we strolled down the street past the site of the explosion. We seemed to be headed back to the car.

“Well, there was the part where she asked us to locate a sheep for her,” I said.

“I was referring to the way she ended it,” said Keane.

“The comment about having no use for us?”

“No, she's right about that,” said Keane. “She has no use for us. My point was that despite the fact that she has no use for us, she didn't kick us off the set. She wanted nothing more than to tell me to go to hell, but she didn't. She
wants
us here.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Presumably, because there's nothing for us to find. And perhaps because she doesn't want us somewhere else.”

“Like the Palomar,” I said.

“Right,” said Keane.

“So you don't think the sheep was a red herring?” The mixed metaphor didn't register until it had left my mouth.

“No,” said Keane. “I think she's actually desperate to get her hands on that sheep.”

It took me a moment to realize he wasn't being facetious. “Why?” I asked.

“I haven't the faintest idea.”

“So it's just a coincidence that she asked us to find a sheep we're already looking for.”

“A coincidence?” said Keane thoughtfully. “I'd call it a confluence of events.”

“We do think it's the same sheep, right?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “How many genetically engineered sheep do you think are at large in Los Angeles?”

I nodded. So we were in agreement on that one.

“I take it we're done here then,” I said.

Keane nodded. “If Selah wants us here, this is the last place we need to be.”

“Where to then?”

“Back to the office. I need to think.”

“All right,” I said. “I'll drop you off. I'm going to check out some of the Nifty Truck Rental locations and see if I can find any leads on the sheep thieves.”

Keane nodded absently, deep in thought. I doubt he heard a word I said. But it didn't matter, because we never made it to the office.

*   *   *

“Erasmus Keane,” said the cop at the DZ checkpoint, leaning over to see Keane in the passenger's seat. “I need you to follow that officer over there.” He pointed to a sunglasses-wearing cop standing next to an aircar some fifty feet away. Officer Shades gave us a slight wave as we looked in his direction.

“This relationship isn't entirely about your needs,” said Keane. “Am I being arrested?”

“Not if you do as you're told,” said the cop. “Otherwise I might find I suspect you're transporting contraband and have to tear your car apart.”

Keane gritted his teeth but said nothing. He knew when he was beat. You couldn't fight the LAPD.

“What's this about?” I asked.

“Orders,” said the cop. “Get moving.”

I glanced at Keane, who shrugged. I pulled up behind the aircar. Officer Shades got in and pulled away from the curb. When he got to a launching area down the street, he took off and arced toward Downtown. We followed. A few seconds later a second police car closed behind us.

“These guys aren't messing around,” I said.