Redshirts (21 page)

Mitch looked over at Kerensky and Duvall. If he noted Kerensky’s resemblance to Marc Corey, he kept it to himself. He turned his gaze back to Dahl. “First floor only,” he said. “If they try for the second floor, they’re out on their ass. If they go for the basement, they’re out on their ass minus teeth.”

“First floor,” Dahl repeated, nodding.

“And not you,” Mitch said. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Dahl said.

Mitch motioned to Kerensky and Duvall and unlatched the rope; audible protests came from the line of pretty, posed people.

“You got this?” Dahl asked Duvall, as she walked by.

“Trust me, I got this,” she said. “Stick by your phone.”

“I will,” Dahl said. The two of them disappeared into the dark of the Vine Club. Mitch latched the rope behind them.

“Hey,” Dahl said to him. “Where can a normal human go get a drink?”

Mitch smiled at this and pointed. “Irish pub right up there,” he said. “The bartender’s name is Nick. Tell him I sent you.”

“Thanks,” Dahl said, and headed up the street.

The pub was noisy and crowded. Dahl worked his way to the bar and then fished in his pocket for money.

“Hey, Brian, right?” someone said to him.

Dahl looked up to see the bartender staring back at him, smiling.

“Finn,” Dahl said.

“Nick,” the bartender said.

“Sorry,” Dahl said, after a second. “Brain freeze.”

“Occupational hazard,” Nick said. “You get known by your part.”

“Yeah,” Dahl said.

“Hey, are you all right?” Nick asked. “You seem a little”—he wiggled his hands—“dazed.”

“I’m fine,” Dahl said, and made the effort to smile. “Sorry. Just a little strange to see you here.”

“It’s the life of an actor,” Nick said. “Out of work and bartending. What are you having?”

“Pick a beer for me,” Dahl said.

“Brave man,” Nick said.

“I trust you,” Dahl said.

“Famous last words,” Nick said, and then headed off to the taps. Dahl watched him working the taps and tried very hard not to freak out.

“Here you go,” Nick said a minute later, handing over a pint glass. “Local microbrew. It’s called a Starlet Stout.”

Dahl tried it. “It’s not bad,” he said.

“I’ll tell the brew master you said so,” Nick said. “You might remember him. The three of us were in a scene together. He got killed by a swarm of robots.”

“Lieutenant Fischer,” Dahl said

“That’s the one,” Nick said, and nodded at Dahl’s glass. “Real name is Jake Klein. His microbrewery’s taking off, though. He’s mostly doing that now. I’m thinking of joining him.”

“And stop being an actor?” Dahl said.

Nick shrugged. “It’s not like they’re tearing down the doors to get at me,” he said. “I’ve been out here nine years now and that gig on
Intrepid
was the best thing I’ve gotten so far, and it wasn’t all that great. I got killed by an exploding head.”

“I remember,” Dahl said.

“That was what did it for me, actually,” Nick said. He started washing glasses in the bar sink to give the appearance of being busy as he talked. “We did ten takes of that scene. Every time we did it I had to toss myself backward like there was an actual explosion. And around take seven I thought to myself, ‘I’m thirty years old and what I’m doing with my life is pretending to die on a TV show that I wouldn’t watch if I wasn’t on it.’ At a certain point you have to ask yourself why you do it. I mean, why do
you
do it?”

“Me?” Dahl asked.

“Yeah,” Nick said.

“I do it because for a long time I didn’t know I had a choice,” Dahl said.

“That’s just it, though,” Nick said. “You do. You still on the show?”

“For now,” Dahl said.

“But they’re going to kill you off too,” Nick said.

“In a couple of episodes,” Dahl said. “Unless I can avoid it.”

“Don’t avoid it,” Nick said. “Die and then figure out the rest of your life.”

Dahl smiled. “It’s not as simple as that for some of us,” he said, and took a drink.

“Mortgage, huh,” Nick said.

“Something like that,” Dahl said.

“C’est la vie,” Nick said. “So what brings you down to Hollywood and Vine? I think you told me you were in Toluca Lake.”

“I had some friends who wanted to go to the Vine Club,” Dahl said.

“They didn’t let you in?” Nick asked. Dahl shrugged. “You should have let me know. My friend’s the bouncer there.”

“Mitch,” Dahl said.

“That’s him,” Nick said.

“He’s the one who told me to come down here,” Dahl said.

“Ouch,” Nick said. “Sorry.”

“I’m not,” Dahl said. “It’s really good to see you again.”

Nick grinned and then went to tend to other customers.

Dahl’s phone vibrated. He fished it out of his pocket and answered it.

“Where are you?” Duvall asked.

“I’m at a pub down the street,” Dahl said. “Having a very weird time. Why?”

“You need to come back down here. We just got kicked out of the club,” Duvall said.

“You and Kerensky?” Dahl asked. “How did that happen?”

“Not just me and Kerensky,” Duvall said. “Marc Corey too. He attacked Kerensky.”

“What?” Dahl said.

“We walked up to Corey in his booth, he saw Kerensky and said, ‘So you’re the fucker whose picture is on Gawker,’ and lunged at him,” Duvall said.

“What the hell is a Gawker?” Dahl asked.

“Don’t ask me, it’s not my century,” Duvall said. “We all got thrown out and now Corey’s passed out on the sidewalk. He was already drunk off his ass when we got there.”

“Scrape him off the sidewalk and fish through his pockets for his valet ticket,” Dahl said. “Get all of you in his car and then wait for me. I’ll be there in just a couple of minutes. Try not to get yourselves arrested.”

“I promise nothing,” Duvall said, and hung up.

“Problem?” Nick asked. He had come back up while Dahl was on the phone.

“My friends got into a fight at the Vine Club and got kicked out,” Dahl said. “I need to go get them before the police arrive.”

“You’re having an interesting night,” Nick said.

“You have no idea,” Dahl said. “What do I owe you for the beer?”

Nick waved him off. “On the house,” he said. “Your one good thing for the evening.”

“Thank you,” Dahl said, and then paused, looking at his phone and then looking up at Nick. “Would you mind if I took a picture of the two of us?”

“Now you’re getting weird,” Nick said, but smiled and leaned in. Dahl held the phone out and took the picture.

“Thanks,” Dahl said again.

“No problem,” Nick said. “Now you better go before your friends are hauled away.”

Dahl hurried out.

Two minutes later he was outside the Vine Club, watching Duvall and Kerensky wrestling with Marc Corey by a black, sleek automobile, while Mitch and a valet looked on. The pretty, posed people had their phones out, taking video of it all.

“Man, what the hell is this?” Mitch asked as Dahl walked up. “Your pals are in there not ten minutes and this chump tries to wreck the place getting at them.”

“Sorry about that,” Dahl said.

“And this clone action is just freaky,” Mitch said.

“My friends were in there to get Marc,” Dahl lied, and pointed at Kerensky. “That’s his public double. They use him for publicity sometimes. We heard he was getting a little rowdy and came to get him because he’s got to be on set tomorrow.”

“He wasn’t rowdy until your friends showed up,” Mitch said. “And what does that dude need a double for? He’s a supporting actor on a basic cable science fiction show. It’s not like he’s actually
famous
.”

“You should see him at Comic-Con,” Dahl said.

Mitch snorted. “He better enjoy that, then, because he’s banned here,” he said. “When your friend is coherent tell him that if he shows up again, he’ll achieve warp speed thanks to my foot in his ass.”

“I’ll use those words exactly,” Dahl said.

“Do that,” Mitch said, and turned back to his duties.

Dahl walked over to Duvall. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

“He’s drunk and has no bones,” Duvall said, struggling with Corey. “And he’s woken up enough to argue with us.”

“You can’t handle a boneless drunk?” Dahl asked.

“Of course I can,” Duvall said. “But you said you didn’t want us to get arrested.”

“A little help here would be nice,” Kerensky said, as Corey’s drunken hand stabbed a finger up his nose.

Dahl nodded, opened the door to the black car and pulled the front seat forward. Duvall and Kerensky got a better grip on Corey, steadied him and then hurled him into the backseat. Corey jammed in, head into the far corner of the backseat, ass in the air. He whimpered for a second and then made a flabby exhaling sound. He was out again.

“I’m not sitting with him,” Kerensky said.

“No you’re not,” Dahl agreed, reached into the car and pulled Corey’s wallet out of his pants. He held it out to Kerensky. “You’re driving.”

“Why am I driving?” Kerensky asked.

“Because then if we get pulled over, you’re him,” Dahl said.

“Right,” Kerensky said, taking the wallet.

“I’ll pay the valet,” Duvall said.

“Tip well,” Dahl said.

A minute later Kerensky figured out what “D” meant on the shift column and the four of them were driving up Vine.

“Keep to the speed limit,” Dahl said.

“I have no idea where I’m going,” Kerensky said.

“You’re an astrogator,” Duvall said.

“This is a
road,
” Kerensky said.

“Hold on,” Duvall said, and pulled out her phone. “This thing’s got a map function. Let me get it working.” Kerensky grunted and kept driving.

“Well, we had a fun evening,” Duvall said to Dahl, as she entered the address of the Best Western into her phone. “What did you do?”

“I saw an old friend,” Dahl said, and showed Duvall the picture of him and Nick.

“Oh,” Duvall said, taking the phone. She reached into the backseat and grabbed his hand. “Oh, Andy. You okay?”

“I’m okay,” he said.

“He looks just like him,” Duvall said, looking at the picture again.

“He would,” Dahl said, and looked out the window.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“He’s slept long enough,” Dahl said, nodding to Marc Corey’s unconscious form on the bed. “Wake him up.”

“That would mean touching him,” Duvall said.

“Not necessarily,” Hester said. He reached over and took one of the pillows Corey wasn’t using, and then hit him on the head with it. Corey woke up with a start.

“Nicely done,” Hanson said, to Hester. He nodded in acknowledgment.

Corey sat up and looked around, disoriented. “Where am I?” he asked, to no one in particular.

“In a hotel,” Dahl said. “The Best Western in Burbank.”

“Why am I here?” Corey said.

“You passed out at the Vine Club after you attacked a friend of mine,” Dahl said. “We got you in your car and drove you here.”

Corey looked down and furrowed his brow. “Where are my
pants
?” he said.

“We took them from you,” Dahl said.

“Why?” Corey said.

“Because we need to talk to you,” Dahl said.

“You could do that without taking my pants,” Corey said.

“In a perfect world, yes,” Dahl said.

Corey peered at Dahl, groggily. “I know you,” he said after a minute. “You’re an extra on my show.” He looked at Duvall and Hanson. “So are you two.” His gaze turned to Hester. “You I’ve never seen before.”

Hester looked slightly exasperated at this. “We had a scene together,” he said to Corey. “You were attacked by swarm bots.”

“Dude, I have a lot of scenes with extras,” Corey said. “That’s why they’re called ‘extras.’” He turned his attention back to Dahl. “And if any of you ever want to work on the show again, you will give me my pants and my car keys, right now.”

“Your pants are in the restroom,” Hanson said. “Drying.”

“You were so drunk you pissed yourself,” Hester said.

“Besides taking your pants for discussion purposes, we figured you might not want to go into work with clothes that smelled like urine,” Dahl said.

Corey looked puzzled at this, glanced down at the underwear on his body, and then bent over at the waist, sniffing. Both Duvall and Hester gave up looks of mild disgust; Dahl watched impassively.

“I smell fine,” Corey said.

“New underwear,” Dahl said.

“Whose?” Corey said. “Yours?”