Shade City (10 page)

The man nodded. "I was scouting for new troops. Red Hat recruits, you see. They look for strong, impressionable youths in good health. If they have been taken before, like your friend, then they've already proven viable receptacles."

"But he's not viable anymore," I countered. "I pushed white sage through his breath. He'll be safe, at least for a while."

"Whatever you think of your parlor tricks, they are only for the weak-minded. Like the shade that was chasing you outside. There is a set of elites who aren't dissuaded as easily. They can overcome your trifles."

There was something in his tone that sounded like... contempt. I began to get the distinct feeling that this man had no great love for Red Hat.

"What makes them so powerful?"

"That, unfortunately, is a question that even these books cannot answer."

I paced around the room, trying to find the catch. "So why tell me this?"

"I suppose every memorable dream needs a twist," he said, rising to his feet. "For my part, I am an agent of Red Hat in appearance only. I worked for them, at times, merely to apply a more critical eye to their activities."

"You were spying on them?"

"Indeed. This is a fact which may help you better understand my suspicion and behavior on the rooftop, and why I could not turn to the others for assistance. But here, outside the prying eyes of the Royals, we can be two men of discretion."

I narrowed my eyes. "Who are the Royals?"

The man in the old suit paused a moment, as if to afford the subject its proper reverence. "The monarchy of Red Hat. Powerful shades at the top of the food chain. Heed what I say. These aren't simple fiends like the orange-haired spirit that gave you chase. These are refined men and women, in touch with their craft, armed with a solitary mission. The Royals are a threat without scope. To take them on, you will need allies."

That was it, the opening I had been looking for. Alone, it would have taken time and aroused suspicion to get the kind of information I was being handed now. Still, this seemed to fall into my lap too perfectly. Too easily. He had told me not to trust shades after all.

"Then why fight them? What do you have against Red Hat?"

The man held his hands behind his back and stood with proper form. He answered the question as if he had expected it, and continued to carry his smooth demeanor throughout. "Their movement is a determined one that has destroyed countless lives. It necessitates the trampling of others. I, unfortunately, have not kept their footprints off my back. I wish to keep it at that."

It didn't surprise me that he wanted to keep some secrets. I was vague about my own motivations, after all. Our mutual caution was understood. It would be something to work around rather than overcome. In the end, whether I could trust this man or not, it would have been negligent to ignore him.

"What are they going to do to Soren?" I asked.

"First they welcome him into the fold. They befriend him, take over his routine, and then they control him."

"And you want to stop them?"

"Your friend doesn't concern me. You can worry about him as you wish."

"Fine, but stop calling him my friend. I barely know the guy."

"And yet you will be risking your life for his." The man set his walking stick down on the couch and approached me. "There is a private company party on the grounds of the Griffith Park Observatory this Friday night. Soren has been meeting with the promoters and will be a featured act. The choice presented to you is whether or not you wish to watch his back." The man extended a firm hand to me. "But know this. Your curiosity will not be well met. I am trusting that you will not mention my name."

"I don't even know your name," I said, clasping my hand in his.

He smiled, and then I woke up.

 

 

 

It was only midweek. That left me two days of idle time before the Red Hat party. I spent the morning in my apartment pretending to program but couldn't stop going over the recent distractions in my head. A hat store evolved into a party company run by ghosts? It seemed ridiculous and macabre, but there was something else troubling about it. It was the first time, in my four years of chasing shades, that I had encountered any sort of true organization amongst their ranks. Did that mean that, all this time, I had only been concerning myself with the scrubs?

I staved off my curiosity and ignored the internet for as long as I could. Once two o'clock hit, I knew I had to do something or risk losing all semblance of productivity. Since I couldn't readily do anything about Red Hat at the moment, I remembered my other little project. So, on the pretense of grabbing a late lunch, I grabbed my Hamilton pocket watch and jumped in my car.

Los Angeles, much like Miami, is a driving city. The subway is great if you're going its way, but the sprawling neighborhoods of LA outrun the reach of the tunnels. Besides, it was sunny out and the middle of the day; it would be a fun drive in my Z. So I hopped on the 134 and headed east.

Eagle Rock is a quaint little place. More residential than anything else, with pockets of business along Colorado Boulevard and such. It's a convenient neighborhood because it isn't as far out as Pasadena, is a quick shot to Downtown, and hosts a damn good pastrami sandwich.

Before pleasure, however, I pulled my car up to the curb of an office building.

I had put off the conversation all morning, but I decided to catch Violet up along the way.

"It wasn't much of a deal. He just told me about the party."

"What, like if I happened to buy a haunted pocket watch in an antique store?"

I couldn't tell if Violet was jealous or had a valid concern. I would have been the first to admit that I couldn't trust the man I'd met. As far as I could tell, though, he had asked nothing of me.

"Listen," I said, "you wanted me to follow the lead. Sal knew that Soren was no longer taken. He recruited him into the folds of Red Hat. Soren is the objective, not the shades I dreamt about."

I sighed. I didn't want to worry Violet. I had seen how terrified she was the first time it happened. "Nero. He was after me again. The bookstore was my only sanctuary." The man had done me a favor. Surely she couldn't blame me for talking to him. "Besides, I didn't see you jumping out in the streets to save me."

She didn't answer. I didn't mean to guilt her and I felt bad about saying that. Violet couldn't control what happened to me on the Dead Side. I pulled the key out of the ignition and sat in silence, wondering what to say without sounding cheesy.

"What?"

"He was running from us."

"He could have, but that takes time. A minute, maybe. I would've grabbed him. Identified him. That's what he was avoiding."

"Maybe..." It didn't make a whole lot of sense. A shade being expelled, exsufflated with the smoke of white sage, would likely never be able to regain a footing in the same body. But at least there was a chance. With Sal dead, the chance was zero. "Was he just being vindictive?"

I jingled my car keys in my hand. It was plausible. The dead didn't tell secrets. Well, not unless they became shades, anyway.

"Wait here," I said as I popped the door of the coupe open.

"You," I stressed firmly, "are waiting in the car. I have private business inside."

* * *

The carpeted hallways were deathly quiet and the office complex appeared little used. I double-checked the business card in my hand. This was the right place. I entered a tiny closet of a lobby and greeted the receptionist.

"Mr. Glickman, please," I said, showing her the card he had handed me.

The woman, perhaps once a looker, had over-dyed her red hair to retain some sense of color. "Do you have an appointment?" She looked at me like I was a hoodlum, and I realized she was staring at my swollen cheek.

I scoffed. "He owes me one."

"It's okay, Margaret," came the mousy voice of the man from his office. He walked over to the doorway and waved me in. "I can see him."

I gave the secretary a playful wink.

"I am sorry," started the lawyer as he shut the door, "about that business with Bedros. He can be a bit overzealous."

His enthusiasm wasn't what concerned me. The bodyguard was taken and I was wondering what business he had with Violet's father. I shook Mr. Glickman's hand as I greeted him and discovered that he, like Alexander, was clear.

"I suppose you want to see Mr. McAllister?" he asked.

"No. This time I wanted to see you."

The man widened his small eyes as he took his chair behind his desk. I sat opposite him. "Do we have any business? You're not pursuing legal action against Bedros—"

"No," I said, cutting him off, "but I'd like to ask about him."

"Well, I will try to accommodate, but I don't know much. The man is a holdover from McAllister senior, who did not employ me. Alexander is my client, but he was the one that dealt with Bedros, not me."

I nodded impatiently. The lawyer didn't think he knew much, and perhaps that was true, but I was completely in the dark. Even a pinhole of light would be a great help to me.

"Where can I find Bedros?"

"Where would anyone find a bodyguard?" he asked rhetorically. "I don't know the man's address, if that's what you mean."

"What threat is there on Alexander's life? Why does a bedridden man need a personal guard?"

The balding man shrugged off the question. "Alexander McAllister is a wealthy man who is very protective of his fortune. His father, Finlay, left him an inheritance, you see. He taught Alexander to provide for his child, as his father had never provided for him." Mr. Glickman shook his head sadly. "It is tragic that the money can no longer go to family."

It was a sad story, but I didn't want to focus on Aster. If I couldn't get a line on Bedros then maybe understanding Violet's family would shed light on their business. "You're saying Finlay wasn't left with anything from his father but built up a fortune anyway?"

Mr. Glickman leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. "It's a long story," he said. Seeing that I wasn't dissuaded, he continued. "I'm afraid the family's gains are ill-gotten. But have no worries, Alexander is nothing like his father."

* * *

* * *

Mr. Glickman's story was told with a craft that evoked the misery of the McAllisters. Even what was to be a happy ending with Finlay's rebound of wealth and focus on family would later have ended in tragedy. By this point, I knew about it all too well.

"A crying shame," said the lawyer, taking off his thin glasses and wiping his eyes. "Alexander tried to be a devoted father, but young Aster was a depressed little girl. I think he blamed himself. I recommended a child therapist but Alexander wouldn't hear of it. He was very stoic. Not the type to accept outside help. He's always been a very proud man."

An independent man, if not self-made. Alexander sounded like the kind of person that was used to handling everything himself. But he had no way of knowing about shades and the decay they instilled. A perfect life wrought into misery. I well understood the tragic side of that coin. It was the other that puzzled me.

"So Finlay was bereft of his father's fortune and went to prison a poor man, yet somehow came out and made his riches?"

The lawyer nodded solemnly. "It does raise eyebrows, doesn't it? As I said, the man was a gangster. I can't attest to the legitimacy of the money, only that what was built from it and passed on to Alexander was clean."

I nodded. Mr. Glickman was a lawyer. He would have said things were legal whether they were or not. But I hadn't seen anything to make me think otherwise. Was the son cursed by the sins of the father? "What did Finlay do to lose his inheritance?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said, shrugging. "Finlay's father invested it all into a regimental company for the war. Blue Bell, Blue Bonnet... something along those lines. It crippled the family. Finlay swore to pass on his wealth."

"Only now there isn't a single McAllister left alive besides Alexander."

Mr. Glickman hesitated. "More or less," he offered, but there was a hitch in his voice.

"Who else is still alive?" I demanded. "Who is set to get the inheritance?"

The man scratched the brown hair that clung to the side of his head and had a puzzled expression on his face. "Those questions do not have the same answer. As Mr. McAllister's attorney, I can't provide you with the details of his will, but since she isn't a part of it, I can mention that Catriona is still alive."

"Alexander's aunt? She's got to be..."

"In her nineties, I would wager."

That would make her Violet's grandaunt, or great-aunt, or whatever the terminology was. Violet had told me she had no living relatives...

"Catriona bounced around mental institutions and hospitals for the majority of her life. She's still mad, from what I understand, but much too old to be a nuisance. She's at Willow Gardens. They specialize in problem cases. But I won't recommend a visit. You wouldn't be able to get anything coherent out of her."

The man put his glasses back on and shifted in his seat. He was being cordial because I had been assaulted in the hospital, but it was obvious I was nearing the limits of his tolerance for easy information. Alexander's predicament, his life, read like an open book. All except for the business with his father, with Bedros. In my mind, the will was the key.

"Okay, Mr. Glickman. It makes sense that Catriona isn't seeing any of the inheritance money, but Bedros is sticking around for a reason. What's his stake in the will?"

The attorney rose to his feet. "The will is of little import now. Alexander is free to spend his money as he wishes."

He was playing with semantics now. "A man in a coma can't likely do that, can he?"