“Bless you. I mean that.”
“Yeah. Give an old trooper a kiss on the cheek, and we’ll say goodnight. I have to go home. Some of us are still working for a living.”
Which sounded like she knew about my leave of absence, too. Did everybody know more about my life than I did? Probably.
We hugged goodbye in the parking lot, and I tried not to think much about how warm and alive Monica felt, or the absence of Caz, which was all I had instead.
When I got home, such as home currently was, I found Clarence dancing with the Amazons in the middle of the living room to Junior Walker and the All-Stars’ “Shotgun.” I didn’t even know Caz had that song in her collection. How did a fifteenth-century Polish countess know about Junior Walker?
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said loudly over the music, “but I’ve had a long day, what with people trying to murder me and all, and I still need to get Clarence back to his car.”
“Join us!” cried Oxana. “We are having a celebrate!”
“Yes, we are getting on our groove,” said Halyna.
“Because I found the address, Bobby,” Clarence announced without ever stopping his science-grad-student Watusi. Before that moment I would have guessed that all gay guys could dance. “Number One Hilltop Way,” he shouted. “The place is huge! There’s a satellite picture on the laptop!”
I wandered to the desk to look at it. If Casa Sepanta had been built a few hundred years earlier, it would have been a castle. Outside the very large house and numerous outbuildings were walls, a guard booth, the whole nine yards. And there, nestled beneath a bunch of trees, was the outline of the pools from the Sunset article. Junior had come through. Phase Two could begin.
So why did I feel like I’d swallowed a large, cold stone?
twenty:
lioness
IT WAS a beautiful late fall morning in Northern California, the trees still bright with the previous night’s rains, the sky frothy with clouds, and shafts of sunshine striking down like God’s own searchlights. It would have been a perfect day to drive in the hills, if that had been all we were doing. But it wasn’t.
I didn’t have any music going in the car because I was tight and worried. Also, every time I put anything on the Amazons begged me to play Lady Gaga instead, and I just wasn’t up for that discussion. They had caught a bit of my mood, perhaps because I’d lectured them for about half an hour before we left Caz’s place. Monica had come through, I had an appointment, and the only thing that would stop me from keeping it would be if I had to pull over along the way and throw up repeatedly.
I know, you’re wondering why a guy who’s been in Hell would be sweating something this simple. I can’t really explain, but I think it has to do with the literal fear of the Highest every angel has. I mean, this wasn’t just something I normally wouldn’t do, this flew directly in the face of everything Heaven had taught me. You don’t question your superiors. You certainly don’t go to their houses (if I was right about that, which still remained to be seen) and more or less dare them to do something about it. But if I was truly going to commit myself to angelic treason, I needed to see for myself that I had the right suspect. I can’t explain it any better than that.
“When we get there, Halyna, you’re going to stay with the car.”
“That is not fair.” She looked at Oxana with resentment. “Why is she pretending the photographer?”
“Because she can’t drive. And despite all my careful planning, it’s my experience that a good percentage of my work ends in screaming, shots fired, and things catching on fire. If that happens here, I’d prefer not to be hunting for my car keys as I run.”
Just at that moment I turned onto Hilltop Drive and continued up at a steeper angle.
“And you, Oxana. You remember what I told you?”
“Yes. Walk in house. Don’t go far. Take pictures.” She lifted her digital camera. “I know.”
“And ‘don’t go too far’ means stay near me, no more than one room away. Go along with anything I say. Smile and nod. If anyone asks you a question that you don’t want to answer, forget your English and speak Ukrainian—”
I suddenly stopped talking, because we had rounded another bend, and now I could see the house. It wasn’t just on the hilltop, it was the hilltop, surrounded by so many acres that you could have dropped the entirety of downtown San Judas on it and still had room for most of Spanishtown as well. It was really quite beautiful, a combination of Moorish and California Spanish architecture from what I could see, but we were still too far back to make out most of the details.
We soon reached the outer fences, impressively nasty things with iron spikes, and the first guardhouse. Two serious-looking private security guys sat inside, and I was pretty sure they were armed. The gate, fortunately, looked like something we could probably ram our way through on the way out if we had to, especially since I’d left my puny little Datsun behind and rented a fairly hefty Chrysler sedan for the day in enemy territory.
“My name is Richard Bell,” I told the unsmiling fellow in the booth. “I’m expected.”
He looked at a screen I couldn’t see, then the two halves of the gate slid apart with only the softest thrum of machinery. “Follow the main road all the way to the top,” he said. He handed me a ticket for my dashboard and three visitor passes, all laminated and almost certainly electronic. “The guard there will tell you where to go.”
More guards. I was very glad I hadn’t decided to do my usual and just climbed over the fence to see what happened. I was fretfully aware I had more than my own life in my hands this time.
“Just remember,” I said to the women as we followed a long curving driveway lined with palm trees, “this is deadly serious.”
“We know,” said Halyna. “You tell us many times.”
“Yeah, but it’s my job to get you out of here safe, and I’d like to do my job right.”
Halyna smiled. It wasn’t nervy or innocent or anything except an acknowledgment of a difficult choice made. “Do not worry too much for us, Bobby. We have had good training.” She was game, that one.
The second guard booth was coming into view, this one next to an even larger ironwork gate set in a no-shit stone wall that looked like it could hold off an artillery barrage. What did Anaita, if it really was her, need with this much security? Maybe this was her idea of normal. If Gustibus was right, she had been a goddess once. Maybe once you’ve been one of those, it’s hard to live down to mortal standards, even if you’re trying to pass for human.
Then again, I thought as we were processed by the second set of guards, maybe I’m completely wrong. Maybe this is just some extremely rich Persian-American lady who does a lot of work for charity and lives in a fabulous mansion.
The inner gate guards had shotguns in the booth, and who knew what else that I couldn’t see. I really, really hoped we weren’t going to have to crash that gate under fire.
The gate opened, and we rolled into a huge semicircular driveway that looped past the facade of the main house, which had to be thirty thousand square feet if it was an inch, a tasteful combination of European and Middle Eastern themes.
I parked, then left Halyna with the car keys, telling her to text me if she saw anything that seemed weird or dangerous. She agreed, but from the sad look she gave me I might have been asking one child to wait while I took the other in for ice cream and candy. These women were tough, yes, but they were still innocents in some ways, certainly in the ways of Heaven versus Hell. If I hadn’t needed warm bodies, if I had still had Sam, things would have been different. But the first rule of Bobby Dollar Club is, “Things are just what they are. Stop bitching.” (The second rule is, “Never ask ‘How could things get any worse?’ Because they will.”)
We were met at the front door by either a butler or a personal secretary. It was hard to tell because he wore a long robe and introduced himself only as Arash. He looked me over with a professional eye. “And you are Mr. Bell, from Vanity Fair magazine? Ms. Sepanta has been looking forward to this meeting.”