Night Rising
Page 8
It was like an invisible puppet master yanked Mr. Pennybaker out of his seat. “Para-what? I…Turn those things off!”
“Nathan…” Mrs. Pennybaker’s voice was pleading.
“No, Marla, this is ridiculous. Robby is dead. Do you get that? It’s been twenty-three years. He’s gone.” Wearily, he dropped to his knees in front of her chair.
She stared at him, so cold, so remorseful. “He’s back, Nathan. On that film—”
“We’ll talk about this later,” he rasped. He calmed himself, started stroking his wife’s leg. “Just…believe me. Okay? Those days are past, Marla. We need to move on, go to the next stage of life. Don’t put us through this….”
His voice broke, and he pressed his limp body to his wife’s knees, wrapping his arms around her legs. Haltingly, Marla rested a hand on his head, emotionless once again, her gaze a million miles away.
She raised those empty eyes to Dawn, whispered, “We’ll continue later.”
By silent communication, the three of them agreed to return at another time to use their instruments. They left a shattered Nathan Pennybaker on the ground, shriveled next to his wife.
Even after they’d packed up their gear and loaded themselves into the SUV, they didn’t say anything. There was a thread of compassion for the Pennybakers that was holding the team together, stifling their voices. In the quiet rhythm of tires whirring over the driveway as they drove to the bottom of the property, Dawn’s loneliness returned full force.
So did her desperation, her yearning for a fix—a human touch of reassurance, a cleansing rush of release and forgetfulness. As they passed the gates, Dawn’s unrest only grew, her body keening from more than just the physical injuries she’d sustained tonight.
Once on the road, Kiko’s mouth took off.
“I really wanted to talk more about those vampires to them. But Mrs. P.—”
“Maybe tonight wasn’t a good time,” Dawn said softly, “what with Nathan suddenly returning and all.”
“Ah, her reaction wasn’t out of bounds. No one wants to believe in vamps.” He took a peek at Dawn, then turned around.
Breisi finally spoke up. “Kik, punch the boss’s number into the phone. He needs to know about those red-eyes.”
Kiko did as he was asked. “And he can tell us how to approach this with the Pennybakers.”
The ring tone trilled through the speakerphone, but there was no answer. Instead, after a mere beep, they left a message.
Kiko disconnected. “He always gets back to us.”
Dawn wanted to ask what The Voice could possibly be doing besides waiting by the phone, but she knew she wouldn’t get anything but the runaround. “So what do you guys think? Was it a wasted trip?”
“Not even,” Kiko said. “Breisi planted a few bugs around the place so we can get some unadulterated scoop when Mr. Europe doesn’t know we’re listening.” He caught Dawn’s stern gaze. “Don’t worry—it’s procedure.”
“You know what I want to know?” Dawn said as their vehicle roared down the avenue. “Why didn’t those vamps show up before Nathan got home?”
Breisi plugged into her earpiece while Kiko shrugged. “Could be that we just haven’t seen them before.”
“Or maybe Mrs. Pennybaker didn’t tell us they’ve been around,” Dawn said.
Silence. Then, “All I know,” Kiko said, “is that Maximus Suspiciouses there is hiding something.”
Dawn remembered Kiko’s flinch while he’d been touching Mr. Pennybaker. “You got a reading.”
“Yeah, I sure as Sam did.” Straining against the seat belt, Kiko draped himself over the passenger seat in his enthusiasm. “When he mentioned that housekeeper, I saw blood on his hands. I felt him screaming and panicking.”
Dawn’s pulse jerked.
“Funny,” Kiko added. “I also got a reading from Robby’s old clothes. Little boy memories—images of him studying with a tutor on a movie set, feelings of him looking out a limo’s window at a schoolyard and wanting to be with the other kids. All cylinders were kicking, and I was really getting him.” His forehead furrowed. “So if I was so on tonight, why didn’t I get a read on those vamps outside the house? Better yet, why can’t I sense vamps at all?”
The growl of the engine substituted for conversation.
“They don’t have souls,” Dawn said, knowing that everyone was aware of that fact. She’d just been the one to say it. “But I don’t get how they move like they have something inside of them.”
“They’re animated,” Kiko said.
“By what? Do they just not have consciences? Is that what a soul is?” At the thought, Dawn squirmed in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of their talk. Frank hadn’t raised her with much religion. In the years after Eva’s death, there’d been a lot of “why” and “how could this happen.” Too many reasons to lack faith.
Before anyone could engage her in some kind of Big Discussion, Dawn said, “I just wish I knew what was going on.”
“We’ll talk it out.” Kiko turned back around, obviously sensing her funk, even without having to bust into her mind.
Breisi finally spoke up. “We’ll meet up later, then. I’ve got a lot to do before we brainstorm. I need to get into the lab to test that skin sample I took from Dawn. Maybe I can get a hint of what’s in that vamp spittle.”
“All right. Our new consultant and I can do some more exploring. You up for that, Dawn?”
Absolutely. She’d drop from exhaustion rather than blow the chance to get more answers. Boiling frustration was keeping her awake, edgy.
“Ready if you are,” she said.
“Good.” Kiko smiled. “I’ve been checking at Frank’s favorite hangout every night, just to see who walks in and who’s willing to give me some worthwhile information.”
“The Cat’s Paw,” Dawn said. “I picked Frank’s drunk butt up from there more than once before I left town.”
Breisi took an unnecessarily sharp turn onto the 405. Dawn slid to the door, her shoulder banging into it. She gasped but squelched the full yelp of her pain.
“Perdone me,” the older woman said. “The Dodgers bleeping lost.”
“Bummer,” Dawn ground out.
“Would you just drive?” Kiko said, flicking Breisi in the ear like an irritating sibling.
Breisi shot him a hurtful glance, but stuck to her business.
They kept to their own thoughts on the way to Limpet and Associates, where they dropped off their taciturn driver. During the ride, Dawn had been fending off her disquietude, her body full of fevered wants, her mind conjuring scenarios of what she might find at the Cat’s Paw besides information about Frank.
As she took the driver’s seat, Kiko gave her a hard look. She blocked him, but it wasn’t soon enough.
“We’re going to the Cat’s Paw to work,” he said.
A flare of mortification charred her. “I know that.”
“Just making sure you don’t have any ulterior motives while we’re slinking around the bar, Dawn. After we’re done, you’re going to need to come back with me, not go home with someone else, okay? Besides, you know there’s bad stuff out there—AIDS, hepatitis C, and all that.”
He angled away from her, probably anticipating a good wrist snatching.
“Is there something wrong with sex?” she asked, unflustered, even if she did want to belt him.
“No, no, you should just watch out a little more, you know? I probably deserve a good hit from you, but your vibes are so obvious that I couldn’t shut up.” A few seconds dragged by, and he finally relaxed at her stillness, letting down his guard and facing the front window. “We really do need you, Dawn. Be careful with yourself.”
She jammed the vehicle in gear and took off, not bothering to answer. Wondering exactly why someone dared to need her.
And not liking it very much at all.
Eight
The Other PI
Nestled on a lonely stretch of Hollywood Boulevard
It was Frank’s kind of joint, Dawn thought. And for tonight, it was hers, too.
As “Tennessee Flat-Top Box” chugged along on the jukebox, she held a baggie of ice that the bartender had provided against her left wrist. It was an old injury earned from her second movie, when she’d landed wrong on a padded mat during some flying harness work. Clearly, her wrist had belatedly decided that, along with the rest of her body, it hurt. Since she was fairly new to stunt work, she didn’t have a lot of war wounds yet. Sure, a scar here and there, and a number of close calls, but otherwise, the injuries didn’t give her much grief.
Unless she’d been thrown around by vampires.
Across the raised, scarred table, Kiko held his own ice baggie against his shoulder as he stared at the broad-shouldered, front lineman–eseque man they were interviewing.
Just having returned from a short engagement at the county clink, Hugh Wayne fumbled off his grimy Raiders cap and cleared the sweat from his forehead, smashing the hat right back on at a jaunty slant. His dull brown eyes, shot through with red, darted around the room as he slurred, “Damn shame what happened to Frank. Yeah yeah, damned shame.”
“Hey, Hugh?” Dawn said with all the patience she’d been storing up. “You told us that before. Is there anything else? Are you sure you haven’t seen Frank around?”
When his eyes focused on Dawn, the pupils expanded, retracted, then expanded again. He was high and drunk, judging from his Wild Turkey cologne.
“I’m tellin’ you, Dawnie, he hasn’t been here lately. I’m sorry though. Real real sorry.”
Kiko dropped his ice bag onto the table, disgruntled. They’d already talked to three other patrons, plus Maury the bartender. No one knew anything.
She sat back in her chair, kept her eyes on Hugh. He was one of Frank’s bar buddies, but that didn’t mean he knew squat about her dad. Boozy relationships weren’t notorious for their longevity or depth. It saddened her to realize that these were the people Frank called friends nowadays.
“Hugh…” She waved her hand in front of his face, attracting his attention again. “That’s it. Can you just tell me what Frank was like the last time you saw him? How he acted…if there was anything different about him?”
The drunk reached for his beer again but, automatically, Dawn placed her hand over his. She was used to babysitting adults who drank too much.
Kiko’s gaze settled on her hand, a smile on his face. It occurred to her that they were in her arena now, that she had some interviewing skills, too, and that, maybe he was just as fish-out-of-water as she’d been back at the Pennybakers’.
“Actin’ different?” Hugh wrinkled his forehead in thought. “Frank sat here gettin’ cozy with Jack Daniels, told a few jokes, then left, jus’ like any other night. Say, Dawnie, you still doin’ movies?”
A drunken tangent. How refreshing. “Yes, Hugh, stuntwork. So Frank was his old self? He never said anything…off…to you? Nothing about any trips he might be taking?”
“Naw.” Hugh used one hand to tip back his baseball cap, leaned forward in his chair, fumigating the area with his breath. “You ever wanted to act, Dawnie? Because I got my hands on a great schrip…script.”
The next thing Dawn knew, Kiko was just about dancing on the table to get Hugh’s attention. “What kind of script?”
Knowing this was the end of the line for Hugh’s interview, Dawn slumped back in her chair. “Kiko.”
“Just a sec. What kind of parts you looking to cast?”
Dawn sent Kiko a confused glance. Wasn’t this the guy who was so good at reading people? Or maybe he was just playing around with Hugh, wheedling more information out of him. Yeah, of course, that was it.
Then she took another good look at Kiko’s energized body language. If she didn’t know better, she might’ve said that he was so much of an acting whore that he couldn’t read a scam when confronted with one.
No. No way. Not the guy she’d seen in action tonight. Not Lethal Weapon Daniels, he of the steel-trap bad-cop mind.
Squinting, Hugh Wayne held his hands in front of his face, like he was composing a camera shot. “Picture this…Die Hard meets My Big Fat Greek Wedding.”
“You know,” Kiko said, his tongue practically hanging out, “I can play ethnic.”
Dawn ran a jaded gaze over his blond hair and blue eyes. Whatever.
Hugh raised his hand to high-five Kiko but lost strength, his palm slapping his thigh. “You got any money to invest, ’cos this’s gonna kill at the box office….”
Dropping her ice, Dawn stood, “helping” Kiko out of his chair. “He’ll send you his head shot and résumé.” She fished her business card out of a back pocket. Sure, it was kind of mushed up from all her rolling around and almost dying tonight, but it was legible. “Call me if you remember anything. It’s really important.”
“I will, Dawnie, I will.” Hugh stifled a burp. “I sure am sorry ’bout Frank.”
“Thanks.” She blinked, held it together. “Me, too.”
As she and Kiko left, she caught Kiko holding his fingers to his ear like a phone and mouthing “Call me” to Hugh.
She stopped by the doorway, facing him. “Hugh Wayne is a hustler, man. The only script he has is probably some scribbles on a cocktail napkin. He’s no producer.”
Actually, that wasn’t true. Everyone in this town produced. Everyone directed movies. Just because they’d never actually done either didn’t provide any sort of hurdle.
It looked like the air had been let out of Kiko’s happy balloon. “Are you sure, Dawn? Because I don’t want to miss a chance. You gotta grab ’em right away in this town or you find out someone else took the role you were born to play.”
Dawn rested her hands on Kiko’s upper arms, avoiding his wounded shoulder. “So tell me more about how your psychic powers work. Can you read shysters who’re selling beachfront property in Death Valley, too?”
He looked shocked. “You really think he was zooming me?”
“Oh, boy. Yeah, I think so.”
As he looked up at her, Dawn realized that she was getting awfully close to being protective. Why the hell she wanted to keep a smart aleck like him safe from all the evil producers of the world, she couldn’t say. But before she could get too mushy, she dropped her hands from his arms, made a concerted effort to scope out the bar.
When she was done, he was still staring. She fidgeted, playing with her long moon earring, absently drawing his attention away from whatever he might be seeing on her face.
“You might wanna take that off before the next fight,” he said. “It’d hurt to have it yanked out.”
He was worried about earring yanking. Damn, and here she’d been focusing on getting her throat ripped out. Her bad.
“The design’s cool,” he added.
The smooth curves of the moon and the shift of the tiny hanging rubies and silver felt more real against her fingertips than anything else she’d come into contact with tonight. She kept touching it, unwilling to let go. “A bunch of stunt doubles from one of my jobs, this low-budget horror fest called Blood Moon, got together one night and bought mementos. The guys got their lobes shot with moon studs but I’d already been pierced, so I got something a little more detailed….”
She trailed off, thinking how irrelevant her old life was right now.
Changing the subject, she asked, “You getting any vibes from this place?
Is it worth hanging around?”
When he didn’t answer, she glanced at him against her better judgment. Kiko was still watching her, like he was reveling in how she’d gone all mother hen on him.
Hell, she couldn’t return a favor?
“Truthfully,” he said, “I don’t get even a quiver of humanity in this place, much less thoughts. Just a bunch of emptiness.”
“Interesting.” She looked away, crossed her arms over her chest, keeping his gratefulness at bay.
“Yeah, interesting.”
Did he have to be so bubbly about her being nice to him? “You can stop grinning like a fool now, Kiko.”
“I’m going to do that.”
His cell phone rang, and he answered it, leaving Dawn to her own devices.
She glanced from table to table, and not entirely because she was searching for more helpful witnesses. No, that sexual stirring—the antidote to a stressful day—was getting to her.
Just something quick and easy, she thought. What would be the harm? If she could find a tourist, a non-regular, someone who’d never come to this bar again….
Kiko flipped his phone shut. “That was Breisi. The boss wants to see us at two a.m., so we’ve got a couple hours to while away. I vote for going back to the office.”
She hesitated. A couple of hours. More than enough time.
“You go on ahead,” she said casually. “I have a gut feeling there’s something more here. I’ll take a cab back.”
He paused, threw his hands in the air. “Oh, no…”
At the end of her rope, she turned on him, bending down so they were face to face. “I’m not on the market for a lecture.”
For the first time, he looked at her, not in her, and the expression on his face indicated that he didn’t understand, wouldn’t ever understand.
She was so taken aback by his reaction that she didn’t have time to appreciate the fact that he’d kept his promise about staying out of her thoughts.
He shook his head, disappointed in her. Prude.
“Right,” he said. “Well, shit, I mean, who am I to think that you have any pride?”
As Dawn stepped back, nicked by his comment, he continued.