Her Beautiful Monster

by Adi Tantimedh

  “Marie and her lawyer had been trying to find out where Derek was being held but got no joy. She was vaguely aware of the work I did for Golden Sentinels back in London, and finally called me. We have a branch here in Hong Kong as well. I helped Roger and Cheryl pick and vet the investigators here. When I told Roger that I was coming to Hong Kong, he immediately sussed out that I was here to look into Derek Hong Kam Fong’s disappearance. I discussed it with him and Cheryl, and we decided this should not be an official Golden Sentinels case, since it would put the agency on the radar of the Chinese authorities, and Roger didn’t want to piss them off, since he still wants a good relationship with them. Roger had bought stocks in quite a few Chinese companies, after all, and had a few clients from the Mainland. We definitely did not want Golden Sentinels to end up on a Chinese government blacklist.

  “So I’m on my own.

  “Marie wants me to help get Derek back in one piece. How can I do that without being detected by the Chinese government? Roger thinks I might have some protection because of my dad and the fact that his bank does a lot of business with the government. That’s up for debate since if I fall under any suspicion or get arrested, the scandal could prompt dear old dad to wash his hands of me forever, which would make my life a bit more difficult.

  “No pressure.

  “I’ll start making my plans in the morning after I visit the spa, make an offer to Quan Yin for protection, and pray to my grandparents.”

  SEVEN

  The news announcer on the radio was talking in great detail about the Santa Ana winds blowing over the hills of Hollywood, Santa Monica, and the San Gabriel Mountains during the next few days, stressing the risk of brush fires in the mountains that could rage across the city. Even with the car windows shut, I could hear the gushing of the wind outside. It sounded like LA was about to be invaded by banshees.

  “Is this a regular occurrence here?” Julia asked.

  “At least once a year,” Liz Calderon said. “Usually, some douchebag on a hike in the hills lights a cigarette, and whoosh, the hills are on fire for the next week.”

  “Is it on purpose?” Julia asked.

  “Sometimes,” Darrell, who was driving, said. “A lot of times. It could be just some moron lighting a cigarette. It could be a pyromaniac out to get his kicks. It could be some dumb kid who didn’t mean it.”

  “Bloody hell,” I said. “So on top of earthquakes, a drought, and riots breaking out, you face the risk of an annual ring of fire that threatens to engulf the city?”

  “We’re used to it,” Darrell said. “Small price to pay for living in paradise.”

  Julia and I exchanged glances in the backseat.

  “An awfully apocalyptic paradise,” I said.

  “We don’t see it that way,” Liz said. “We’re too busy with work and trying to get our careers going.”

  “They call the Santa Anas ‘the devil winds,’ ” Darrell said with some pride.

  “Seriously?” I blinked.

  “Poetic.” Julia was delighted.

  I could hear the gods laughing.

  It was morning. We were driving out to watch Darrell and Liz sort out a case. Liz was another of the investigators at Golden Sentinels LA, also a struggling actor. She was quite unlike Marcie, Olivia, Julia, or anyone at the London office. She’d served two tours in Afghanistan before her honorable discharge and come back to Los Angeles, where she was headhunted by Chuck while serving as a technical advisor on a movie she didn’t get to act in. She used her actor training to put on whatever persona the client needed, and her default personality was of a competent professional investigator. On the occasions where she got a walk-on in a network TV show, she often played a cop or an FBI agent in the background. On a good spot, she might even get a line of dialogue, and that was how she’d gotten her SAG card. She also had firearms training, so she could hold and fire a gun convincingly on screen.

  My phone rang. Ken and Clive.

  “Awright, Ravi?” Ken said.

  “Did something happen?” I asked.

  “Just reportin’ in,” Clive said. They were on speakerphone mode. “We’ve been watchin’ out for your mum and dad from a distance, like you asked. All’s quiet on the Western Front.”

  “That’s good.”

  “So far.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Your mum is still working at the food bank. In fact, she’s been cooking meals for the mums and kids,” Ken said.

  “So she’s shifted to even more volunteer work, then?”

  “And your dad is helpin’ serve ’em,” Clive said.

  “I guess he decided not to let her out of his sight,” I said.

  “Listen, mate,” Ken said. “We don’t want you to be alarmed.”

  “Why? Is there a reason I should be?”

  “We looked into your Mrs. Dhewan and her operations,” Clive said.

  “Do I want to hear about this? I’m the one who has to deal with her when I get back.”

  “She runs a tight firm, doesn’t she?” Ken said.

  “Are you saying you’re impressed with her?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Ken said.

  “No criminal record. Low-level loan sharking. Mild protection rackets, slightly dodgy DVD rentals of pirated Bollywood films to the local community,” Clive listed. “Her nephews are a bit thick as far as muscle is concerned, so no danger of them trying to grab her patch. If we were still coppers we’d be cultivating her and her lot as part of the information network.”

  “At least she doesn’t deal drugs,” Ken said. “That’s probably why she never got on the radar of the law.”

  “Hate to admit it,” Clive said, “but she does some good work for the community.”

  “Ah. Grudging respect,” I said.

  “Operative word is ‘grudging,’ ” Ken said. “Don’t you forget that.”

  “Anyhow,” Clive said. “Your dad’s earned quite the reputation as a hard man with his cricket bat since that story got out.”

  “Oh? I thought that’d die down,” I said.

  “And there’s a rumor of a little gang war brewing between Ms. Dhewan and the West London posse wot tried to rip off her food bank,” Ken said.

  “ ‘Little’?” I said.

  “They’re small fry. So the posse might think your dad was part of Mrs. Dhewan’s posse and come after him and your mum,” Clive said.

  “Oh, shit.”

  That drew concerned looks from Julia, and Darrell and Liz.

  “Don’t you worry, Ravi,” Ken said. “We got our eye on ’em.”

  “Ain’t nothing gonna happen to your folks on our watch,” Clive said.

  “Thanks, I owe you one,” I said.

  “One day, we might collect on that, mate,” Ken said.

  And they hung up.

  “Trouble back home?” Darrell asked.

  “It’s under control,” I said. The term was used loosely given that this was Ken and Clive.

  Gossamer Rand Ross was one of Golden Sentinels LA’s top priority A-list clients. Whenever he had a problem, the firm dropped everything to cater to his every need. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He directed some of the biggest blockbusters of the last two decades. Ross was a director who liked to flaunt his connections. He liked to hobnob with presidents, had a love of sports cars, expensive watches, and, most of all, guns. He loved to go out shooting with small arms, rifles, and assault rifles, and had a large collection of vintage guns. This had led to Darrell and Liz’s case. Ross was in Romania shooting his latest $200 million action blockbuster with half a dozen A-list stars, a lot of cars to crash, and enough explosives to make Eastern Europe look like the aftermath of World War II. That’s not even including the tens of millions of dollars’ worth of CGI effects that would be added in postproduction to actually depict cities being leveled.

  It was while Ross was away that the case had arisen.

  “This is how it went down,” Liz said. “Ross left the care of his f
ive-million-dollar house in the Hollywood Hills to one of his assistants, Keith Doyle. Now, Keith, like any twenty-something hipster with the keys to the kingdom, likes to party, so throws one every Saturday in the house. Ross doesn’t give a damn as long as the place is kept clean and nothing goes missing. Keith is there to let the gardeners and cleaning staff in to tidy up the place every Monday.”

  “Well, last Saturday, something did go missing,” Darrell said. “An antique Flintlock Duval pistol from 1765 that used to belong to Alexander Hamilton. Taken out of its display case in the living room while everyone was doped out of their minds and having sex.”

  “So Keith woke up on Sunday afternoon all hungover, and the first thing he saw was the empty case,” Liz said. “He freaked out because it’s probably worth millions. Ross has Golden Sentinels on retainer, and Keith called us up to clean up this mess, track down the pistol.”

  “It wasn’t that hard,” Darrell said. “Ross had cameras installed all over the house, so all we had to do was review the footage of the party. Saw who took the pistol out of the case with a time stamp and everything.”

  And that was who we were driving out to see.

  EIGHT

  We had come all the way out to a chop shop in Malibu. Even here, the winds were howling. The temperature was low for Southern California and we were all in coats. Dix Coolihan was the one we were meeting. He had sandy hair and a sandy beard. He could have been a surfer dude if he hadn’t been so twitchy. This wasn’t even his shop. It was his cousin’s. He just happened to deal drugs out of it when clients like Keith didn’t call him out to make deliveries. Liz said that they received stolen cars here, then repainted them for resale or stripped them for parts. Dix didn’t work here, but his cousin grudgingly let him use the garage as a meeting place and informal office.

  “Uh-oh,” Liz said when she saw Dix come out to greet us. “He’s totally tweaking.”

  “Think he’s packing?” Darrell asked.

  “Stay sharp,” Liz said.

  “Tweaking?” I asked.

  “He’s on meth,” Liz said. “That makes them unpredictable.”

  We got out of the car and walked towards Dix. We all stepped out in the lot, a fair distance from the garage entrance. His cousin must have told him he didn’t want any of Dix’s business being done inside. I looked around. This was largely an empty lot, with the hills in the background. Not a lot of cover if guns were drawn and things kicked off. I’d just remembered that I’d never been in a shoot-out before and had no desire to be.

  “You two might want to hang back,” Darrell said. “He could fly off the handle at anything.”

  Liz kept her hand on her holster as they got closer to Dix.

  “What the fuck, man?” Dix said. “You brought a whole party out here?”

  Liz and Darrell stopped, keeping ten feet between them and Dix while Julia and I stayed near the car.

  “Now, Dix,” Darrell held out his hands, “we told you. We need to see the Flintlock. These guys are from Christie’s to inspect it.”

  “Not too smart, Dix,” Liz said. “It’s not something you just fence. It’s a specific kind of antique. You don’t have the certificate of authenticity, you got jack.”

  “Yeah, so what I’m thinkin’,” Dix said. “You go back, and you bring me that certificate of whatever, yeah.”

  “That’s not what we discussed, Dix,” Darrell said. “We got you on video lifting it at Gossamer Ross’s place. We said we’d keep LAPD off your ass if you give us back the gun.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I go down, I take Ross’s boy Keith down with me, and we both sing about what your fancy client Ross has in that fancy house of his.”

  “You don’t wanna go talking like that, Dix.” Liz’s tone got harder.

  “Yeah? Or what? Huh? You wanna draw down on me? I got a piece, too. You wanna see? Huh? Let’s do it! Let’s dance.”

  Suddenly, Dix glanced my way and went wide-eyed with terror.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Who the fuck are these guys?”

  “Dix, chill,” Liz said. “We told you. They’re the people from England who are here to check the gun for damage.”

  “Not them! The other ones! The ones with the arms and blue skin!”

  What the fuck?

  Kali and Rudra were advancing on Dix and he could see them? What was going on here?

  “Are they even human? Stop smiling at me!”

  Liz and Darrell looked in my direction, perplexed, and saw only Julia and me.

  Dix pulled the small .22 pistol from his belt and pointed it at them.

  “Whoa!” Darrell cried. “Chill, man!”

  Liz drew her Glock and pointed it at Dix, her hands steady where his shook.

  “Dix, put the gun down.”

  “What are they? Keep them away from me!”

  “They’re gods,” Julia said.

  “Please, don’t you start,” I whispered.

  “Dix, put the gun down!” Liz cried.

  Darrell stayed calm but tense, held out his hands to show he was open, no threat.

  “You’re seeing them because you’re ready,” Julia continued.

  “You’re shitting me!”

  “If you can see them, it means you’ve hit a point in your addiction,” she continued.

  “Fuck you! Get them away from me!”

  “Dix, listen to me,” I said. “You’re seeing them because it’s time.”

  Dix was backing away. I slowly walked toward him.

  “Time for what? Am I gonna die? I’m not gonna die!”

  “It’s your call,” I said, holding out my palms as I approached him. “Time to think about your life.”

  “Poor boy,” Kali said. “All the karma spilling out of you.”

  “That’s Kali,” I said. “You heard of her?”

  “She’s like a goddess or some shit?”

  “She’s your chickens come to roost,” I said, walking closer. “She can’t hurt you. You can only hurt yourself here.”

  Kali loomed over him, smiling. She was enjoying this. Gods tended to enjoy their power.

  Dix’s gun hand wavered.

  “Are you going to shoot a god, Dix?” I said. “Think carefully. Nothing good ever comes from that.”

  “Just tell me what to do, man.” He trembled, clammy with sweat.

  “For starters, put the gun down,” I said.

  He fell to his knees and started to cry. Kali had that effect on people. She towered over him, her tongue wagging.

  Liz approached him, gun aimed. He let the gun go. She kicked it out of his reach.

  “This is your chance to clean your slate,” I said. “Just give us the Flintlock and we’ll be off.”

  And he did. And we were.

  “Well,” Liz said as she started the car. “That went a lot better than I could have hoped.”

  Dix had taken the Flintlock out of a toolbox in the chop shop. It was wrapped in a dishcloth. Julia was holding it in her lap as we drove out of Malibu.

  “Dude,” Darrell said. “That was some amazing improv. How did you come up with it?”

  “It’s a knack Ravi has,” Julia said. “He reads unstable people in a certain way and comes up with a way to wrong-foot them. Quite astonishing, really.”

  “Your boss told Chuck you were the magic sauce when things threatened to go south,” Liz said. “We thought it was just hype. I’m impressed.”

  “We all wondered what Roger meant when he said ‘throwing Chaos at chaos,’ ” Darrell said. “Now we know.”

  “Er, thanks,” I stammered.

  “And you used to teach high school?” Liz asked, her eyes suggesting she was assessing me anew. “Huh.”

  The radio was reporting that the fire department was on high alert for the first hint of a fire in the hills. The wind advisory was still in effect. Traffic all over town was starting to jam up because people were rushing home, especially those who lived in the hills, to take precautions, hose their roofs down with water, and so on. It too
k us forty-five minutes to get to Ross’s house up in the hills, which Darrell said was in a prime real estate spot.

  As we drove towards the house, both Darrell and Liz’s smartphones rang.

  “My manager,” Darrell said.

  “Mine, too,” Liz said, answering with her Bluetooth earpiece so she could keep driving.

  “Yo,” Darrell answered. “Yeah? Seriously? That’s awesome, man! Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there!”

  “Really?” Liz said. “Today? Okay. Okay. I’ll make it.”

  They hung up at the same time.

  “Callback!” they cried in unison.

  “Sorry, what’s happening?” I asked from the backseat.

  “A part I’ve been dying for!” Darrell said. “Every guy in town’s been after it! This could be it! They want me back today for a screen test!”

  “And I’m up for the female lead!” Liz said.

  They both got out of the car, hugged, and jumped up and down.

  “They want us down there ASAP,” Darrell said. “Everyone’s gonna want to finish this early ’cause they all wanna get home to fireproof their houses.”

  “Shit,” Liz said. “And I gotta pick up my kid from school after that.”

  “Do you need to go now?” Julia asked.

  “Yeah,” Darrell said. “But we gotta go in there, talk to Keith, put the gun back in the case, square things off.”

  “And Keith is gonna want to talk because he’s such a nervous nelly.” Liz sighed. “That’s gonna take time.”

  Julia nudged me.

  “Julia and I could do that,” I said. “You can go to your callbacks.”