by DG Wood
“Stand up slowly.”
The voice came from behind Darkly. A man’s voice, firm and annoyed. Darkly stood up and raised her hands to where the officer could see them.
“You fucking death hounds. It’s really sick, you know. Put your hands behind your back.”
Darkly did as he said and didn’t respond. First rule: don’t provoke. The officer handcuffed Darkly and turned her around to shine his flashlight in her face.
“A man died here. He was ripped to pieces. I saw the body. Any more tourists of the macabre with you?”
Tourists of the macabre. Good one. Worth remembering. Darkly would use it in the future when she found herself in the same situation as this young Hollywood cop.
“No, sir, officer.”
“I’m going to step behind you because the trail isn’t wide enough for me to escort you to the top. I will shine the light in front of you, and you will feel my palm on your upper back. This is for your safety only. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Darkly answered.
“Good. Please begin walking. Slowly. This isn’t a race. I’m on duty all night.”
Darkly found the jail cell amusing. She had the cell to herself. There were no hookers from Sunset Boulevard or movie stars busted for drunk driving. It wasn’t at all what she was hoping for from a Hollywood arrest. It was clean. The bench had built-in padding. She had even gotten a little sleep. It was 8am, when a guard came and unlocked the door and called her name.
“Darkly Stewart?”
She looked around her.
“I guess.”
“Funny,” the guard replied. “I haven’t heard that one before. I’m to take you upstairs to see Lieutenant Gutierrez. Come on.”
Darkly was escorted up nondescript stairs, without the handcuffs being reapplied. A couple of flights up, the guard reached around her and opened a door for her. She walked into a room full of desks with plainclothes officers sitting drinking coffee and working on computers. None were remotely interested in Darkly’s presence.
“To the end of the hall. There’s an interview room on the left.”
At that point, the guard stopped and turned his attention to an ancient Mister Coffee machine. He poured himself a coffee in a Styrofoam cup.
“She’s waiting for you in there,” the guard said while stirring the powdered non-dairy creamer he’d just poured into the coffee.
“That stuff will kill you,” Darkly offered.
The guard looked at her with zero emotion, and Darkly continued her walk to the interview room. She understood now that this was a walk of shame. Kathy had spoken with Vincetti, and she was making sure that Darkly knew she had wasted valuable police time by marching her through one of the busiest floors in the station.
Darkly knocked on the interview room door and stepped inside. Lieutenant Gutierrez wasn’t what Darkly expected. She had a sensual Latina woman in mind. Again, Hollywood was corrupting Darkly’s grasp on reality. What she came up against was a rather severe, all-business woman with short-cropped, yet fashionable hair, wearing a pantsuit more appropriate for politicians than police officers.
“Constable.”
Gutierrez greeted Darkly with the one word. No emotion. That was a thing here. No judgment in her voice. Just acknowledgment that she knew who Darkly was, and that she had some explaining to do as to what Darkly was doing on her turf.
“Please have a seat.”
Darkly sat down at a metal table across from Gutierrez. The lieutenant was working through a pile of manila folders. Darkly understood these were props to once again communicate to Darkly that she was a busy woman who had better things to do than question snooping law enforcement officers from other countries.
Gutierrez continued to jot down notes on a piece of paper for the next minute, before clicking her pen, closing the folder and looking up at Darkly.
“Welcome to L.A., Constable Darkly Stewart.”
“Thank you.”
Darkly returned the smile she received from Gutierrez. She rubbed her thumb and index finger together. The scans of her fingerprints would have turned up exactly who she was.
“Sergeant Vincetti tells me you’re here on vacation. Into hiking at night on your vacations? In the middle of restricted police investigations?”
“It’s a hobby.”
Darkly thought she should go with the humor angle first. Gutierrez leaned back in her chair, making clear she was still awaiting an explanation.
“I arrived night before last,” Darkly began to explain.
“On a United flight from Toronto, connecting in Denver,” Gutierrez finished for her.
“Yes. And I was just as shocked as the rest of L.A. to wake up on the first morning of my…”
“Vacation,” continued Gutierrez.
“…and hear the tragic news on the television about the scout troop. I didn’t think much about it, at first. Despite where your officers found me, I didn’t come here for the hiking. I get plenty of that in my job. But, I couldn’t help but think it was really strange that a man was killed by a coyote.”
“We think it was a coyote-dog hybrid,” Gutierrez corrected.
“Right. But, killed? Ripped to pieces, I believe the officer who arrested me said?”
“And your point, Constable?”
“It was the suggestion that it was bigger than a coyote that jogged my memory. There was a case in Canada before my time. An extremist green group released wolves into city parks. Heavily wooded parks.”
Darkly had Gutierrez’s interest.
“Were there any deaths?”
“No. Not even on the wolf side. They were tranquilized and returned to the wolf sanctuaries they had been abducted from. But the activists were never tracked down.”
Gutierrez leaned forward.
“Wait. You think that’s what this is?”
“No. Well, I thought, maybe it could be. A copycat. But, I was wrong. I found some large prints. They were definitely from a domestic dog. German Shepherd, Mastiff, some such breed. I don’t think it’s a hybrid you’re looking for.”
Darkly was lying. The question was, could Gutierrez tell?
“You should have come to the police with this information rather than investigate your hunch. This isn’t your jurisdiction. This isn’t even the border.”
Now Gutierrez was laying down the law.
“I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for my actions, Lieutenant Gutierrez. All I can say is it’s hard not to investigate, when that’s your job.”
Gutierrez got up, picked up the stack of manila folders and walked to the door.
“Try not to follow your instincts from now on. While you’re in my hometown. In fact, do more than try, or I’ll have you deported. You’re free to go.”
Gutierrez opened the door.
“Oh. You said you didn’t come here to hike. What did you come to Los Angeles for, Constable?”
“The music scene,” Darkly answered without hesitation.
Darkly got an uber back to the zoo and found her car where she had left it, but with a parking ticket on the windshield. She’d been lucky. She needed to be a lot more careful moving forward. There was still a wolf in L.A. At least one. Darkly was convinced. She was also certain Lieutenant Kathy Gutierrez would be keeping an eye on her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Darkly spent the next day lying low. She hit a couple classic rock ‘n’ roll joints, lunching at Bob’s Beanery, where she drank beer in the same spot Jim Morrison supposedly propped up the bar. She saw an 80’s hair band at The Greek, and took the obligatory tour of stars’ homes in the Hollywood hills. That was by day.
By night, Darkly scoured the music venues along the Sunset strip: House of Blues, Whisky-A-Go-Go, The Viper Room, The Roxy. She was looking for Marielle, or anyone she might recognize from Wolf Woods. After a week, she came up empty. During that same time, Griffith Park had seen its colony of coyotes exterminated, and the hiking trails reopened. Darkly took a chance and returned to the park and walked the trail
where she had turned up the wolf tracks. There were no more to be found.
So, it was, on the eighth night of her so-called vacation, Darkly happened into a bar too cool for a sign above the door. There was just a large nose crafted out of copper wire. Achoo was its name. Minimalist gray on the inside, with a stunning mahogany bar that dominated the center of the front lounge. Behind it, was a large open area for congregating and dancing, with a stage that lined the back wall beyond that.
It was 9pm, and the place was filling up. Darkly got the bartender’s attention easily. He wore the California uniform for such a place: man bun, suspenders, beard. He passed by several waiting customers to get Darkly a rum and coke.
“Who’s playing?” she asked the hipster as he placed her drink down in front of her.
“Moonkill,” he replied.
“They any good?”
The bartender shrugged his shoulders and moved on to the next paying customer. So, Darkly made her way to the back of the crowd of attentive, swaying bodies. The music wasn’t bad. It might even be considered good, if it wasn’t for the fact that it sounded a little too reminiscent of music twenty years previous. But, hey, the 90’s are making a comeback, she thought.
She got a glimpse of the lead-singer through the bobbing heads. He looked vaguely familiar, so they must have made enough of a name for themselves to reach her out-of-touch ears.
Darkly politely pushed her way through the fans up to the stage. The band consisted of the lead-singer, a young woman on the keyboard, a guy on the drums and another on the bass guitar. She got a better look at the singer. His hair was wet with sweat and covered his eyes. He was kind of geeky looking, but muscular. Not conventionally attractive, but projected magnetism. It was the guitar, concluded Darkly. Put a guitar in the hands of a five, and he becomes a seven or eight.
Darkly caught a glimpse of a hip middle-aged woman out of the corner of her eye. Her eyes were glued to Darkly, who was quite happy to make eye contact back. Darkly suspected it was one of Gutierrez’s people. The woman was dressed immaculately in flawless blue jeans, black leather jacket and black cowboy boots. Her skin was flawless and wrinkle-free, but her eyes spoke of age beyond her years. The woman smiled and then turned her attention back to the lead-singer. She stepped forward to lean against the stage, revealing Marielle, who had been standing hidden beside the woman out of sight.
Marielle took one look at Darkly and bolted. Concertgoers and beer went flying, as Marielle made her escape. Darkly aimed for the front door, in an attempt to cut Marielle off after she made it around the bar. But, at the bar, Marielle turned and headed for the toilets. Darkly changed course and made it to the hallway that led to the women’s room, just as the door slammed shut.
Darkly was at the door two seconds later and kicked it open. She immediately took stock of her surroundings. Two sinks, three toilet stalls, and an open window. Did she squeeze out the open window first, or check the stalls? She punched each stall open, one by one. No one. That took three seconds.
She then leapt up onto one of the sinks, knocking the cold water tap cap off. Water sprayed everywhere, and Darkly hauled herself outside. She was just barely able to fit through the window, so she knew Marielle could fit too. Darkly dropped down into an alleyway a couple of feet below. She turned to her left. There were three plastic garbage bins and a brick wall. To the right, was a chain link gate that joined a fence that stretched over Darkly’s head, covering the entire alleyway. It was a cage. The gate was locked with chains.
Darkly flipped the lids to the garbage bins and pulled out bags of trash. No Marielle.
“What?”
Maybe she hid in the men’s room? But Darkly saw the door to the women’s room shut. Someone entered. Darkly climbed back into the women’s room to face a couple of girls dressed to the nines, out for a night of clubbing. They were standing clear of the spray of water from the sink that was now drenching Darkly.
“Somebody should really fix that. There’s a drought,” she said with disgust and walked out of the toilet right into the lead-singer of Moonkill.
“Whoa. Sorry,” he apologized.
“No problem.”
He noticed Darkly’s wet hair.
“Did you take a bath in there?”
“I’m sorry?”
Darkly felt her hair and realized she was really wet.
“Ah. Sink’s broken.”
Darkly nodded and moved past the singer who was smiling and shaking his head. She searched every inch of the club, until banging on the men’s toilet stalls to order everyone out got her escorted to the front door by the bouncer.
She’d found Marielle. And lost her again.
The next morning, Darkly went for her run around the reservoir and put her thinking cap on. She had to assume that Marielle was the wolf in Griffith Park. And she had to assume she was tracking a murderer. But what would she do with her when she caught up with her? Turn Marielle into Kathy Gutierrez and say you’re welcome? Darkly promised her father and Vincetti that she would return the were-folk home. Of course, Wolf Woods was overrun by sasquatch. Ennis said he could house a few werewolves, while he searched for another ghost town to renovate. But, how would she entice or force so many to return? And how would she keep them there once she got them back? She had few answers.
Darkly soon concluded that she would need to tranquilize Marielle for the journey back. She’d drive to the Canadian border and then rely on Vincetti to get her and a woman who, as far as any government official is concerned, doesn’t exist into British Columbia. As for the rest of the wolves, she needed to find Buck. If she could convince him, she could convince the rest. She had an idea about that. She was willing to go as far as a woman can go to convince Buck to give up his current course.
Darkly decided she would concentrate on the task at hand for now. She needed to bring Marielle to justice. The girl was on alert now and would surely behave herself knowing that Darkly was around. It wasn’t going to be easy, but the werewolf would eventually slip up.
Darkly grabbed her ritual coffee and stepped out of the shop, only to run into the lead-singer of Moonkill for the second time.
“Excuse me,” the singer said.
Darkly thrust the coffee out to the side to avoid splashing her or the singer with scalding coffee. She took an intake of breath and waited for the worst. But, all was okay.
“I’m so sorry. Did you burn yourself?” the singer urgently enquired.
“No, I’m alright,” Darkly answered.
She didn’t hide her annoyance very well.
“Oh. I’ve made you spill half your coffee. Here, let me get you a fresh one.”
“That’s okay. I should cut back on the caffeine anyway.”
“No, really, I insist. I’m buying you a coffee whether you drink it or not. Wait a minute. You’re the lady who’s all wet.”
“And you’re with the band. Moonkill.”
It came to Darkly’s mind that this guy could be useful.
“With? I am Moonkill. I write the music and lyrics. Name’s Toma.”
Toma held out one hand for Darkly and held the door to the coffee shop open with the other. Darkly accepted his hand and the door.
“Darkly.”
“Darkly. I like that. What’ll you have, Darkly? Cappuccino? Latte?”
“Just standard American coffee. Black.”
“Got it.”
Toma bought Darkly a new cup of coffee and himself a dirty chai latte.
They took a seat at a table outside the front door, where Toma went right for the jugular.
“What did you think of the band?”
Darkly knew exactly how to play this.
“Good.”
“Good?” Toma asked with a strong undercurrent of disappointment.
“Truth is I barely heard anything. I was just there looking for someone.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, Moonkill is playing The Cha Cha Lounge tomorrow night. Why don’t you come? I’ll put you on the
list. You can listen this time. If you don’t find someone first.”
Darkly walked home alone. She’d agreed to show up at Toma’s next show. But there was a thought creeping into Darkly’s mind. It was no accident that Toma bumped into her at the coffee shop. He’d followed her home last night. She had a stalker, and he knew where she lived. He seemed harmless enough. There were no warning signs going off in her mouth. Not even an antiseptic mouthwash burn. She’d cut him loose eventually. In the meantime, there was nothing wrong with a little platonic fling.
After a shower, Darkly reviewed the earthquake footage and studied Marielle’s face once again. Something wasn’t right. She looked scared, and Darkly wasn’t convinced it was because of the earthquake. The Mountie in her knew when someone feared for their life. The quality of the video wasn’t great, but Darkly also thought she noticed bruising around one of Marielle’s eyes. Was she sporting a shiner?
Darkly returned to Sunset Boulevard that night. But not to hear the latest in indie rock. She knew what happened to young women in a new town, with no prospects. Darkly went soliciting prostitutes, armed with a wad of $50 bills and a print-out of Marielle’s face.
She drove around Hollywood, looking for the tell-tale signs of the oldest profession. The tight uniform, the eye make-up, the teased hair, the darkened doorways of closed-up shops. She spoke with any girl who would speak with her. It broke Darkly’s heart to see how young some of the girls were, and how little a grasp Los Angeles had on the scourge of sex trafficking. But all questions turned up nothing on Marielle. Darkly believed each woman, when they told her they’d never seen Marielle before.
Darkly spent the rest of the night slipping in and out of bars and diners. She was certain that Marielle was sustaining herself under cover of night. Perhaps Marielle’s situation was one in which money was not an issue. If so, that raised an interesting possibility, like a patron or protector. A patron able to frighten a werewolf?
Darkly decided she would take the day off. She had a date to see a rock star that night. Well, a musician with promise. She’d get her nails and hair done and take an afternoon siesta, so she could make a night of it.