Shade City (27 page)

"What? You never told me that before. You're saying that I put my ass out there on unfounded speculation?"

I scoffed and I smiled. "Your father was right. You really can't trust shades." She laughed deviously.

The moment of levity helped, but only a little. It also served to emphasize the mismatch between us and our opponent. We were out of tricks. Out of tools. But the job wasn't done yet. There had to be a way to coax Ambrose back to the Dead Side.

The limo drove down Eagle Rock Boulevard until the entrance to the 2. After a short stint, they merged onto the 5 South. It was Sunday so it only took ten minutes to get to the 110 heading into Downtown. The limo exited on 6th Street, drove to Hill, and made a right. Past 8th. 10th. To an area of the city beyond the central hub. This was a sad, desolate stretch of road with buildings that looked set for demolition. It wasn't that the neighborhood was overly trashy; it just looked like a downtown that belonged in a smaller city. The area was outdated. A far cry from the revitalized urban epicenter a few blocks behind us. There was no need to drive this far down Hill Street unless you were headed somewhere old.

As if on cue, the stretch limo slowed and pulled to the sidewalk, parking next to an identical limousine. At first I was confused. There was nothing here. But then I saw it. You would be forgiven for passing it completely: the facade of the Belasco Theater was nice enough in its own right, but grand it was not.

"There's something going on here," I said to Violet. "Some kind of party." One limo was a lark. Two was an event. There were no lines or crowds gathered on the pink sidewalk, however. Whatever was happening, it was small.

Soren climbed out and rapped on one of the parking meters with his walking stick. Ambrose's walking stick. The bowtie and suit weren't enough. The man needed to press his sense of fashion no matter how anachronistic it was. I didn't know if it was ego or appearances but, somehow, that would be his undoing. In step behind him was Bedros. No one else exited the vehicle.

As the two approached the entrance, a guy walked out and patted Soren on the back with a tattooed arm. It was his best friend, Greg. Poor guy had no idea that he was greeting a complete stranger. After a quick discussion, they disappeared indoors.

I let a few minutes pass. I needed to get in the building but was hoping the limo would leave. The driver was still inside. He could be a problem. If he was just going to wait out the show while parked, then I would need to sneak in without him noticing me. I figured if I gave him some time to relax, there was a good chance he'd have his eyes closed.

When the time came, I turned off my car and got out. No one else was on the street except for another car coming by. Instead of passing, it stopped in the middle of the road. It was an old-timey Cadillac, peach-colored and fancy.

Another limo. All I could think about was the Rule of Three. Maybe it didn't apply here, but something was going on. I ducked behind my car.

The far door opened and two girls in yellow dresses hopped out. Was one of them familiar? They reached their hands into the Cadillac and helped another girl out of the backseat. It was Pam. And she was wearing a white wedding dress.

* * *

Los Angeles is full of old places from another time. Thin streets, stone foundations, meticulous detail work—it all represents society's shifting tastes. Old theaters are perhaps the epitome of such antiquated glamour. They are lush with textured carpets and wood carpentry and wall reliefs. They bring a warmth to open spaces that is rare to find in modern architecture.

The Belasco Theater encapsulated all of that. It was a sudden transition into a vivid world, beset by hosts of colors and manicured touches of splendor. A pleasing assault on the senses.

A hundred years had brought vast changes. I tried to imagine being a man who lived before cars were invented. Seeing electricity become commonplace. I envisioned a ghost of the past learning about refrigeration. Rockets. Computers. As old relics were left behind, new ones were created. It was hard to envisage.

The lobby was empty and I moved quickly. My hand slid along the carved wooden railing as I raced up the carpeted stairs. If I was right, everybody would be in the main theater. I could get a nice view of the proceedings from the balcony.

The raised floor ran along the entire back wall of the theater. Starting at the top, the mezzanine was divided into three levels split by railings. Tufted leather chairs lined the back wall of each section and looked over a vast complex styled after the Spanish Renaissance. The ceiling was a dramatically lit dome that set the stage for the events below. I inched towards the railing and watched a small crowd seated in a single row right in front of a rounded wooden deck. It looked like a dance floor that was flush with the carpet. Like Avalon, this theater had been converted into a nightclub. But it was more elegant. More entrenched in the trappings of yesteryear.

The couple stood in the center of the hardwood floor, atop a crest depicting a crowned shield with wings. Two bridesmaids on one side, two groomsmen on the other, and the officiant at their head.

"And me without my suit," I mumbled.

I didn't see Bedros. After convincing myself that he wasn't on the balcony and that I hadn't been seen, I stepped down to the next level and settled into a seat. I stayed in the middle section because I thought it might be best to keep away from the main edge of the balcony—I wasn't invited after all. So I sat inconspicuously and studied the crowd. Soren didn't have parents but I saw a man and a woman who could pass for Pam's. Her maid of honor could have been her sister. She was smiling and giggling as the ceremony started. The other bridesmaid was someone I'd met in the Echoplex, I thought, but it was hard to tell with all the hair and makeup.

It was a strange affair. They rented this huge, elaborate theater but only catered to fifteen people. The negative physical space was creepy. Even more distracting was the complete lack of music. The Belasco undoubtedly had a state-of-the-art modern sound system, but they were without a DJ. Except for Soren, of course. It was obvious this ceremony was planned quickly and at the last second. As with Finlay upon being released from prison, Ambrose moved to get married and begin his legacy immediately. I winced as the couple proclaimed their vows and kissed each other. Luckily, it was over pretty quickly.

A couple of waiters walked in with trays and served cocktails. The low audience chairs remained but most of the guests stood next to high tables to the side. People mingled and laughed. Pam cried. The entire time, Soren strutted around confidently, holding the walking stick with the alabaster rose head. And that's when it hit me.

I didn't have much of an opening, and it was a long shot, but I slipped downstairs and explained to Violet what I needed. It felt wrong, especially after our breakthrough. That didn't stop me from flagging down one of the waiters as he passed through the lobby, giving him a twenty, and then placing the Hamilton pocket watch into his hand. There was a restaurant in the adjacent hall that he dipped into. When he returned he had a tray of appetizers. I nodded at him and he returned the gesture, then he entered the main theater and I went back upstairs.

This was reckless, I told myself. If ever I felt like a dick, it was now.

I was upstairs and worried again, scanning the crowd for the bodyguard. Why was he not around? Maybe he was in the restaurant. It might have been weird for him to intrude on this personal affair. My eyes caught the waiter I had bribed passing by the crowd. His tray was emptied and he returned to the lobby. I missed the handoff.

"It's a good plan," I said, then realized I was talking to myself. Violet wasn't by my side anymore. It wavered my resolve.

That's when I finally saw Bedros. He came from a side room. A bar. He returned to his boss and whispered in his ear. Soren inspected the surroundings. I thought he may have glanced my way. If Soren noticed me, he didn't show it. After a momentary exchange, Bedros walked off again. Ambrose was working on something. He let the cocktails and appetizers settle for another ten minutes. Then he put his arm around Pam and whispered to her. She shrugged and nodded, and he kissed her on the cheek. Moving back to the stage floor, the man addressed his small audience.

"Excuse me, everyone. I'm sorry." Soren rapped the metal tip of his walking stick on the wooden floor. "I'm sorry. Excuse me. Yes. It has come to my attention that there has been a mix-up with the restaurant reservations. They have them for an hour earlier than they're supposed to. No, no. It's not a problem." He waved his hands and plastered a grin across his face. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to cut this short so we can head to the reception. The limousines are outside waiting for you. Please file in. Take your drinks, if you please."

Ambrose was getting rid of the guests. That meant I had been seen. I moved to the end of the balcony, in the middle level along the wall, to blend in to a dark corner. The waiters were scurrying but the guests were milling about, taking their time.

I leaned back, waiting for the inevitable. Wondering if my plan was ruined. Trying to come up with an alternative. I should have been looking over my shoulder.

"I didn't know you were here." I snapped my head around and saw Greg, holding a cigarette. "Why aren't you down with the others?" he asked.

"Weddings aren't really my thing."

He nodded and took a long drag, then blew the smoke carelessly to the side. "I was going outside for a smoke but decided to look around. This place is impressive. Have you been here before?"

"For a party once." I watched as he admired the fleur-de-lys accents lining the floor.

"Well, not me," he said. "I'll need to come back some time when we could really let loose." He tugged at his tie as if it was constricting his air.

I nodded vacantly and glanced at the main floor. Half the guests had filed out. Pam and Soren were arm in arm, talking to her parents. They were looking around, trying to keep tabs on everybody.

"You're not joining them?" I asked.

He shrugged and took another long drag. "I don't know. These things are always so fake. What do I want to talk to Pam's parents for, you know? I'm actually happy that Soren decided to do this so hurriedly. Saves me the pain of a long dance."

"I suppose so." Greg didn't know the real reason this wedding was rushed. I kept my eyes on Soren down below, to see what his next move would be.

"But I don't need to tell you about it. You didn't even put on a suit or go downstairs. You know what I mean." Greg fumbled in his pockets for another cigarette and dropped his old one in a garbage can. "Shit, you got a light? I must have lost my matches."

I pulled mine from my pocket. It was a cheap plastic number from 7-11. I tossed it his way and he snatched it out of the air. Then I returned my attention to the crowd below just in time to catch Soren and Pam walking under the balcony towards the lobby. All the others were following.

"There they go," said Greg. "Man, I might not even go to the reception." He lit his cigarette and inhaled satisfactorily.

"You're the best man."

"I know. I did my duty. I had to help set up around here, you know. Soren wasn't around for that. And I stood there for that dog and pony show. That doesn't mean I need to do the dinner thing too. Knowing my luck, I'd have to sit next to Pam's sister. Have you ever talked to her for more than five minutes? I'll give you twenty bucks if she doesn't text someone in that time."

I chuckled. But I was troubled. The main theater had cleared out. Most of the guests would be outside by now, getting into the limos. If nothing happened now then it would need to wait until after the reception. A restaurant wouldn't be private enough. It felt bad to just sit waiting, but I couldn't do anything else.

Greg walked to the railing and blew smoke into the grand emptiness of the room. "Can I ask you something?" He turned and placed my lighter on the small square cocktail table next to me, then sat down in the adjoining chair. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "How do you know Soren? I mean, he mentioned Perch to me. And now you're sneaking around upstairs at a wedding you weren't even invited to." He saw me shuffle nervously in my seat and he waved his tattooed arm. "No, no. Don't worry, man. I don't give a shit. I just wonder: why the strange behavior?"

Greg was waiting for my answer intently. He was friends with Soren and probably had genuine concern, but I got the feeling he was more curious than anything else. Neither of us really fit in with the crowd downstairs. There was a mutual sympathy in that. "I'm just making sure he doesn't fuck up," I said. It was as truthful as I could get without tearing the veil open on a whole other world.

He leaned back, disappointed. "I don't know. That doesn't really sound like an answer. There's something inside you that drives you. This isn't about Soren."

I just shrugged as I stood up. There wasn't anything else to say. I swiped my lighter from the table and moved toward the steps. That's when I noticed, for the first time, that Bedros was standing there. He was upright, at attention, with a callous face that revealed his intentions.

"Again with you," said the Armenian.

He didn't make a move and I didn't either. We just studied each other. He didn't have any conduits or any iron armor. I decided that the only way I was going to be able to expel him would be to knock him out. That made this a one-on-one fight. Fair if you looked at the numbers, maybe, but Bedros was in a different weight class.

Behind me, Greg spoke up. "I just don't want you ruining this night for Pam and Soren." I turned to him. He was still leaning back casually, puffing away. "It is an important step for them. The beginning of long lives at each other's sides." Greg had a wicked smile. His eyes registered an understanding that he hadn't revealed before.