The Big Sheep (11 page)

“Well, hell,” I said. But if the girl in the rubble had been the stunt double, then where was Priya?

“We should check the shooting location,” Roy said.

I nodded. We cut through an alley to skirt the bombing site.

“Does this happen a lot?” I asked.

“What?”

“Explosions on the set.” I'd been struck by the lack of panic among the crew members, as if a corner store exploding was unexpected but not unheard of, like a freak thunderstorm.

“Not on the set,” Roy said. “But we're used to explosions. We hear them, usually a few blocks away. The DZ is basically a war zone. Gangs competing for territory. Mag-Lev is supposed to provide us a safe haven for shooting, but I guess one of the other gangs decided not to cooperate this time.”

“What do they want? The bombers?”

“Mag-Lev gets a lot of money from Flagship for letting them film here. If the other gangs can make it too dangerous to shoot, Flagship will pull out of the DZ. That hurts Mag-Lev. Anything that hurts Mag-Lev helps the other warlords.”

Glancing down the street, I saw most of the other principal actors, but Priya was nowhere to be found. Some distance away stood Élan Durham, who was barking animatedly into his comm. While Roy quizzed crew members on Priya's whereabouts, I sidled closer to Durham. Between the buzzing in my ears and the general commotion, I could only make out about half of what he was saying, but whatever he was yelling about, he was not happy.

“We're paying that son of a bitch … at least a week behind schedule … second fuckup in two days … made him, and we can sure as hell destroy him…” He was quiet for a moment, then let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I know … I won't … know how hard you worked…” Then he saw me, muttered something into his comm, and ended the call.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. “Where's Brian?”

“Resting comfortably,” I said. “He nearly got blown to pieces by the explosion. Roy and I dragged him to safety.”

Durham nodded, registering the information as if I had told him craft services was out of capers.

“Do you know where Priya is?” I asked.

He shot me a puzzled look, as if he wasn't quite sure what I was asking him.

“Priya?” I said impatiently. “The star of your show?”

He shrugged. “She's around here somewhere. I can't have you wandering around the set without Brian. If he's out of commission, you'll have to leave.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I wouldn't want to disturb the equanimity of your set.” I turned and walked back toward Roy, who was still questioning crew members. He shook his head as I approached.

My comm chimed in my ear. It was April. Not great timing, but if she had information on Priya, I didn't want to miss it.

“April, what's up?”

“Hey, Fowler,” she said. “Your girl, Priya? She's nuts, all right. My friend at Ballard and Greene says she's got a contract to make ten commercials for Prima Facie. She's made four of them already. No sims.”

“Hmm,” I said, not sure how this new information fit with everything else that had happened recently.

“You must know this, though, right?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Aren't you watching her?”

“Sure, but we just started yesterday.”

“Well, she's down there right now,” April said. “At a set in Culver City. Where are you?”

For a moment I couldn't think of anything to say.

“Fowler?”

“You're sure she's there right now?”

“Yes,” April said. “My friend is over there, getting some signatures from some Marcus and Shea people. He's, like, the world's biggest
DiZzy Girl
fan. Keeps gushing about how she's even more gorgeous in person.”

“Do you have an address?” I asked.

“Fowler, you need to leave that girl alone.”

“April, I need the address. I don't have time to explain. Please.”

She gave it to me.

“Thanks, April,” I said. “I have to go.” I didn't want to be rude, but I'd have to explain the situation to her some other time—preferably after I had a better grasp on it myself.

What in the hell was going on? Priya disappears from the
DiZzy Girl
set, and then ten minutes later she's filming a commercial across town? Even if she'd taken an aircar, she'd have been hard-pressed to get to Culver City from the DZ in ten minutes. Had I imagined seeing her a few minutes earlier? Had Roy and I both been taken in by her stunt double? It seemed impossible.

“No one has seen her since the explosion,” Roy said worriedly. “A couple of people say they saw her walking this way just before, but Taki said she thinks it was Stacia.”

For a moment, I considered telling Roy about Priya being spotted across town. But I figured it was better for him to stay on the set and try to find some answers here. Besides, telling him would just prompt a lot of questions I either couldn't or didn't want to answer, and I still wasn't entirely sure I could trust him. His concern for Priya certainly seemed genuine, but he was an X factor I just didn't have time for.

“She'll turn up,” I said. “Any word on who set the bomb?”

“Nah,” he said. “We'll never know unless one of the other gangs claims responsibility.”

“Okay,” I said. “Hey, I've got to go. I've got another case to check on.” I wondered if that sounded as lame and ridiculous as I thought it did.

“Another case?” Roy asked incredulously. “Aren't you supposed to be looking into threats against Priya? She's
missing
, for Christ's sake. She could be buried under rubble! Durham clearly doesn't give a shit, so I could really use your help.”

“I'm sorry, Roy,” I said. “I would stay if I could, but I
have
to leave.” I tapped my comm and tossed my ID to him. “Call me if you hear anything.”

Roy turned and walked away without a word. I sighed. Making friends and influencing people, that's me. I hit up Keane on my comm.

“Hey, Fowler,” said Keane cheerfully. “How goes the glamorous life?”

“Not great,” I said. “There's been an explosion on the set. Some kind of terrorist attack by a rival gang. And Priya is missing. Well, sort of.”

“She's
sort of
missing?”

“That's the weird part,” I said. “April says she's making a commercial on the Flagship lot. But she was just here, like, ten minutes ago. Keane, I don't know what the fuck is going on.”

“All right,” he said. “I'm on my way.”

 

TEN

Keane picked me up at the DZ barrier. Not twenty minutes later we were at the address April had given me. The building wasn't part of the main Flagship studios complex; it was one of the old warehouses they had acquired and converted during their rapid expansion of the past few years. Circling the building from a safe distance, we determined that our best bet was to wait for Priya to leave, and then follow her, assuming she was actually inside. Other than the shipping bays, which were all closed, there were only two entrances: one at the front of the building and one at the rear. Armed guards were posted at each. There was also a guard stationed at a gate on the side street that led around to the back of the building. The front entrance didn't seem to be in use. While we watched, three people entered the building and two left, all through the rear door. The vehicles were stopped at the side gate, both coming and going.

An amber light blinked on the dash, indicating that we had dropped below the minimum altitude for this area. Ascent corridors were tightly regulated in most of the city, in part to prevent people from doing exactly what we were doing: flying at low altitudes to spy on someone. If we didn't start climbing pretty quickly, the light would go red, indicating that the LAPD had been notified. They'd pinpoint our transponder and send a couple of cruisers to intercept us. Once that happened, there was nothing to do but land and hope the cops weren't in the mood to strip-search us or impound the car.

“Keane,” I said, as he made another circle around the building, and the frequency of the amber light increased.

“I got it,” Keane said, craning his neck to keep an eye on the building. The amber light's frequency continued to increase.

“Seriously, Keane,” I said after a moment. “This is a very bad idea.”

The light had gone from insistent to frantic. Ordinarily, the car's safety override would have kicked in by now, telling the autopilot to climb to an acceptable altitude, but Keane had hacked the override. That was a felony. Another good reason not to let that little light go red.

“There!” Keane exclaimed.

“What?”

“Limo. Headed toward the guard tower.”

I looked where he was pointing. There was indeed a limo pulling up to the gate.

“So?” I asked.

“Could be our girl's limo,” said Keane.

“It could be anybody's limo!” I snapped.

“On an out-of-the-way set like this?” Keane said. “No. There aren't going to be a lot of bigwigs here. I'm surprised they even make Priya come down here. Are you sure April's intelligence is good?”

The light went red.

“Well, shit,” I said. “When they arrest us, do you mind telling them I'm a hostage you were holding at gunpoint? I'll let you borrow my gun.” I was slightly more than half serious.

Another warning flashed on the dash:
ERROR! TRANSPONDER OFFLINE!

“Whoops,” said Keane. “Our transponder seems to have malfunctioned. How will the LAPD ever find us?”

“Oh God,” I moaned. “You hacked the transponder? Do you have any idea how much trouble you'll be in if they catch you?”

“The amount of trouble I'll be in is inversely proportional to the odds I'll get caught.”

“That's not as reassuring as you probably think it is,” I said. It wouldn't take the LAPD long to pinpoint our last known location and scramble up a couple of cruisers to find us. We needed to beat them, and quick. But Keane continued his slow bank to the right, around the back of the building, watching the limo pull up to the door. Red and blue lights flashed on the horizon.

“Keane,” I said.

“I see them,” he said. “We'll have to circle back.”

A driver got out of the limo and opened the rear door facing the entrance to the studio.

“Looks like he expects someone pretty soon,” I said. “We're going to lose him if we circle back.”

“Good point,” he said. “I'm going to need a spotter.”

I nodded. I didn't like the idea, but on the plus side at least I wouldn't be in the car when Keane got pulled over.

Keane banked sharply to the right and then straightened out over the alley that ran alongside the studio building. He deployed the flaps, and the car's wings rotated just over a quarter turn, using the jet thrust to brake while slowing our descent. The wheels folded out of the undercarriage a breath before we hit. Then the wings flattened out, and the extensions folded up, making the car more maneuverable on the ground. Keane hit the thrust again, and we rocketed down the alley, now on wheels. He braked hard as we approached the street, and I threw my door open. “Good luck!” I yelled, and slammed the door shut. The car squealed around the corner to the right, merging between an SUV and a Porsche.

While Keane did his best to blend in with traffic, I raced on foot around the front of the building toward the guard station. When I was fifty feet or so away, I slowed to a walk. I was already sweaty from running around the
DiZzy Girl
set, and it hadn't cooled down any in the meantime. The air was muggy and still.

I got to the guard station and kept walking. Three police cruisers roared overhead. Hopefully Keane had gotten far enough away that they wouldn't spot him and match the description of his car to the vehicle whose transponder had suddenly stopped functioning nearby.

I spotted a bus stop on the other side of the street about half a block down from the guard station, so I walked to it and sat, doing my best to look inconspicuous. A few minutes later I saw the limo pulling away from the gate. It turned my direction.

“Got 'em,” I said into my comm. “Heading southwest on Olympic.” I sure hoped that was Priya's limo, or this was a lot of risk and running around for nothing. I also hoped the car stayed on the ground. It was an aircar, but it couldn't legally take off in this neighborhood. If they were only going a short distance, the driver probably would remain street side rather than drive out of his way to a takeoff point.

“Roger that,” said Keane. “Can't risk going airborne right now, so it's going to take a minute to get to you. Try to keep them in sight.”

“Yeah,” I said as the limo passed the bus stop. I got up and started jogging on the sidewalk, following after the limo. It turned right again at the next intersection, and I cut through an alley to try to keep up. “Going right on Westwood,” I said.

“Roger,” said Keane. “ETA three minutes.”

“Three minutes? You realize I'm on foot here, Keane?”

“Can't be helped,” said Keane. “Try not to lose them.”

Cursing, I sprinted down the alley and made a left. I came out on Westwood and glanced left, then right. Spotted the limo half a block down, and ran after it. I was losing ground. Traffic was amazingly light for the middle of the day, and the limo seemed to be getting one green light after another. Where was LA traffic when you needed it? I thought of hailing a cab, but I was worried that by the time I flagged one down and got in, I'd have lost the limo.

Finally a light turned red, and I saw the limo coasting to a stop a hundred yards or so ahead. I put on a burst of speed, thinking I might actually catch up to them before the light changed. But then I heard the bark of a siren behind me and realized I was being tailed by a police cruiser. I cursed again and darted down a side street. Nothing like a grown man running at top speed in street clothes to pique the attention of the LAPD.