Justin Gustainis - Those Who Fight Monsters Tales of Occult Detectives

“No.”

“Or some kind of private dick?”

Tony spread his hands. “I don’t even play one on TV.”

“Then why are you askin’?” She sagged back against the building and yawned. “You don’t look like some kind of religious nutter. What’d this girl do for you that was so fucking great you need to find her?”

“It’s not what she did for me—”

“Ah.” Amber cut him off. “I get it. Jealous boyfriend.” She laughed at Tony’s expression. “Honey, you haven’t looked at my tits once, and even the nutters check the merchandise. And…” Her voice picked up a bitter edge. “…you turn, just a little, when a car goes by. Enough that a driver could check us both. You’ve got a history. Afraid he’s going to find out about it?”

“He knows.”

“Uh huh.”

Tony had no idea how this had suddenly become about him. “Look, I just need to find Valerie. Reddish brown hair, short blue dress.”

“Black heels? Black sweater, kind of cropped? She just got out of one of them expensive penis-mobiles on the other side of the street,” Amber added when he nodded. “At least someone’s making the rent today.”

Tony turned just in time to see Lee’s car disappear around the corner and Valerie walk into a sandwich shop. He shoved the fifty he’d been holding into Amber’s hand and ran across Cordova, flipping off the driver of a Mini Cooper who’d hit the horn.

The sandwich shop was empty except for the pock-marked, middle-aged man behind the counter.

“The woman who just came in here, where did she go?”

The man smiled, looking dazed. “I didn’t see a woman.”

“She just came in here.”

His smile broadened. “I didn’t see a woman.”

The guy was so stoned he wouldn’t have seen a parade go through. The only other door was behind the counter. When Tony moved toward it, he found himself blocked.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Counter guy didn’t look stoned now, he looked pissed.

“Look, I need to find that woman.”

And the smile returned. “I didn’t see a woman.”

It wasn’t magic, at least not magic Tony recognized, but it wasn’t right.

“I gave her a ride, Tony, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it.” Tony paced the length of Lee’s dressing room and back again, wishing he had another ten or twenty meters to cover. “It’s just … she wants something from you.”

Lee rolled his eyes. “No shit. But I’m not going to give it her. I feel sorry for her. She’s in a bad situation.” He caught Tony’s wrist as he passed and dragged him to a stop. “You should know about that.”

Except this still wasn’t about him. “I think she had something to do with those two deaths.”

“Then why did she scream that night in the alley? Why did she scream and attract attention to herself if she had something to do with the guy’s death?”

“She screamed because I was already on my way into the alley. She knew she was going to be discovered and screaming would shift suspicion away.”

“You have any evidence to support this theory?”

“I found the old man’s ID…”

“Tell Jack.”

“It’s been destroyed. I’m guessing that between the time he died and the time she screamed — and he was still warm so that wasn’t long — something reduced his ID to a fine ash.” Tony twisted out of Lee’s grip. “Your average hooker couldn’t do that.”

“ You could.” From the look on his face, Lee knew exactly how that had sounded. “Look, you have no proof Valerie’s involved in anything but bad timing. You’re not a detective…”

“And you only play one on TV.”

“Is this about me? Because I’m paying attention to her? For fuck’s sake Tony.”

“I saw how she looked at you.”

“I’m an actor. Lots of people look at me.”

Tony meant to say, “I think you’re in danger.” but when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “I saw how you looked at her.”

Before Lee could respond, Pam rapped on the dressing room door and called, “They’re ready for you on set, Lee.”

Lee took a deep breath and shrugged into the overlay of James Taylor Grant. “We’re done talking about this,” he growled, opened the door, pushed past Pam, and slammed the door so hard two framed photos fell off the wall.

“I think you’re in danger,” Tony said, staring at the broken glass.

“Lee…”

“I’ve got that promo thing tonight.” Lee shrugged out of Grant’s leather jacket. “With the American affiliates. There’s going to be a lot of liquor, so I’ll probably get a room at the hotel.”

Not the sort of hotel a basic streetwalker could score an entry to. “Okay.” Tony held out the next day’s sides. “You’ve got a 10 AM call tomorrow.”

Lee looked down at the paper, up at Tony, closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “She’s very beautiful and I’m not dead but I would never…”

“I know.” And ninety percent of the time, he did.

If he wanted to talk to a hooker, Tony had to go back to where the hookers were. Back in Gastown, he wrapped himself in a notice-me-not and wandered along the sidewalks, searching for Valerie among the men and women who had nothing left to sell but themselves.

A little voice in the back of his head had started trying to tell him that she was with Lee when he spotted her outside the Gastown Hotel on Water Street. Same blue dress. She was standing by a car. A classic Chevy Malibu. Mid-sixties probably, jet black. Tony couldn’t see much of the driver except for the full tribal sleeve tattoo on the arm half through the open window.

He was a block away on the wrong side of the street so he started to run. Stopped when she half turned and looked right at him.

Her eyes widened and he had no doubt she could see him clearly.

As clearly as he could see her. Surrounded by traffic and people, she was entirely alone. Her need to be seen hit him so hard it nearly brought him to his knees.

Then she shook her head, got into the car, and by the time he reached the curb in front of the hotel, Tony couldn’t tell which set of taillights he needed to follow.

Nine-thirty the next morning, Tony was out in the studio parking lot waiting for Lee, pretending he wasn’t. He stepped back as Jack’s truck pulled in and then stepped forward again when the constable stopped a mere meter away. “Listen, Tony, can you do me a favor? Tell Amy…”

“No.”

“I’m just going to be late, that’s all. I’ve got another missing person and my time is fucked.”

Tony closed his hand over the edge of the open window. “This missing person, does he own a classic Chevy Malibu?”

He got his answer from the look on Jack’s face when he pushed up his sunglasses. “Tony?”

“Check around. See if an old John Doe with a tribal sleeve turned up. Left arm.”

Jack glanced down at the paperwork on the seat beside him. “My missing person has a tribal sleeve. Left arm.” When he looked up, his eyes had narrowed to the point where they were nearly cliché. “What do you know?”

“I spooked her and she got careless.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And this isn’t a police case.”

Jack stared at him for a long moment and finally nodded. “You want me to call you when this old John Doe turns up?”

“You can.”

“But I don’t need to.”

Tony shrugged.

“So while I’m dealing with this case that isn’t a police case, what are you going to be doing?”

“Research.”

“Where do you research this kind of shit?”

“I work on a vampire/detective show, Jack.” Backing away from the truck, Tony spread his hands. “I’m going to talk to the writers.”