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The black outfit was how I knew we were dealing with a CinSim of himself that Snow had commissioned. Simple for an albino. He was all white to begin with. The perpetual sunglasses that protected his light-sensitive irises were always black.
He only had to have himself shot on a bit of rare surviving silver nitrate film.
Then the image was impressed onto a fresh zombie 3-D body canvas through the Immortality Mob’s so-far-secret process. Las Vegas was the cusp where cutting-edge science and paranormal-fueled magic met … and was turned into pure old-fashioned profit. But only vintage silver nitrate film would work. Get ahold of a precious piece of it and …
Prest-O Change-O, you had an exact reproduction, on cue, on tap, at Snow’s command. He’d bought and manufactured his dark double. He hadn’t grown his own in the mirror, as I apparently had with Lilith.
Cheater.
I wondered what immortal bit of lost vintage filmmaking had been sacrificed to Snow’s desire for a double and his deal with the Immortality Mob, not to mention what poor dead schlub got to power the mogul’s needs.
You might get the idea that I didn’t like Snow, but you’d be wrong.
I despised his cheesy rock-star appeal to the “weaker sex” and myself for having to deal with him. If he wasn’t an albino vampire rumor made him, he was some variety of potent supernatural. Finding out exactly what was number one on my bucket list.
There was no arguing that Snow wasn’t the Darkside darling and an American idol. His pale skin was also as muscular as Michelangelo’s major-hot statue of a naked David duplicated at Caesars Palace. I could see why, when Snow’s pelvis was onstage working his white Fender Stratocaster guitar like a giant screaming electric fig leaf, mosh-pit groupies swooned.
But why was the CinSim Snow coming out to play when Snow was still in town?
Was this part of the Inferno “haunting”?
Meanwhile, Nick was showing off for Nora by wobbling up to Snow’s black cowboy-booted physique and going nose to nose. Nick’s film-white finger tapped Snow right between the pecs, dead center of the Jack Frost scars etched like lace and lightning bolts on his bare chest that were either souvenirs from the finger of God casting him down from heaven or souvenirs of some evil entity shocking him back to life in the heart he didn’t have. My theory anyway.
“Those ‘leases’ that confine all us CinSims are leashes,” said Mr. Charles. “And we don’t like it. We’ve got a right to roam, like any Micky Mouse cell phone.”
Snow’s broad shoulders and schooled torso-twist literally shrugged off Nick.
“How you can stay drunk on plain water I’ll never know, Mr. Charles,” he said. “Your lovely wife is having trouble controlling the family pet, as usual, only the pet in question is a juvenile version of my security chief, which is not as usual.”
CinSim Snow knew the score, yet no one noticed but me. He turned my way. Wearing bootheels, I was almost Nick Charles’s six-foot height. Snow still towered.
“You’re the investigator, Miss Street. May I suggest you do your job?”
He walked away from the bar area, the crowds parting as if sensing the passage of the Invisible Man. Once offstage, Snow’s secret mojo allowed him to move around the hotel-casino floor unrecognized by the masses. I looked up at the jumbo HDTV high above. The Seven Deadly Sins were rocking out in an instrumental frenzy, no lead singer/guitarist in sight.
The sound was muted, but they were performing live.
I think.
Back to the family Charles. “You’ve changed your ensemble tonight,” I told Nora.
“Of course.” Her voice lilted with good humor. “Snow purchased the rights to my extensive wardrobe as well as me.” She did a fashion-model twirl. “Otherwise, my bar duty would get boring, for me and for the clientele.”
“But why the hat obscuring your sophisticated-lady face?”
“Can you keep a secret?” Nora turned her back on me, encouraging me to come around for a girlfriend conference.
When I faced Nora and her several-layered veil again, she lifted it for a sneak peek.
Gasping, I saw tha
t Nora’s elegant pencil-thin eyebrows had blossomed into furry Brook Shield caterpillars. Her mascara had run, giving her eyes the spiked, drawn-on look of a circus clown.
“It’s a surprise new look,” she said with a winsome smile.
“Are you girls done?” Nick peered over Nora’s shoulder while she hastened to lower her veil. “I have a phenomenon to report, dear ladies. My keen suspicions have been raised. Would you care to look where I direct, Miss Street?”
I turned again to face the bustling casino with the jumbo HDTV screen high above. The Seven Deadly Sins were rocking out with Black CinSim Snow in place as their lead singer.
