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I walk down to the boulevard, and sure enough, there’s a Range Rover Defender near the end of the block. I slip the black blade into the driver’s-side lock and the door pops open. When I jam the blade into the ignition, the Rover starts on the first try. I pull out into the sparse traffic wondering who I know who deals in knuckle-dusters.
I GET ON the 101 south to the 10, get off and head north on Crenshaw to Venice Boulevard, and pull up by an old battleship of a building. They used to manufacture safes inside, back when there were only three TV channels and everyone dreamed of L.A. in black and white.
I go in
side and take the battered industrial elevator up to the third floor. I lived here twelve years ago, before Mason sent me Downtown and Alice was still alive. Vidocq took over the apartment after I disappeared. Used some of his alchemical tricks to make the door invisible and, better yet, make everyone in the building forget there was ever an apartment here. He’s lived in the place rent free ever since.
I knock on the door and Allegra opens it, hugs me, and invites me inside. Vidocq smiles from his worktable. He’s in a stained lab coat, boiling red gunk in a beaker so that it condenses and trickles down a glass tube and drips into another beaker, clear now and full of what look like small spiny fish swimming around in slow circles. It looks like he’s either just created life or is making dinner. He’s well preserved for two hundred (though he doesn’t like to admit to being over a hundred and fifty). Close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, nice clothes, and a trimmed beard. A mad scientist by way of GQ.
“How’s life without whooshing in and out of shadows?” says Allegra.
“Slow. Terrifying. I’m more like regular people every day. I’m going to end up wearing Costco suits and going to cupcake stores.”
Allegra’s hair is jet black and shorter than Chihiro’s. Her café au lait skin is paler than when we first met. She’s spent a lot of the last year indoors at the clinic looking after sick and injured assholes like me.
“You could do with a little more real life in your life,” Allegra says.
“As long as I don’t need an accountant or a résumé.”
Vidocq leaves his hoodoo table and goes into the kitchen.
“Your scars are your résumé,” he says. “What sensible employer would ask you for more?”
It’s the truth. After eleven years in the arena in Hell my body looks like it was run through a wood chipper and put back together with a hot glue gun.
“Would you like some coffee?” Vidocq says. “I just made it.”
“It doesn’t have little fish swimming around inside, does it?”
He glances back at his worktable.
“That’s an interesting project. I’m experimenting with blood and blue amber to reanimate fossilized animals.”
“Whose blood?”
“Mine, of course.”
“Why?”
“To understand life, why else?”
“I’m not sure it’s working that well.”
Allegra goes over and stares into the beaker.
“He’s right. Your critters have refossilized.”
Vidocq sighs.
“We learn as much from our failures as our success.”
“Then I’m a goddamn Rhodes scholar.”
I take the coffee he offers. He hands the other cup to Allegra.
“You inspired the experiment, you know. Or your guest did,” she says. “Ever since he showed up it’s life this and the nature-of-death that.”
“What about you? He set off any new thoughts for you?”
