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“Who ratted out Brigitte?”
Abbot gives me a hard look.
“If you’re thinking about killin
g him, there won’t be anything I can do to help you.”
“I promise you I won’t kill him. I’ve had enough killing to last me this lifetime and the next.”
“Careful, son,” says Samael. “Lying is a sin.”
Abbot looks at us both.
“I can do it, Stark. We already arranged for the man to be fired from his very prestigious job.”
“The costar of her show?” says Samael. “George something.” He looks at me. “He was just given the boot over some contract violation or other.”
I look back at Abbot. He isn’t happy that Samael follows celebrity gossip. He holds up a finger.
“If he turns up dead—”
“I told you. I’m not going to kill him.”
“You better not,” he says.
“What about Brigitte’s situation?”
“I have good news there. I’m making headway with my contacts.”
“Thanks.”
“Listen, I have to get going. The cleaning crew will be here in an hour. You might want to be gone. It’s going to be very loud.”
“Samael and I will go get some breakfast and I’ll come back for my stuff.”
“I’ll talk to you soon,” Abbot says. He looks at Samael and says, “Good meeting you too.” Then, warily, “Are you staying in L.A. long?”
“He’s not the Devil anymore,” I say. “And neither am I. Now, I want to get some pancakes. You can come along if you want.”
“No thanks,” Abbot says. “There’s still a lot of work to do after a crisis like this.”
He starts out but stops and looks genuinely unhappy. Says, “I want you to know that making you leave wasn’t my idea. I was outvoted.”
“Thanks for sticking up for me.”
With a short wave, Abbot makes his way out and away from my mess.
Samael looks at me oddly.
“Do you really want to get pancakes?”
“No. Want to go scare the shit out of this George guy?”
“There’s the Jimmy I love.”
At eight, the whole wedding party—plus Samael and a hundred or so artsy strangers—pile into the Starless Starlight Theater on a little side street in West Hollywood. Janet and a small band of other musicians from their school play a live original score to A Page of Madness—a wild 1926 silent horror movie from Japan. Over the course of the film the music morphs from a shadowy synthesized orchestra to a ferocious percussion machine, pausing in between to fill the theater with ominous industrial groans. It’s so perfect that even Samael applauds unironically at the end. Afterward, everybody heads to Bamboo House to celebrate. I kiss Janet and say that I’ll meet them there.
“You okay?” they say.
