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“No.”
“Then he’s no poor lost soul.”
“Fritz! Did you ever have a heart?”
“Simple bypass. I had it removed.”
“How do you live without it?”
“Because …” Fritz handed me his monocle. I fit the cold glass to my eye and stared.
“Because,” he said, “I’m a—”
“Stupid goddamn son of a bitch?”
“Bull’s-eye!” Fritz said.
“Let’s go,” he added. “This place is a morgue.”
“Always was,” I said.
I called Henry, and told him to take a taxi to Grauman’s. Pronto.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Blind Henry was waiting for us in an aisle leading down to the orchestra pit and from there to the hidden basement dressing rooms.
“Don’t tell,” Henry said.
“About what, Henry?”
“The pictures up in that projection booth. Kaput? That’s Fritz Wong’s lingo.”
“The same to you,” said Fritz.
“Henry, how’d you guess?”
“I knew.” Henry fixed his sightless eyes down at the pit. “I just visited the mirrors. I don’t need a cane, and sure as heck no flashlight. Just reached when I was there and touched the glass. That’s how I knew the pictures upstairs had to be gone. Felt all along forty feet of glass. Clean. All scraped away. So …” He stared again at the sightless uphill seats. “Upstairs. All gone. Right?”
“Right.” I exhaled, somewhat stunned.
“Let me show you.” Henry turned to the pit.
“Wait, I’ve got my flash.”
“When you going to learn?” Henry mocked, and stepped down into the pit in one silent motion.
I followed. Fritz glared at our parade.
“Well,” I said, “what are you waiting for?”
Fritz moved.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“There.” Henry pointed his nose at the long line of mirrors. “What did I say?”
I moved along the aisle of glass, touching with my flash and then my fingers.
