I, Angel

by JC Andrijeski

  “Guest house?”

  Again, Jane looked confused. She bit her lip, glancing at Dags’ front door, at Dags himself, then back at Kara.

  “Are you talking about Mr. Jourdain?” she said finally. “Our landlord?”

  Kara about choked on her own tongue.

  Dags frowned, folding his arms.

  He’d already more or less resigned himself to all this, once Kara insisted on talking to Jane. Still, he didn’t have to be happy about it.

  “You rent this property?” Kara said. “From Mr. Jourdain?”

  The detective paused, pointing at Dags’ chest.

  “…This Mr. Jourdain?”

  Jane Harrow flipped her hair out of her face, frowning.

  “Of course. Didn’t he tell you that?” Seeing Kara’s blank look, Jane finally seemed to give up on Kara and turned to Dags himself. “What is she talking about? Did someone tell you I was subletting part of the house? Because I would never do that, Mr. Jourdain. Not without talking to you first⏤”

  Dags held up a hand in a calming gesture, without unfolding arms.

  “It’s fine, Jane,” he said. “No one told me anything. I must not have been clear about our exact situation with the detective here. No doubt Detective Mossman assumed you were the owner of the property, since it’s unusual for a landlord to live in a smaller part of the house.”

  “Oh.” Jane Harrow gave Kara a look, her brow clearing. “Yeah. I guess. Sorry. When you said tenant, I thought you were accusing me of something. I thought it had something to do with what just happened here.”

  Kara was back to staring at Dags.

  She didn’t even try to hide her disbelief.

  “You own this place?” She didn’t bother to feign politeness, either. “Seriously? How is that possible? I thought you grew up in East Hollywood?”

  Dags shrugged, fighting to hold onto some shred of nonchalance, but it wasn’t easy.

  His normal instinct in a situation like this was to be a rude asshole until whoever it was stopped asking questions. He didn’t exactly know what to do when the person asking questions was the police. He also didn’t want to press his luck with Kara right now, not after a guy just dropped dead in his living room.

  He didn’t manage to keep the scowl off his face entirely, though.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Jourdain?” Jane Harrow said, pulling Dags’ eyes off Kara and towards the much-softer, lighter-brown eyes of his tenant. Jane’s voice shifted from annoyed to worried as she seemed to realize at least part of what was going on. “Did someone break into your place?”

  She paled as she thought about her own words.

  “…while you were home?”

  Dags nodded, again holding up that calming hand.

  “It was a total anomaly, Jane. But yes, someone broke in. He didn’t hurt me. There was something wrong with him… physically I mean, in addition to whatever mental health issues he might have had. He didn’t do anything violent. He collapsed.”

  “Oh.” Jane continued to sound worried, and confused. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s dead,” Kara said, her voice annoyed.

  Jane flinched, staring at Kara like she was some kind of ghoul.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Dags cut her off.

  “I can tell you the whole story tomorrow, Jane,” he said calmly, pulling her eyes back to his. “If you’re working from home tomorrow, I’ll bring you up some coffee. I picked up more of those beans you like from the family roasters in Los Feliz.”

  Jane Harrow looked at Dags, and the anger and worry smoothed out of her face.

  She smiled at him, squeezing his arm.

  “That sounds great,” she said. “It’s been too long since we’ve caught up.”

  Dags saw Kara pick up on the slightly flirtatious vibe of that.

  He also saw that it immediately annoyed her even more.

  “Are we done here?” Dags said, trying to head off the anger he saw building behind Kara’s eyes and in her aura. He pointedly checked his watch. “Do you need me here any longer? I’ve told you everything that happened. Four times now.”

  “You have a date, Jourdain?” she grumbled. “What’s your hurry?”

  Dags frowned.

  Once again, he didn’t really want to tell her that he did have an appointment, but she immediately picked up on his hesitation.

  “Unbelievable,” Kara scoffed. “You’re going there tonight. Aren’t you? You’re going to go hang out with those two starlets and drink wine spritzers in the hot tub⏤”

  “Hang out?” Dags scowled. “They’re clients, Kara. Or they might be, depending on how the meeting tonight goes.” Glancing at the parked ambulance pulled up to the end of the driveway nearest to his garden, he grimaced. “Although I have no idea why they’d want to hire me at this point. I told Asia what happened.”

  “‘Asia?’” Kara said mockingly. “First name basis already, Jourdain?”

  Dags glanced at Jane Harrow as it occurred to him that the forty-something producer was still standing there, listening to every word. Clearly, she was curious about who they were talking about, and how it connected to the dead man in Dags’ apartment.

  She’d figured out a few things already.

  “Asia Jackson?” she said, folding her lean arms in front of the wraparound blouse. “That’s your new client?”

  “Are you buddies with her, too?” Kara said.

  Dags heard the tinge of sarcasm in the detective’s voice, but he wasn’t sure if Jane heard it. If she did, she didn’t react, but answered Kara straight.

  “Not personally. We’re considering her for a part. A friend of hers, who’s starring in a picture I have coming up, recommended her.”

  “Let me guess,” Kara said, her sarcasm even more prominent. “Phoenix X?”

  Jane blinked, but nodded, a delicate frown again tightening her lips. “As a matter of fact, yes. Is Phoenix involved in this somehow?”

  Kara snorted, looking at Dags. “You’re a lot more Hollywood than I ever would have dreamed, Jourdain.”

  Dags didn’t bother to answer that.

  He’d just remembered something else.

  The dog.

  He glanced over towards his front door, where the husky-shepherd mix had been tied up, presumably by its owner. The dog, who’d been there the whole time the police came and went from Dags’ apartment, was now pacing back and forth, looking between the ambulance, where it presumably smelled its now-dead owner, and Dags, who stood a good twenty feet away.

  Looking at the poor thing, Dags, felt a twinge of guilt.

  “The dog,” he said, looking at Kara. “I promised Tig I’d take care of his dog. That’s not a problem, is it? For me to keep it?”

  Kara looked up from where she’d been texting, frowning at him. “What?”

  Dags motioned with his head and jaw towards the tied husky.

  “Tig didn’t leave any family behind, did he? No relatives? No ex-wives or girlfriends who might want it?”

  Kara’s eyes followed Dags’ to where the dog was pacing back and forth, whining.

  “No,” she said, her voice subdued. “Not that we know of. There was no one. A few work friends. Surfing buddies. Neighbors. Guys he knew at the gym.” She looked back at Dags, frowning. “You’re going to keep the dog of the guy who tried to kill you? Really?”

  Dags shrugged, deadpan. “It’s not the dog’s fault.”

  There was a silence.

  Kara opened her mouth to say something, but Dags cut her off.

  “Can I leave, Kara?” he said, letting impatience reach his voice. He checked his watch a second time. “If not, I need to call Asia to reschedule.”

  “What about the dog?” Kara said, frowning. “You just said you’re keeping the dog. You’re not just going to just leave it there?”

  “I’ll take care of him,” Jane Harrow offered.

  Dags looked at her, then exhaled in relief. “Would you? I could take the car, bring him with me, bu
t I’m thinking he probably doesn’t need any more excitement tonight.”

  Jane waved him off, smiling.

  “Not a problem,” she assured him. “I adore dogs. He can watch a movie with me and Carl. I’ll return him to you when we have coffee tomorrow.” Twisting a gold watch around on her wrist to look at it, she added, “I’ll call Carl and have him grab some dog food on his way up. He was going to get us takeout, anyway⏤”

  “Of course, I’ll reimburse you⏤” Dags began.

  “It’s really not a problem, Mr. Jourdain.” She waved him off again, smiling. “Go to your meeting. We’ll be fine.”

  Dags felt his shoulders relax even more. “You’re a life saver. I mean it.”

  There was a silence where he looked at Kara.

  She returned his stare with an annoyed one of her own, then exhaled in defeat.

  “Fine,” she said, waving him off sharply. “Go. I’m tired of looking at you.”

  Dags didn’t hesitate.

  Giving Jane Harrow another nod and smile of thanks, he began walking towards the upper end of the driveway, relieved he’d left his motorcycle in the garage closer to the road, instead of parking it by his apartment. He hadn’t made it more than four steps when Kara raised her voice, calling after him.

  “Dags?”

  He turned, scowling at her openly.

  “What?” he growled.

  She gave him that sweet smile. “Don’t leave town, okay?”

  Dags didn’t bother to answer.

  He just left.

  Chapter 10

  Malibu

  He slowed the bike as he reached the last slope in the steep driveway, which ended on a house resting on a bluff overlooking the ocean. Easing the motorcycle around the circular end of the driveway, he came to a complete stop between the fountain and the front door.

  He glanced up at the white front of the massive stucco house.

  It looked like every light in the whole damned place was switched on.

  Pulling out his phone, he checked his GPS, making sure he was at the right place.

  The address Asia Jackson gave him was in Malibu, which didn’t surprise Dags.

  What did surprise him was how far out it was, the sheer size of it, and the fact that Asia mentioned, off-hand, that her friend, Phoenix, was renting the place while “between houses,” and only the two of them were living here. Staring up at the white stucco monstrosity in front of him, with its neon pink accent lights around the windows and the edges of the square roof, he tried to guess how much it would cost to rent a place like this.

  It had to be close to six figures.

  He suspected it might be well into the low end of that.

  Whatever the exact monthly sum, he guessed you could buy two houses in New Mexico with it. That was two houses per month⏤at least in the area of New Mexico where his uncles lived, which wasn’t exactly the posh part.

  The sheer idiocy of spending money like that, given that they could have gotten a decent townhouse for a fraction of the cost in Venice or Manhattan Beach, or even a beautiful home in the Hollywood Hills for only a little more, kind of blew his mind.

  He should be used to it by now, living here.

  He wasn’t.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” a voice drawled at him. “Or were you planning on coming inside, Angel dude?”

  Dags scowled.

  He recognized the voice.

  Using his toe to dislodge the kickstand, he set it down on the cement driveway and leaned his bike. Once he had it stable, he switched off the engine. Then, still standing astride it, he unhooked the chin-strap of his helmet and tugged it off his head.

  He swung his leg off the bike only then, leaving the helmet behind on the leather seat.

  “I should’ve known you’d be a motorcycle guy,” Asia observed wryly.

  She shook her head at him, smiling, leaning on a blue-painted door.

  She wore a long, flowing dress tonight, dark green and decorated with a giant purple face surrounded by flowers. It looked like she might be wearing a bathing suit under it.

  “Don’t tell Karver,” she added. “That bike looks expensive. I’m sure he’ll want to come out here to jerk off and talk to you about it.” Shrugging, her lips still quirked in a bare smile, she explained, “Motorcycles are Karver’s latest obsession.”

  She rolled her eyes as she said it, stepping further out of the doorway to create a hole for Dags to walk through.

  The way she said the guy’s name, “Karver,” Dags had to guess he was another famous person: an actor, a director, or maybe a musician.

  Dags had lived in Los Angeles long enough to recognize how industry people’s voices changed when they “casually” mentioned famous people they palled around with. Those people assumed, of course, that Dags would immediately pick up on who they meant.

  Unfortunately, Dags almost never did.

  He was even more sure he was right when he noticed her annoyed, put-out look at his non-reaction. Dags knew the drill. He was supposed to act surprised, and then to immediately try to verify that she did, indeed, mean that exact famous person… sort of like how Kara had that morning, when Asia mentioned her roommate, Phoenix-whoever.

  Asia tried again. “He just started his own line of them. Motorcycles. Karver’s got a new shop down on Venice. Have you seen it?”

  Dags shook his head. “No.”

  Again, she looked mildly put out.

  He supposed it wouldn’t help if he told her he had no idea if he’d seen it, since he had no idea who Karver was.

  Still, Dags kicked himself mentally when he saw the flash of irritation there.

  He’d really meant to spend some time on the internet before he got here. He’d planned on looking up Asia herself, of course, but he also meant to research who her roommate, “Phoenix” was. He hadn’t intended some in-depth study, not for this, just enough to know the bare bones, which would have been really fucking helpful about now.

  The dead guy in his living room really screwed up his evening plans.

  Of course, it may not matter, not for tonight⏤but it probably did. Threats against famous people inevitably came down to them being famous. Also, famous people could be surprisingly weird about their fame. Dags wasn’t big on massaging egos, but he didn’t see the point in antagonizing potential clients, either.

  Of course, with Tig’s death, Asia was a lot less likely to be a potential client.

  Dags still hoped to get some information, though.

  He was a lot more likely to get that, if he didn’t piss them off.

  “Well?” Asia said, amusement back in her voice. “Are you just going to stand there? Staring at me? Or are you going to come inside?”

  Realizing she was right, that he’d come to a dead stop on the driveway and had just been standing there, more or less looking through her, he averted his gaze.

  Without answering her directly, he resumed walking. Making his way through the hole she’d created for him between her body and the doorframe, he entered the foyer.

  He unzipped his jacket as he got indoors, glancing up the two-story walls in the open floor plan, white-walled, round room in which he found himself. Taking off his gloves, he shoved them in his pockets without lowering his gaze, leaving his motorcycle jacket on but hanging open.

  “We’re outside,” Asia said, walking past him, still sounding bemused. “Do you want anything to drink, Angel-guy?”

  Dags winced.

  Then he thought about her question.

  “Not unless you have an espresso-maker,” he said truthfully.

  “We have that. We also have staff, Angel-guy,” she said, sounding even more amused. “Although I do make a mean cappuccino.”

  Dags frowned, though, glancing around the open space.

  “How many people do you have here? Inside the house. Besides you, that guy, Karver, and your ‘roommate.’”

  He couldn’t help himself with the air quotes.

  Given the
size of the place, Asia and her friend Phoenix could probably go weeks without running into one another, and with minimal effort. To pretend this was some normal roommate situation for two, twenty-something women, was bizarre.

  Asia frowned at his question, as if hearing the judgment in it.

  “We have security,” she said, a little defensively. “Two guards at night. Four during the day. As far as other staff, it’s only the housekeeper after five, but cleaning people come and go during the day. Veronica handles all of that. You’ll have to ask her, if you want specifics.”

  “Does she live here?” he said. “Veronica?”

  “No.” She paused. “Well. Not usually. She sleeps here sometimes. She has her own room. But normally she leaves around seven. Unless we need her for something. I asked her to stay tonight since we have guests.”

  Dags nodded.

  He followed Asia deeper into the high-ceilinged part of the living room.

  He glanced at a round sofa that made up the focal point just past the door; it sat a few steps down from the foyer’s height and looked like it would seat fifteen people comfortably. He descended those wooden steps when Asia did, noting a massive wooden burl in the center of the couch, covered in white candles. A fireplace burned on the other side of the room, the river-stone frame standing out from the white walls.

  Dags glanced up and back at the round, looping staircase as he passed under it. The stairs formed more of a winding ramp to the second floor, like something in an art museum.

  The real draw of course, was the ocean.

  This was Malibu, after all.

  A wall of glass stood directly in front of him. Through it, Dags could see a fire pit burning on what looked like a volcanic flagstone patio, surrounded by modern-looking sculptures made of black and white stone. The glass wall disappeared behind parallel bamboo walls on either side, making him feel like he was a shark inside an aquarium, looking out.

  “Guess you aren’t afraid of earthquakes,” he muttered, still looking around as he passed the round couch, glancing at a glass-covered bar to the left of the fireplace.

  Asia snorted, hearing him.