The feeling was mutual . . . for all of them.
“Well, here’s a classy place,” commented Press. He jerked his chin sardonically at a dirty window and ledge on the left side of the building. “What do you say—let’s go for the drive-up room.” Dr. Fitch ignored him and steered the van under the arch above the driveway of the Sunset Palms Motel.
“Why would she stay here?” Dan asked, craning his neck in an effort to see out the side window. “The Biltmore’s much nicer.”
“She wouldn’t know any better, or care,” Stephen answered as Fitch brought the vehicle to a lurching stop. The team scrambled out and headed toward the motel’s front door, where the clerk stood waiting, his hands jammed into the back pockets of his jeans.
“The woman claiming to be Angela Cardoza—what room is she in?” Fitch grabbed the younger man’s arm. “We don’t have time to waste. You were notified—”
“Hey, man, let go.” The clerk shook him off. “You’re gonna wrinkle the shirt. I know who you are.”
He made an exaggerated show of straightening his sleeve and Press stepped forward, a black scowl twisting his features. He was easily a head taller and thirty pounds more powerful than the motel employee. “We’re not screwing around here, buddy.”
The greasy-haired clerk blinked and held up his hands. “Take it easy, man. She’s gone, anyway—took off right before the card number came up as stolen.”
“Where’s her room?” demanded Stephen. “Did she leave anything in it?”
“Nothing,” the clerk said slyly. “I checked.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” growled Press.
The smaller man shrugged. “Hey, go and see for yourself.”
“I intend to,” Press declared. He brought a hand down on one of the guy’s bony shoulders in a pseudo-friendly gesture, but hard enough to make the joint give an audible pop. The weaselly man gasped as Press squeezed and beamed at him companionably. “In fact, I’ll do that personally a little later. You’ll be a swell guy and make sure everything’s there, won’t you? You know, all that stuff the . . . maid probably moved?”
The clerk’s Adam’s apple bobbed jerkily as he swallowed. “Sure, yeah, sure. I—I can do that.” They all heard his sigh of relief as Press lifted his hand and folded his arms.
“That security camera up there,” Stephen said, pointing toward the ceiling. “We’ll need to see the film.”
The clerk shook his head. “Forget it. I’d have to—”
“Oh, I think you’ll do whatever it takes,” Fitch snapped. He pushed his face close to the other man’s. “Or haven’t you got a clue yet? Maybe you’d rather explain to the owner that your failure to cooperate is why I had the place shut down for the next two weeks. And maybe you’d like to do that from the comfort of a federal jail cell.”
“Okay, okay!” The clerk threw up his hands. “You got it—gimme five minutes.” He stalked through a door off to the side that had a handwritten sign marked EMPLOYEES ONLY taped on it and they heard him rummaging around and cursing under his breath. A couple of minutes later, just before Fitch was about to start screaming at him, the guy came back with an ancient black-and-white portable television balanced atop a battered, bottom-line-model VCR.
“Hurry it up, would you?” Fitch glared at the man, and Stephen grinned to himself as the clerk seemed to downshift visibly, moving even more slowly than before.
Finally he got everything plugged in and turned the set on, then hit the play button on the VCR. He fiddled with the fast-forward and rewind buttons awhile, then paused the machine. “There,” he said, “that’s her.”
“Is this the best picture you can manage?” Laura asked, peering at the small screen.
The clerk folded his arms peevishly. “This ain’t a video store, honey. What you see is what you get.”
“And there’s certainly not much around here to see,” Laura said with a pointed look. She turned back to the screen.
“Do you have any idea where she went?” Fitch asked. His eyes were glued to the picture. “Even a guess?”
“Yeah—well, maybe. She said she wanted a good place to meet a man, so I told her about the club around the corner, the ID.” For a moment the group fell silent and the clerk looked at them, perplexed. “What’s so strange about that, right? The way she was dressed, I figured her for a hooker, though she looked like she’d be a little pricey for this place.”
“Give me the tape,” Fitch said. The guy opened his mouth to argue then thought better of it, and ejected it from the machine. He handed it over. “We’ll send this to the lab and have it enhanced, see if we can get a better look at her.” He glanced at the other members of the team. “In the meantime, next stop—
“The ID.”
17
The ID was L.A.’s biggest club, and the sight of it dazzled Sil. Converted from an old movie palace, the outside looked like something she’d seen during her television scans, only on a smaller scale. Around a massive, arched entrance, graystone walls rose three stories above sidewalks inset with glittering mica. As the clerk had told Sil, a line of people stretched three blocks back from the club’s entrance, and she simply walked beside the line until she found the front doors. Compared with some of the women standing sullenly in line, her outfit was nearly conservative. Her legs, though, were better than most: sheathed in a nearly transparent fabric of shimmery black gold, they were long and sleek and impossible to ignore. As it turned out, they were her ticket to get in.
“Hey, you. Legs.” A big-muscled bouncer with a thick, flat-topped crew cut guarded the club’s entrance. He gestured at Sil and flicked his head in the direction of the dark doorway behind him. “You’re in.”
Sil smiled at him and walked purposefully forward, oblivious to the jealous mutterings from those still forced to wait at the front of the line. Passing through the heavy, beamed doors was like nothing she’d ever experienced; inside was a huge room, crashing with movement and people and flashing lights that periodically tried to blind the patrons. Presiding over everything was the music, immense and relentless, pounding from dozens of unseen speakers in the high, blacked-out ceiling, sending waves of energy coursing through the atmosphere. Sil hesitated just down the wall from the entrance and looked around, formulating her next move. In the center of the enormous area was a giant, circular bar made of diamond-plate sheet metal and chromed railings. Suspended above it, a line of television monitors followed the generous curve of the bar, all screens showing sexy but dated images from black-and-white movies. Above those, midway to ceiling level, were two all-but-naked dancers bathed in multicolored lights while their hair blew in all directions, swept by the brisk currents of concealed fans.
For a little while Sil gawked, excited by the motion and hundreds upon hundreds of people, women dressed in every imaginable kind of clothing, men cruising along, their eyes flashing with sexual energy. Eventually she pushed her way to the bar. When somebody got up, she seized the opportunity to sit among the other women preening around the bar, watching as some bounced with the music or twined their fingers in shining curls, while others dipped their fingers in glasses filled with strawberry-sweet drinks and chewed their bottom lips engagingly.
Sitting straight on her barstool, Sil realized that her low-cut black silk blouse covered her far more than any of the clothing worn by the females around her. She crossed one long leg over the other, exposing more smooth thigh, but it wasn’t enough to attract attention. A woman with blond hair, like hers but considerably longer, drifted past with a lazy sway in her walk. Sil saw several of the handsome men milling around the bar turn to watch, saw their gazes drop to the woman’s midriff, skin bare and tanned below a tight, cherry-colored tank top. Sil’s own blouse was tight but masked far too much; in one smooth move she pulled it free of her skirt and slid it over her head. Underneath she wore a black lace bustier trimmed with a thin, gold ribbon that perfectly complemented the tight miniskirt and shimmery stockings, and no one appeared to notice the bl
ouse she let drop to the floor behind the barstool.
As Sil scanned the crowd a nice-looking guy with brown hair locked eyes with her. She looked boldly back, then blinked when, after about five or six seconds, he dropped his gaze and turned his back, shooting a final, mystified look in her direction. She couldn’t understand it—what had gone wrong? Brow furrowed, she watched him openly for some time, noting that every time he looked over at her, he seemed increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, Sil saw him catch the gaze of another woman, just as he had with her. But this woman didn’t hold his stare as obviously as Sil had; instead, she met his eyes, then fluttered her lids and looked down at her drink, repeating the ritual several times. At last the guy walked over and started a conversation as he slid into the space next to her at the bar.
Sil’s eyes narrowed as understanding dawned. The males needed to feel dominant, and her refusal to look away had made her seem too brazen, too strong. She would not make the same mistake again.
“What’ll it be?”
Sil swiveled on the barstool, then realized a bartender had stopped nearby but was talking to someone else, a young man with sun-streaked hair and a face that was attractive enough to be on one of the television screens with which she was becoming so enamored. The guy felt her gaze and smiled at her. “Hi,” he said. The bartender shrugged and moved away to wait on someone else.
“Hi,” Sil said in return. She gave him her best smile then carefully averted her gaze for a second or two.
He turned in her direction and casually leaned an elbow on the bar. His skin was deeply tanned and his teeth were very white. Despite his closeness, the color of his eyes was impossible to see because of the wildly flashing lights. “Where’re you from?”
“I’m . . . foreign,” Sil answered. She fingered a strand of her hair as she tried to plan her next words.
“Really?”
Sil wasn’t sure whether this was the right thing to say, but she never got the chance to find out. As she opened her mouth, still not sure what her next words would be, another girl weaved through the crowd and stumbled into the man standing next to Sil. Quite pretty and apparently drunk, she had auburn hair that fell past her shoulders in thick waves and cascaded onto a full bustline that was nearly coming out of her black leather vest. When the man who’d been talking to Sil caught the girl’s arm and helped steady her, the other woman gave him a moist grin. “Hi,” she said. Her voice sounded vaguely slurred. “I’ve got a party to go to and no one to take me.”
“I’ll take you,” the guy said immediately.
The girl’s smile widened as Sil watched, stunned. “Will you? Cool!” She found her own balance and tossed her hair. “I have to go to the little girls’ room first, okay? You wait here. I’ll be right back.” She veered into the crowd.
Sil looked at the guy, but his back was to her as he motioned to one of the bartenders. Outcompeted by the other woman, Sil was already forgotten. As she heard him order something called a “Jell-O shot,” Sil slid to her feet, ran her hands down her hips to straighten her skirt, and headed for the rest room.
The rest rooms were on the lower level, down a flight of bottom-lit stairs that were never meant to be negotiated with a stomach full of alcohol—at least it seemed that way to Sil as she watched the drunken girl from the bar wobble down them as a few other woman staggered up. Sil followed the auburn-haired beauty into the women’s room and squinted at the unexpected bright white tiles, relieved only by an occasional framed movie poster bolted to the wall. The stalls were off to the side, floor-to-ceiling enclosures—little rooms—that reminded Sil of the tiny bathroom on the train but without the luxury of a sink or mini-shower stall. For the moment they had the rest room to themselves, and Sil’s competitor stopped at the mirror and dug her hand inside her tight leather vest, giving her breasts a few practiced tugs that resulted in a cleavage far more generous than before.
As she turned to go into a stall, the young woman saw Sil waiting for her and scowling. Her response was a self-satisfied smirk. “Whatever works, right?” She didn’t seem nearly as intoxicated as she had upstairs, and Sil’s expression went icy and full of hate. The girl shrugged, unimpressed. “Hey, honey, all’s fair in love and war.” Ignoring Sil’s glare, she ducked into the closest stall and shut the door.
Sil slipped into the one next to her and carefully pulled the latch closed, wondering where she’d heard that saying before. Perhaps it had been on the television, during one of those innuendo-filled daytime shows about men and women that she’d watched on the train. It didn’t matter now, and what bothered her more was not understanding exactly why she had disliked being called honey by the woman who was now singing to herself as she used the toilet in the next stall. Sil could hear the words—
“Touch me now, stranger, it’s time to explore . . . My body is your ship into which—”
Barely aware of what she was doing, Sil calmly punched through the wall separating the stalls. Despite Sil’s earnest efforts, the screaming, bleeding girl just wouldn’t fit through the hole Sil had made in the wall-board.
The noise and blazing streaks of colored light in the nightclub’s main room was an assault after the clean, eye-popping whiteness of the rest room. Sil almost didn’t see the handsome man standing casually by the top of the stairs. When she did notice him, she ducked her head and glided back into the shadows for a moment, where she could study him without being seen. As handsome in a dark-haired way as the guy she’d be talking with before the drunken girl had intervened, this guy struck Sil as more intelligent and watchful . . . cunning. Dressed in a tuxedo as though he’d just come from somewhere special, he surveyed the crowd with the air of a predator familiar with the hunting ground; Sil found the aura of shrewdness that surrounded him immensely electrifying.
Stepping out of the darkness, she intentionally swayed into him as she passed. “Whoa!” He laughed as he held out a hand to steady her. “Better find your balance before you try those stairs again, babe.”
“Hi,” Sil said. Her voice didn’t sound as slurred as her previous rival’s had, and she hoped it wouldn’t matter. “I’ve got a party to go to and no one to take me.”
“Really?” The man’s dark eyes sharpened with interest and he slipped an arm around her waist. His breath was warm in her ear. “Well, my name’s Robbie and I’ve got a car that says I’m your transport. Where’s the party?”
“I . . . don’t know. I can’t find the address,” she added quickly. Sil hadn’t thought about anything beyond the borrowed phrase, but that didn’t seem to matter to Robbie. He simply laughed.
“What the hell, baby. Let’s go—we’ll make our own.”
“Here it is. What do you think?” Robbie opened the door to his convertible and looked at Sil expectantly. She didn’t understand the question, so she nodded agreeably and climbed into the passenger seat. He closed the door for her, then came around and settled behind the steering wheel. “It’s a Puma. I special ordered it.”
“Puma?” She’d thought a puma was a type of cat, but apparently that was incorrect. Sil slid her gaze over the inside of the automobile, watching as he inserted a key into the ignition and turned it, learning the process as the engine started and he shifted into first gear and pulled out of the parking spot, then left the lot behind. It didn’t seem to take substantial intelligence to operate the car—hand-eye coordination, attentiveness to your surroundings, memorizing what the various knobs and pedals did. She thought she could do it if she had to.
“Yeah,” Robbie continued as he steered smoothly into the flow of night traffic on La Brea, then turned left onto Hollywood. “From Brazil. Not too many of them around.”
“It’s very . . . orange,” she finally said.
Robbie chuckled. “Yeah, it is. Like I said, you don’t see a lot of ’em. So what’s your name?”
“Sil.” A familiar sound above them made Sil’s head snap up. A helicopter sped by far overhead, then joined another hovering somewhere behind them, spotl
ights probing the street from which they’d just come. Were they from the complex? Had they been able to trace her here?
“Wow,” Robbie said, acknowledging the copters with a nod, “check it out. There’s always some action going on in this part of town.” His disinterested expression didn’t match his enthusiastic words. Then he brightened. “Wait’ll you see my place . . . uh, Sil.” He gave her a sideways glance. “It’s on Chalette Drive, built on the side of a hill. When I turn out the lights, you can see all the way to the ocean.”
Sil nodded again, still keeping one ear tuned to the fading sounds of the helicopters. What was the ocean? For a while the street signs had continued to read SUNSET BLVD. and follow a line of apparently endless parking meters, then Robbie had passed a corner called Fairfax. On it was a cylindrical building made of glass, and she looked back and saw a sign in front of the building that read DIRECTORS GUILD OF AMERICA. Then he turned and began weaving the car along a dozen smaller, curved streets. It didn’t take long for the noise of the helicopters to disappear entirely, but she was still disappointed to leave the gigantic billboards and the bright clubs and stores behind.
“Don’t talk much, do you?”
Sil shrugged, hoping that gesture would suffice. She wasn’t sure what to say, what he wanted her to say, what she shouldn’t say. She knew that there was a sort of ritual that was usually applied here, but she was at a loss as to the finer points of it. The television—her best teacher—had shown her the basic biological steps, but not much else. She had a lot to learn.
The Puma had been climbing steadily for several minutes, and suddenly Robbie used a turn signal and veered into a carefully landscaped driveway. Farther up, at the peak of the hill and lit by strategically placed yard lights, a blue-stained cedar A-frame with huge windows waited. Robbie stopped the Puma in front of the lower-level garage and pressed a button on a device clipped to the driver’s-side sun visor; the double-wide garage door rolled smoothly up. He pulled in and hit the switch again to close the garage, then killed the engine and came around to open Sil’s door.
Species Page 10
