Shade City

by Domino Finn

  "You didn't see Pam?" I asked.

  "Hell no. I'm telling you I barely realized that I was at Avalon. I was struggling down the steps when some guy with dreads helped me out. He said he'd seen me spin before and was asking about booking me one night or some shit. But he could tell I was out of it so he helped me to a cab. I caught hell for ditching Pam from her friends the next morning, but it turned out she wasn't mad because she completely blacked out."

  "There is a God," I said. Greg agreed. Maybe Pam getting drugged had actually worked out for the best. But I wanted to refocus the conversation on Sal. "So the guy just put you in a cab for no reason?"

  Soren looked up at me. "Yeah. Well, no. He wanted to book me for a gig and was glad he ran into me. But I'm not really supposed to talk about it."

  "What, like a secret party?"

  He widened his eyes to stress the point.

  Well, shit.

  I was spinning around in my head how I was going to broach the subject again when Pam rushed out beside us.

  "Oh my God! Jenny's making out with your friend."

  "Trent?"

  "Yeah, right in the middle of the dance floor."

  "That's his move, if they let him get past the grinding."

  I could tell from Pam's eyes they had done that as well. She turned to her fiancé. "We should have them come over to the house tonight."

  "Sure," he said. Greg nodded.

  "What's going on?" I asked.

  "We're having a little gathering at our place," answered Soren. "Nothing too big but we have chill neighbors who don't mind the loud music. If you want to hang and drink, you guys are welcome to join us."

  "Why not?"

  * * *

  We moved the party to the hills of Silver Lake. Small, windy streets with too many parked cars skirted old houses that creaked when they were looked at. The buildings huddled close together on their slopes, separated only by chain link fences. Soren's house was dark and uninviting. The yard was small but the crowd stayed out of it except for the occasional smoker. Inside, it was less serene. Furniture was shoved aside and people danced to Glitch Mob. A table with bottles of booze on it found itself constantly raided. There was no more coke or ice so I resorted to drinking whatever liquor was offered to me straight up. In retrospect, I lost a little focus.

  Principal to my losing track of time had to be the pot room. Soren led a few of us into his bedroom to sit on the floor and he produced a pipe. I made sure it was only weed. The dude was a lot more laid back compared to the night at Avalon. But then again, that had been Nero, his second shadow. So we smoked and the yelling outside eventually subsided. The music remained on but drifted to a lower volume. And Trent was practically passed out. All clues that should have led me to realize it was late.

  "One day," said Soren, "I'm gonna move out of here. Live in a proper Hollywood palace. I'll do my thing at the club and head back to a real party. With a pool. And a staff."

  "Ice would be a start," I said, just to be a dick.

  "Yeah. And ice. We'd be like royalty."

  I yawned and stretched my shoulders. The base of the bed wasn't comfortable for long periods of time. "You're really planning on hitting it big with this secret party of yours?"

  Soren looked to the others in the room. Nobody else was paying attention. "It's a start. But it's not just that. I've been an idiot. I'll party till I die, man. Believe that. But I need to take care of Pam too. She's put up with so much... You know?"

  I nodded. He must have remembered some of the horrible things he had done to her when he was taken. He ignored her. Insulted her. Probably cheated on her. He must have blamed the booze or the drugs. Whatever his rationalization, he was trying to make it better.

  "Something about her," he said, not really aware of the room anymore. "I was always a loner. Never knew my parents. Grew up in the system. I never thought I'd meet someone like Pam. And I've done nothing but fuck it up."

  Soren stood up and pulled the drawer of his nightstand open. "I gotta restock the bar or something." He emptied out his pockets—a wallet, some papers, his keys—and shut them in the drawer. Then he took his leave.

  I snapped myself out of my daze and looked around. Trent was wearing heart-shaped glasses made of paper, like the 3D kind, except that these made all beads of light look like little heart halos. Pam's friend, I forget her name, was leaning on him, asleep. The only other person in the room was Greg. Although his eyes were wide open, he was entirely too high to see or hear anything going on.

  The whole thing felt unnervingly similar to high school, to be honest, and there was something about the moment that threw me off. I'd even go so far as to say that, if I wasn't drunk and high and up to no good, I would have been ashamed.

  Pretty sure that Soren had really just gone to take a dump, and knowing that we had to call it a night soon, I carefully stood up and went to the nightstand. I opened his drawer in what must have been clumsy belligerence because Trent noticed my rummaging. Luckily, he was in an awkward position with a girl lying on top of him; he didn't bother to maneuver his head to see what I was doing.

  Soren had some receipts and coins and other junk in the drawer. I flipped open his wallet. A business card hidden behind a credit card caught my eye. It was a hard stock of paper, all black with white lettering: "Red Hat Events." The only other color was the red logo of the company. I had seen it on flyers for raves and such around LA. They were party promoters and threw electronica events. If Soren had recently lined up a new gig that he was excited about, this had to be related.

  I slipped the drawer closed and patted Trent on the shoulder. Poor guy had to be in the office in the morning. At least he had stopped drinking a while ago. When we stumbled out of the bedroom, we noticed the house was empty. I didn't bother searching for our host.

  The only thing I remember about the drive home is that we were winding through the streets somewhere and the car made an awkward jerk. I asked Trent, who was driving, if he had fallen asleep.

  "A little bit," he said.

  Tuesday

  The next day, late enough in the afternoon that I had outslept my headache, I got off the Red Line in Hollywood and marched down Highland Avenue one more time.

  "It can't be a coincidence," I said to Violet. I spun the brass pocket watch by its chain as I explained everything to her. "The same block that Sal disappeared on is close to the back alley of the pizza place where he lives. Red Hat Events being headquartered there is telling."

  You're saying he's a street soldier for Red Hat?

  "Why not? They can't be the most reputable company. They run clubs and raves." It was a business that thrived on the illicit drug community without having paper ties to it. But surely they fed off each other.

  It doesn't make sense.

  I sighed uselessly into the air. Violet was the one who had wanted me to aggressively follow this guy. I'd found out who he was, where he lived, and what his connection to Soren was, and she still had to pick me apart.

  "I admit I don't know enough about Red Hat, but that's why we're here now."

  It's not them.

  "Okay. Who then?"

  It's Sal. We're assuming he's taken, right?

  "He has to be. That's why you noticed something off with him."

  Right. Well, take it from me. If you get out of my hellhole and join the world of the living, you're not going to spend your days cleaning the back alleys of pizza places.

  "So what? He's too much of a normal homeless man to have an ulterior motive?"

  Something like that.

  I nodded in that indignant way that said I recognized the plausibility of the statement but didn't really place much stock in it. No one could convince me that Sal wasn't possessed. It would only take a simple touch for me to know the truth. Finding him was the hard part.

  As we walked by the diner and cut into the block, I saw the old Art Deco building that ran up the side of the alley. The words "Department of Water and Power" were emblazone
d at the top of what must have been a historic structure. I was still across the street, staring at the GPS on my phone, when I realized that Red Hat Events was showing up at the same address. That was a bit strange because there were no markings for the events company, but I figured they must have been using the defunct site as an office.

  I didn't have much time to ponder the matter, as it was, because at that moment a man emerged from the alley and turned into the building, walking through the large front door. He was notable for his plaid trench coat and thick dreadlocks.

  "Fucking shit."

  Before Sal disappeared into the doorway, he looked straight at me. He knew he'd been spotted, just as in Mel's. I supposed finding him wouldn't be the hard part after all.

  I cut into the empty street and made a beeline for the building. Whatever happened, he wouldn't be getting away this time. I surely wouldn't be distracted by any owls. I rushed inside and saw the man impatiently pounding on the elevator call button. As he saw me enter, he abandoned that route and slipped into an access door.

  This was a small lobby, empty except for the cute girl sitting at a reception desk. The solid red logo of a baseball cap spanned the front veneer of glass so I knew I was in the right place. But there wasn't time to talk to anybody. Without making too much of a scene, I slipped the pocket watch into my jeans and briskly followed Sal into the stairwell. The basement path was locked up behind a gate, but it didn't matter. I heard the man's feet slapping on the stone steps above. Matching his pace, I broke into a run.

  The old Art Deco building was taller than it looked, or perhaps the stairs were too small. Sal didn't stop at any of the intermediate floors, and I found myself getting winded near the top. I heard the metal door to the roof pound open and I dutifully chased. Before I knew it, I stood on the tar-stained gravel that basked in the California sun.

  Sal was the only other person on the plain rooftop. He had stopped running now. He turned slowly to face me, arms in the air.

  "Why are you chasing me?" he asked, nearly in hysterics.

  "Whoa, whoa," I said, putting my hands out to show him I had no weapons. I didn't advance on him. He kept his feet planted where he was, about ten feet from me. "It's Sal, right? I just want to talk."

  "Are you police?"

  "What? No, man." I had a dabble of a goatee on my chin and my hair was long enough to get into my eyes. I liked to think I didn't look anything like a cop. "I'm just a guy. They told me about you at Dos Pizzas. I was hoping you could tell me about Red Hat."

  Sal was a dirty man. He twitched at times, he smelled something awful, and he had wild eyes that darted in all directions, but when I mentioned Red Hat I could swear that something registered in him.

  "This... this building?" Sal lowered his arms to his side and became more relaxed. Maybe he realized he wasn't in trouble. He looked less jumpy, anyway. "I just ran into here to get away from you."

  "No," I said. That wasn't right. "You were coming in here before you saw me."

  Sal shook his head. "I clean the street. I live in the street. I don't have anything to steal."

  He was just playing dumb now.

  I stood there for a second and saw that he was done explaining himself, so I withdrew one of my special cigarettes and lit it.

  "Do you smoke, Sal?"

  His eyes jumped between my face and the cigarette. "N—no."

  I had found the only bum in Hollywood who didn't light up.

  I took a step towards him. "How do you know Soren, Sal?"

  The restless eyes narrowed and the homeless man didn't answer. He took a breath and sort of stood up straighter and taller than he had been. He slipped his hands into his coat and just watched me.

  "Who are you?" he asked, finally breaking his study.

  "I've gotten that question a lot lately, all by stranger characters than myself." I took another drag of the sage and confidently stepped towards him. "I'm just a guy who wants to have a conversation. Let's start with who you are and why you're here."

  "I am just a bum, sir."

  I chuckled at his change in diction. "Well," I said, continuing my casual approach, "perhaps we are both fakers."

  "What we are, sir, are strangers. Unless you have a claim otherwise, my business here is my own."

  "Why don't we get acquainted, then?" I held out my hand. "One proper introduction, and I'll be on my way."

  Sal, or whoever he was, took a step backwards. He was unsure of my motives. He couldn't have known that I could see his true self with a touch—none had ever been aware of my ability before—yet the man still shied away from my hand. I had to see who he was.

  "Why should I be concerned with making friends?"

  I shot him a laser stare. "Because I've never been a good enemy to have."

  I threw caution to the wind. Only a few feet from the man, I lunged at him.

  Sal spun and leaped over the parapet. Flannel coattails slipped through my fingers and waved in the wind.

  "Wait!" I screamed, way too fucking late.

  The man plunged into the sidewalk below with a wet thunk. I glanced down and pulled away reflexively, sickened by the splatter.

  No. No. No.

  He wasn't supposed to die.

  Whoever I had been talking to, whoever was inside Sal, was a shade from the Dead Side. He had found a compatible host in the homeless man and was living his life for him by proxy. I've always tried to expel their kind without hurting the person. The victim. Sometimes things got messy or violent, as with Soren, but cuts and bruises were it. No one had ever been seriously hurt before. Definitely never killed.

  I pulled the pocket watch into a tightened fist. "He's dead."

  What?

  "He jumped. I tried to touch him and he jumped."

  I choked on bile. I felt it come up into my throat and fought it back.

  You didn't push him, did you?

  "No!" I yelled. "He jumped!"

  I bent over and almost puked again. I couldn't get the image below out of my head. But something told me not to throw up. I couldn't leave my DNA at the scene.

  Holy shit. The scene. I realized I was standing in the middle of what could be considered a murder.

  You need to get out of here.

  Yes. I stumbled to the door, fighting the knot in my stomach.

  The cigarette, Dante!

  "What?"

  I realized I had dropped my smoke at some point. I saw it burning in the gravel. I picked it up and pressed it against the tar to put it out, then slipped it in my pocket. I looked around. Was there anything else?

  Get out of here.

  I slid down the steps, almost falling more than walking. I had to slip out, unnoticed. The back street was empty. With any luck, no one saw Sal jump. If nobody inside had heard anything then I could walk away as though nothing had happened.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I took a forced breath and composed myself. I softly pressed the door open and entered the lobby.

  The receptionist was standing by the front, tears in her eyes. There was another man there, a short guy, who was pushing her away. There was nothing I could do except walk right at them.

  "Watch out," said the guy. "Someone jumped."

  I peeked out of the front door and my sight grazed the horrific display. "Oh my God." I looked around in not entirely feigned desperation and pointed at the receptionist. "Call 911." I exchanged the watch in my hand for my phone and pretended to dial the police as well. I stepped outside and put my cell against my ear.

  I figured the guy was a bystander who had witnessed Sal's suicide. I didn't see anybody else in the road, and I tried to melt away without looking at the grim aftermath of what had happened up close. I crossed the street, spun around, and confirmed that my trail was clear.

  Maybe it would be a good idea to avoid Hollywood for a few weeks.

  Dream

  The soft whiteness from the sky failed to cast light upon the physical denizens below it. The street was wet this time. Blurry refle
ctions played on the shimmering surface. But it wasn't raining, or windy, or even cold; there was no weather in this place. It was all the facade of the dream. Things came into being and just were without origin.

  I trekked down the old financial quarter on Spring Street. In place of renovated condominiums were old offices. Instead of a club with colorful lights and muffled beats, there was the Stock Exchange. I've always liked the early twentieth century architecture of Downtown Los Angeles. Wide structures of stone housed recesses for statues and the other small details that our age forgot. In the real world, the converted buildings were old and new all at once, an anachronism that I appreciated. It instilled a sense of history in the brick. But on the Dead Side, everything lagged behind. Not new. Not frozen. But abandoned. Decrepit. As if to make clear that, even in this place, time took its unceasing toll.

  It was odd for me to be back here so soon. My visits were usually random and infrequent. The recent months had sparked a change in the pattern; this was only days after my last trip. That had never happened before. Still, whatever proficiency I may have been honing, everything fought against form and clarity just the same. Perhaps Violet had helped to crystallize my senses last time, but now I was alone.

  I slowed as a whispering found me. It was my name, traveling along a hollow breeze. There was something unnatural about the voice that set me on edge. I looked one way, then the other, then back again, but I was ever alone.

  Across the street, there was a cafe that seemed to be the area that held the least shadow. I desperately pushed myself through the haze of nothingness to reach it. Like a mirage, the welcome of the area collapsed as I approached, and I felt more vulnerable than ever out in the open.

  Then a faintness—I hesitate to call it a light—appeared on the sidewalk behind me. I heard my name once more.

  "Dante."

  Though the surroundings were misty, the sound took a form that could cut glass. I reached for my trusty pocket watch, my security blanket, to give me guidance. It was no use. It wasn't there. I never had it with me on this side. And ever slowly, the presence approached.