by Domino Finn
* * *
Los Angeles is full of old places from another time. Thin streets, stone foundations, meticulous detail work—it all represents society's shifting tastes. Old theaters are perhaps the epitome of such antiquated glamour. They are lush with textured carpets and wood carpentry and wall reliefs. They bring a warmth to open spaces that is rare to find in modern architecture.
The Belasco Theater encapsulated all of that. It was a sudden transition into a vivid world, beset by hosts of colors and manicured touches of splendor. A pleasing assault on the senses.
A hundred years had brought vast changes. I tried to imagine being a man who lived before cars were invented. Seeing electricity become commonplace. I envisioned a ghost of the past learning about refrigeration. Rockets. Computers. As old relics were left behind, new ones were created. It was hard to envisage.
The lobby was empty and I moved quickly. My hand slid along the carved wooden railing as I raced up the carpeted stairs. If I was right, everybody would be in the main theater. I could get a nice view of the proceedings from the balcony.
The raised floor ran along the entire back wall of the theater. Starting at the top, the mezzanine was divided into three levels split by railings. Tufted leather chairs lined the back wall of each section and looked over a vast complex styled after the Spanish Renaissance. The ceiling was a dramatically lit dome that set the stage for the events below. I inched towards the railing and watched a small crowd seated in a single row right in front of a rounded wooden deck. It looked like a dance floor that was flush with the carpet. Like Avalon, this theater had been converted into a nightclub. But it was more elegant. More entrenched in the trappings of yesteryear.
The couple stood in the center of the hardwood floor, atop a crest depicting a crowned shield with wings. Two bridesmaids on one side, two groomsmen on the other, and the officiant at their head.
"And me without my suit," I mumbled.
I didn't see Bedros. After convincing myself that he wasn't on the balcony and that I hadn't been seen, I stepped down to the next level and settled into a seat. I stayed in the middle section because I thought it might be best to keep away from the main edge of the balcony—I wasn't invited after all. So I sat inconspicuously and studied the crowd. Soren didn't have parents but I saw a man and a woman who could pass for Pam's. Her maid of honor could have been her sister. She was smiling and giggling as the ceremony started. The other bridesmaid was someone I'd met in the Echoplex, I thought, but it was hard to tell with all the hair and makeup.
It was a strange affair. They rented this huge, elaborate theater but only catered to fifteen people. The negative physical space was creepy. Even more distracting was the complete lack of music. The Belasco undoubtedly had a state-of-the-art modern sound system, but they were without a DJ. Except for Soren, of course. It was obvious this ceremony was planned quickly and at the last second. As with Finlay upon being released from prison, Ambrose moved to get married and begin his legacy immediately. I winced as the couple proclaimed their vows and kissed each other. Luckily, it was over pretty quickly.
A couple of waiters walked in with trays and served cocktails. The low audience chairs remained but most of the guests stood next to high tables to the side. People mingled and laughed. Pam cried. The entire time, Soren strutted around confidently, holding the walking stick with the alabaster rose head. And that's when it hit me.
I didn't have much of an opening, and it was a long shot, but I slipped downstairs and explained to Violet what I needed. It felt wrong, especially after our breakthrough. That didn't stop me from flagging down one of the waiters as he passed through the lobby, giving him a twenty, and then placing the Hamilton pocket watch into his hand. There was a restaurant in the adjacent hall that he dipped into. When he returned he had a tray of appetizers. I nodded at him and he returned the gesture, then he entered the main theater and I went back upstairs.
This was reckless, I told myself. If ever I felt like a dick, it was now.
I was upstairs and worried again, scanning the crowd for the bodyguard. Why was he not around? Maybe he was in the restaurant. It might have been weird for him to intrude on this personal affair. My eyes caught the waiter I had bribed passing by the crowd. His tray was emptied and he returned to the lobby. I missed the handoff.
"It's a good plan," I said, then realized I was talking to myself. Violet wasn't by my side anymore. It wavered my resolve.
That's when I finally saw Bedros. He came from a side room. A bar. He returned to his boss and whispered in his ear. Soren inspected the surroundings. I thought he may have glanced my way. If Soren noticed me, he didn't show it. After a momentary exchange, Bedros walked off again. Ambrose was working on something. He let the cocktails and appetizers settle for another ten minutes. Then he put his arm around Pam and whispered to her. She shrugged and nodded, and he kissed her on the cheek. Moving back to the stage floor, the man addressed his small audience.
"Excuse me, everyone. I'm sorry." Soren rapped the metal tip of his walking stick on the wooden floor. "I'm sorry. Excuse me. Yes. It has come to my attention that there has been a mix-up with the restaurant reservations. They have them for an hour earlier than they're supposed to. No, no. It's not a problem." He waved his hands and plastered a grin across his face. "If it's okay with you, I'd like to cut this short so we can head to the reception. The limousines are outside waiting for you. Please file in. Take your drinks, if you please."
Ambrose was getting rid of the guests. That meant I had been seen. I moved to the end of the balcony, in the middle level along the wall, to blend in to a dark corner. The waiters were scurrying but the guests were milling about, taking their time.
I leaned back, waiting for the inevitable. Wondering if my plan was ruined. Trying to come up with an alternative. I should have been looking over my shoulder.
"I didn't know you were here." I snapped my head around and saw Greg, holding a cigarette. "Why aren't you down with the others?" he asked.
"Weddings aren't really my thing."
He nodded and took a long drag, then blew the smoke carelessly to the side. "I was going outside for a smoke but decided to look around. This place is impressive. Have you been here before?"
"For a party once." I watched as he admired the fleur-de-lys accents lining the floor.
"Well, not me," he said. "I'll need to come back some time when we could really let loose." He tugged at his tie as if it was constricting his air.
I nodded vacantly and glanced at the main floor. Half the guests had filed out. Pam and Soren were arm in arm, talking to her parents. They were looking around, trying to keep tabs on everybody.
"You're not joining them?" I asked.
He shrugged and took another long drag. "I don't know. These things are always so fake. What do I want to talk to Pam's parents for, you know? I'm actually happy that Soren decided to do this so hurriedly. Saves me the pain of a long dance."
"I suppose so." Greg didn't know the real reason this wedding was rushed. I kept my eyes on Soren down below, to see what his next move would be.
"But I don't need to tell you about it. You didn't even put on a suit or go downstairs. You know what I mean." Greg fumbled in his pockets for another cigarette and dropped his old one in a garbage can. "Shit, you got a light? I must have lost my matches."
I pulled mine from my pocket. It was a cheap plastic number from 7-11. I tossed it his way and he snatched it out of the air. Then I returned my attention to the crowd below just in time to catch Soren and Pam walking under the balcony towards the lobby. All the others were following.
"There they go," said Greg. "Man, I might not even go to the reception." He lit his cigarette and inhaled satisfactorily.
"You're the best man."
"I know. I did my duty. I had to help set up around here, you know. Soren wasn't around for that. And I stood there for that dog and pony show. That doesn't mean I need to do the dinner thing too. Knowing my luck, I'd have to sit next to Pa
m's sister. Have you ever talked to her for more than five minutes? I'll give you twenty bucks if she doesn't text someone in that time."
I chuckled. But I was troubled. The main theater had cleared out. Most of the guests would be outside by now, getting into the limos. If nothing happened now then it would need to wait until after the reception. A restaurant wouldn't be private enough. It felt bad to just sit waiting, but I couldn't do anything else.
Greg walked to the railing and blew smoke into the grand emptiness of the room. "Can I ask you something?" He turned and placed my lighter on the small square cocktail table next to me, then sat down in the adjoining chair. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "How do you know Soren? I mean, he mentioned Perch to me. And now you're sneaking around upstairs at a wedding you weren't even invited to." He saw me shuffle nervously in my seat and he waved his tattooed arm. "No, no. Don't worry, man. I don't give a shit. I just wonder: why the strange behavior?"
Greg was waiting for my answer intently. He was friends with Soren and probably had genuine concern, but I got the feeling he was more curious than anything else. Neither of us really fit in with the crowd downstairs. There was a mutual sympathy in that. "I'm just making sure he doesn't fuck up," I said. It was as truthful as I could get without tearing the veil open on a whole other world.
He leaned back, disappointed. "I don't know. That doesn't really sound like an answer. There's something inside you that drives you. This isn't about Soren."
I just shrugged as I stood up. There wasn't anything else to say. I swiped my lighter from the table and moved toward the steps. That's when I noticed, for the first time, that Bedros was standing there. He was upright, at attention, with a callous face that revealed his intentions.
"Again with you," said the Armenian.
He didn't make a move and I didn't either. We just studied each other. He didn't have any conduits or any iron armor. I decided that the only way I was going to be able to expel him would be to knock him out. That made this a one-on-one fight. Fair if you looked at the numbers, maybe, but Bedros was in a different weight class.
Behind me, Greg spoke up. "I just don't want you ruining this night for Pam and Soren." I turned to him. He was still leaning back casually, puffing away. "It is an important step for them. The beginning of long lives at each other's sides." Greg had a wicked smile. His eyes registered an understanding that he hadn't revealed before.
I had been a fool. Bedros, I knew, was a wild card. But I had assumed that everything else would be straightforward. I was so busy watching Soren I didn't even think that Ambrose could have jumped into someone else.
Heavy feet pounded the floor behind me. I lifted the side table with both arms and swung it behind me. Like a matador trained in the art of avoidance, I sidestepped the lumbering brute as he crashed through the boxy table. He tumbled down the steps to the lower level with a groan. I backed up the stairs, keeping an eye on both of them.
I felt like an idiot. There were two things that made my enemy dangerous. One was that he made strong connections to his hosts, who changed from generation to generation. The other was that he could temporarily possess others, like Sal. And I had totally not accounted for it.
"What's this, Ambrose?" I demanded. "Keeping me busy while Soren slips away again?"
Greg didn't bat an eye. "That is one way of looking at the situation. But really, Mr. Butcher, how did you expect all of this to play out in front of that crowd? You really must think these confrontations through."
The big Armenian dusted himself off and regained his feet. This time he climbed the steps more intentionally. He would be more careful not to trip himself up again. I moved to the top level which was covered in brick. It was a walkway more than a seating section, with more space to maneuver. There were some high bar tables, small round pieces of wood attached to metal poles, along the railing. I hefted one in my hands and slammed it into the floor. On the second blow, the wooden surface jarred loose, and I kicked it away with my feet.
"Come on, big guy," I taunted, holding the metal pole like a Louisville slugger. It was an awkward weapon that was weighted wrong and had table legs extending from the tip. It would have to do.
Bedros came at me with a couple of feints, trying to get me to swing and miss. I kept myself in check, backing up when he got too close. When I saw an opening, I swung as hard as I could. Bedros put his arm up. The metal slammed into his shoulder and shoved him aside. He let out a bellow but the heavy blow didn't have a lot of momentum behind it. The big man easily tore the club from my hands and it clattered to the floor.
I lunged at him and planted my knee in his stomach. He grabbed my legs and held me into his body. My fists rained into his face and the top of his head wildly. It shook him. But not enough.
The Armenian charged the back wall and crushed me up against it. Something in my side spasmed in pain. I tried to kick Bedros off, but he released me at the same time. I dropped to my ass hard. Now it was his turn to kick.
Before he could connect, I sprung off the wall and thrust my shoulder into the same spot my knee had softened. He was much larger than me but my leverage had gotten him off balance. He fell backwards, trying to catch himself with several panicked steps. I kept pushing and the small of his back snapped against the metal balcony railing, sending him over the edge to the middle section, on top of another table.
I had just about fallen forward over the railing as well. I was leaning upside down, precariously hanging on to the metal with both hands. It was only a five foot fall, but I fought against it. In my struggle I caught a momentary glimpse of Greg, sitting on the same level against the wall, watching with patient interest. Then my hand slipped.
I tumbled into Bedros as he was trying to get up. He snatched at me with his large fists but I stood up and kicked them away. I climbed up on a leather booth and grabbed the metal railing above me again. Bedros clutched at my leg. I sent my foot into his face. Then I pulled myself up and over. I was on the top once more.
The two of us sat on our separate floors, leaning against something for support, catching our breaths. As I moved away from the railing, I saw Pam standing at the top of the stairs coming from the lobby. She was staring at me, with a tear in her eye and a pained expression on her face.
Greg followed my gaze and abandoned his nonchalance. He rose to his feet. "Pam! Go back downstairs. Don't worry about this."
I brushed my hair out of my eyes and stood up. I confidently approached the girl. Ambrose was on the lower level and didn't come up.
"How'd it go?" I asked her, and held out my hand. Pam placed the Hamilton watch in my palm.
"Fuck you," she said. Her head twitched, and another tear streamed down her cheek. "I hate this."
Bedros took advantage of the breather and remained still. Greg, however, inspected us in confusion. "What's this?"
I held up the pocket watch and let it swing by the chain. "A spy," I answered, turning to Ambrose. "Violet, where's Soren?"
It wasn't the pocket watch that answered.
"I made sure he went outside," said Pam, "with the others." Greg dropped his jaw as he realized what had happened. He had been fooled by his same trick. But it wasn't over. "I got it," said Violet. Then she handed me Alexander Ambrose's walking stick.
"You hypocrite!" cried Greg, his jaw shaking with rage. But he wasn't glowering at me. I watched Pam tremble under the weight of his words. It wasn't as if she needed them, though. She already hated herself enough.
Pam spasmed more obviously this time. Violet had always had trouble remaining inside hosts. She didn't like it, and she wasn't good at it. I wondered which one caused the other.
"Get out of here," I said. "Join up with Soren. And free her from this."
Pam nodded and raced down the stairs, unable to hold back her sobs.
I stood triumphantly on the top balcony level, tapping the metal tip of the walking stick against the railing. The two men, now both standing, glared at me with angry eyes.
/>
"What are you planning on doing with that?" asked Ambrose.
"I wonder..." I said. I slowly walked along the railing, letting the metal scrape as it slid. "How powerful is the famed Alexander Ambrose without his conduit?"
Greg scoffed. "Ridiculous," he said. "It is just a tool, Mr. Butcher. My true talents are what ensure my stay among the living." He plucked the nearly finished cigarette from his mouth and flicked it at me. I ducked to the side and it bounced harmlessly on the brick.
"Maybe," I said. I banged the stick against the railing harder and harder. The metal rang loudly in my ears, and Greg's eyes seared into me.
"Get him," he snapped.
Bedros hopped up to my level again and marched my way. He reached his fists towards me and I rapped them tightly with the walking stick. The Armenian rubbed his knuckles in annoyance. Then he jumped at me.
Once again, the bull was enraged and the contest was mine. I forced the stick between his clawing hands and stuck Bedros square in the Adam's apple. Not too hard. I didn't want any permanent damage to the man whose body I was beating. Then I spun under his retreating arms and wrapped myself around his back. I locked my legs around his waist, making the big man support my full weight. Each end of the stick was securely nestled in my elbows. My hands pushed the back of his head; the stick: his neck. Bedros could no longer breathe.
The giant thrashed. He clawed at my eyes. His neck. He tried to knock me over the railing. He slammed me against the wall. All of his efforts failed to throw me. His actions slowed as his face grew more distressed. Then the two of us collapsed on the floor.
I reached into my pockets and withdrew a white sage clove, then searched for the lighter. I tapped at my left side, then right, and then my back pockets. Shit. I had dropped it at some point. Where was it?
"You don't happen to have a light, do you?"
Greg anxiously watched. "I'm afraid I'm fresh out."
