Noah stretched lazily with a gracefulness that belied his size. Although their faces were different and only Noah could pass for fully Caucasian, the two brothers had almost the exact same frame: same height, same shoulder width, even the same shoe size. But while Jesse had some honest muscle on him, Noah was enormous, the result of spending twelve hours a week at the gym to keep his body up to the same standards as the actor he doubled. For Jesse, looking at his brother was always eerie, like being half of a before-and-after ad for steroids.
“So,” Noah drawled, “what are we doing tonight, little brother?”
Jesse plopped down on the stoop next to his brother. “Do you still hang out with that crazy girl?” he replied. “The one who works at the twenty-four-hour pawnshop?”
Noah Cruz had been a stuntman in LA for a decade before he’d gotten the gig in Vancouver, and he had long ago tapped into the industry’s network of semi-employed actors, stunt people, prop houses, makeup artists, and so on. Noah called this crowd the Hollywood Peripheral, and he stayed in contact with them even when he was in Canada.
“She owns the pawnshop,” Noah corrected amiably. “And yes, Tommy and I are still . . . friendly.” He grinned. Jesse’s brother considered casual hookups to be the best part of his semitransient lifestyle. One of Noah’s companions was Tomorrow “Tommy” Vrapman, a former stuntwoman who considered Amy Winehouse to be her personal style maven. Noah’s smile faded just a little bit. “At least, I think we are.”
“Well,” Jesse suggested, “let’s go find out.”
“What are you pawning, little brother?” Noah asked, eyebrows raised. “Because there are like three pawn shops in between here and there.”
“I’m not pawning; I’m buying,” Jesse replied. “Come on. What else are you doing?”
Noah shrugged amiably and went to put the dog inside.
Noah directed him toward All That Glitters, the pawnshop that Tommy had purchased with settlement money after an accident on the set of a B-rate action flick. The store was housed in a strip mall in Venice, five blocks from the canals. Against all economic odds, the shop thrived. The building had never been nice, but against the devil-may-care backdrop of Venice Beach, its careworn shabbiness had somehow transformed into grungy chic. A fresh coat of paint on the building would have been ruinous for business, as would fixing the neon sign out front, where the s in Glitters had long since burned out. Jesse had occasionally wondered if the pawnshop got much business from misguided glitter fanatics.
He had met Tommy only once, at Noah’s going-away-to-Vancouver party, and he’d come away glad that the pawnshop was out of his jurisdiction. Tommy flounced around with a devilish “I’m getting away with something, copper” attitude that Jesse figured was intentional—and possibly also accurate. Bad if she lived in your jurisdiction, but potentially good if you needed something only marginally legal. “She still wearing the eye patch?” Jesse asked idly as they searched for parking.
Noah grinned widely. “She goes back and forth between that and the glass eye. There, right there!” He pointed at a space, and Jesse parked in a side alley a stone’s throw away from the Venice Canals.
Instead of a bell, a chime played the first two bars of “You Know I’m No Good” as Jesse and Noah went in. Jesse was surprised at how clean and bright the shop was—he’d been expecting something seedy, with a thin layer of grime on each surface, but for a pawnshop the place was surprisingly . . . perky. The main room consisted of smaller goods—china sets, hardcover books, electronics—and a long glass counter against the back wall. There was a wide doorway to Jesse’s left that led to a room of what looked like musical instruments. A doorway to the right led to a room of bigger items like suitcases and vacuum cleaners.
Tommy herself stood behind the counter, arguing pleasantly with a man in his fifties who looked just this side of homeless. “Be right with you guys,” she called, giving Noah a little wave. The older man glanced at them briefly, then did a slow, cautious double take at Jesse, who gave him a hard stare, just for fun. The guy mumbled something to Tommy, scooped a handful of necklaces off the counter, and jammed them in the pocket of his dirty army jacket. Without meeting anyone’s eyes, he skulked past Jesse and Noah and out the door.
“Wow,” Noah said, eyeing Jesse with new appreciation. “I had no idea you carried such a stench of bacon.”
Jesse held up a middle finger to his brother. “Forget about it,” Tommy said, circling the counter to approach them. She was in her mid-thirties, like Noah, with long lean limbs, dark-red lipstick, and what looked like two compacts’ worth of blue eye shadow on her lids. She was wearing the glass eye today, and Jesse was impressed at how natural it looked next to her remaining blue eye. Her hair, on the other hand, looked anything but natural: it appeared to have been teased up high with an eggbeater and then shellacked in place with black varnish. She wore skintight jeans and a ribbed tank top that showed off what had to be thousands of dollars’ worth of intricate, colorful tattoos. No bra.
“Noah Cruz, as I live and breathe,” Tommy drawled, throwing her arms around Jesse’s brother. She gave him a long hug, squealing with delight as Noah leaned back to lift her briefly off the ground. “And Jesse ‘the Cop’ Cruz, I remember you,” she added, giving Jesse one of those half handshake, half hugs he mostly expected from other men.
“Hi, Tommy,” Jesse said.
“Hey, Toms, did you get new, you know . . .” Noah pointed to his own chest. Jesse backhanded his brother lightly on the arm. “What?” he protested. “I’m asking professionally. As an actor.”
“It’s cool,” Tommy said happily. She clutched a breast in each hand, looking down at them fondly. “They were my birthday present last year. To myself. They’re good, right?”
“There’s only one way to be sure,” Noah said glibly, stepping toward her with a hand outstretched.
“Not why we’re here, hermano,” Jesse said, intercepting his brother and steering him away with Noah’s own momentum.
“Right,” Tommy said, dropping her hands. “You looking for something? Besides a glance at my fabulous new tits?”
“He is,” Noah said, pointing a thumb at Jesse. “I’m good with the glance.”
Tommy treated him to a flirtatious smile and a wink of the glass eye, and then she turned to Jesse, leaning in a little. “You’ve got my attention,” she said in a low confidential voice.
“I’ve got a friend,” Jesse began, “who’s doing a student film. He’s really into authenticity—”
Tommy waved a hand. “I don’t need the particulars,” she said dismissively. “It’s LA, baby. This week alone I sold a wax ear and a big-ass box of used dental floss. Nothing surprises me, and I don’t need backstory.”
Jesse nodded. “Weapons,” he said shortly. “I’m looking for a silver blade. And a boot knife.” Noah’s mouth dropped open a little, but Jesse ignored it.
Tommy’s expression grew cagey. She folded her arms across her ample chest and cocked out a hip. “All of our blades are in the glass case on the counter.”
“I saw them. They’re glorified pocketknives.”
“But they’re all legal,” she said solicitously.
Jesse felt his expression harden. His voice too. “Cut the shit, Tommy. I’m not suggesting you’re a secret arms dealer. But you must have stuff you keep off the sales floor.”
“Jesse, man,” Noah said under his breath, “what are you doing?”
Jesse ignored his brother and kept his eyes on Tommy Vrapman, who shook her head, her expression a little smug. “Sorry, officer.”
“Detective, now. And you’re way out of my jurisdiction,” Jesse said coolly. “As long as you’re not handing out live grenades with every purchase, I couldn’t care less what you do.”
Tommy just shrugged, still smiling. Jesse took a step closer. Fuck it, he thought. The anger was building again, and he didn’t have time for this crap. “I have friends in the West bureau, though,” he said softly. “Young cops, like me.
Always looking to make an impression with their supervisors, you know? Looking for a bust?”
Tommy’s eyes widened a little. “Hey!” Noah said sharply, and it reminded him of Scarlett, the way she’d sounded shocked when he’d talked to Will. He was sick of both of them trying to rein him in when he was doing his job. The job Dashiell had more or less forced on him.
“Stay out of it, hermano,” Jesse said coolly. “Tommy gets where I’m coming from, don’t you, Tommy?”
Her expression was flat. “Oh, I know exactly where you’re coming from. You think you’re the first cop to come in here?”
“No,” Jesse replied, his voice hard. “But I can promise you that I’m the most motivated. And the least charmed by your punk princess bullshit. You’re a little girl playing dress up, and I’d bet money that you’re doing something stupid just for the thrill of it.” Tommy flinched away from him and then squared her shoulders, annoyed that he’d seen her react.
“Jesse!” Noah yelped, but neither Jesse nor Tommy looked at him.
Tommy glared for a long moment, and then her expression softened. “Noah used to say you were the sweet one, you know,” she said quietly.
Jesse shrugged. “Things change.”
Tommy nodded curtly, her face closed now. She stalked over to the front door and flipped the dead bolt, pulling a chain cord that turned off the neon Open sign. Then she looked back at Noah and Jesse and jerked her head. “Noah, wait here. Detective Cruz, follow me.”
Noah opened his mouth to object again, but Jesse shook his head sharply. He was working now.
Tommy led Jesse toward a door behind the counter and into a long back room that was lined on either wall with cheap metal shelving. She had managed to make the narrow room seem even smaller by adding an additional row of shelves going down the middle. Jesse had to turn slightly sideways to make it through the aisle comfortably, and his brother would have had to crab-walk just to get in the room, but Tommy glided through the narrow space easily. The merchandise piled on these shelves was mostly grimy, broken, or extremely expensive—too nice to keep out front, in case of a robbery. There was a whole stack of video game consoles in perfect-looking condition, and one shelf filled with nothing but small boxes with the Rolex logo on them. “Those fall off a truck?” Jesse asked sarcastically, but Tommy didn’t bother to answer. She just stopped in the back left corner of the room. The three-level shelf on this wall was full of weapons.
“Those are all from prop houses,” Tommy said immediately, pointing to the bottom shelf, which was piled haphazardly with guns. “The firing pins have been disabled.”
Jesse shrugged. “Don’t care.” There were knives on the middle shelf, at waist height. Some were encased in leather or vinyl sheaths, and some were bare, but they were all spread out on a clean gray cloth, arranged in order of blade length. The shortest blade was fixed to a set of brass knuckles. The longest was a samurai sword that looked authentic to Jesse, though he didn’t know anything about them.
He picked up a couple of knives, choosing one in a leather sheath, asking, “Do you have any silver knives?”
She shook her head. “It’s not a real practical metal, you know.”
“So I’ve heard,” he said wryly. “Do you have anything made out of silver?”
Tommy chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second, eyeing the shelf of knives, and then went up on tiptoes to pick up a small, unlabeled box the size of her hand from the top shelf. “You could say that.”
Jesse opened the box. “You’re kidding.” Tommy just shook her head. Not kidding.
The box held homemade silver-plated bullets for a nine-millimeter pistol. “Where did you get these?” he asked Tommy in amazement.
“I’ve got a dealer in the Valley who makes them. He’s a friend, so I always keep one box here. They sell okay, actually, especially in the last few months.” She shrugged one tattooed shoulder. “Kitsch value is alive and well in LA.”
Jesse almost chortled. Kitsch value. There were probably a couple of customers who liked the novelty of owning actual silver bullets, but he was betting that someone from the Old World had found a place to buy them after Jesse and Scarlett had stopped Jared Hess. Tommy, the girl who liked to flirt with danger, had no idea what she had.
“I’ll take them,” he told her. Jesse carried a .45-caliber Beretta for work, but like most cops he kept a spare gun at home, and that one was a nine-millimeter. They went back up to the cash register, where Jesse paid cash for the bullets and a knife. Tommy didn’t speak during the transaction. Noah didn’t say anything either, but he scrutinized both their faces, trying to figure out what had just happened. As Tommy handed Jesse the bag, she spoke to Noah. “Don’t call me again.”
Noah’s eyebrows went up. “Even to apologize for my brother?” he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down.
Tommy started to shake her head, but then shrugged defensively. “I’d give it some time.”
Noah didn’t speak to him for a long time after they left. After a few miles of freeway, Jesse suddenly found the silence suffocating. “What?” he asked.
“You used me,” Noah said wonderingly. Jesse glanced over. Noah was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. “You were . . . a cop. With me.”
“I’m always a cop,” Jesse said flatly.
“You’re always my brother,” Noah reminded him.
Jesse didn’t answer. Minutes ticked by, and finally Noah said cautiously, “Jess, if you’re over it—if you want to be done being a cop—nobody would blame you. Hell, Mamá would be thrilled to have you off the force. She never understood this urge to serve and protect, anyway.”
Jesse’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and he fought to keep his voice low. “I do not,” he said through clenched teeth, “arrange my life to thrill Mamá.”
“Whatever, man.” Noah shook his head. “What do I know? Maybe you’re just having a rough day. But that wasn’t you back there, man.” His voice hardened. “And if I ever hear you talking like that to Mamá or Dad, I will put your goddamned forehead through a wall.”
Jesse felt a flood of shame. Noah commanded, “Tell me what’s going on with you.”
Noah waited patiently as Jesse didn’t speak for a long moment. Then he said, very quietly, “I agreed to do something I’m not proud of.”
His brother answered almost immediately. “So don’t do it.”
“If I don’t, more people could get hurt than if I do.”
“What—”
Jesse shook his head. “I can’t give you details, Noah. I really can’t.”
Noah looked like he wanted to argue with that, but after a beat he just nodded. “People have to do things they’re not proud of sometimes, Jesse. But that doesn’t mean this one decision has to change who you are.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Noah sighed. “You’re such a goddamned perfectionist sometimes. The real world’s not always black and white, little brother.”
“Do you know how many people I’ve arrested who said some variation of that same thing?” Jesse asked sourly. “That’s a criminal’s perspective.”
Noah let out a snort. “Now you’re just being a drama queen. Nobody forced you to join the LAPD, Ugly. You’re the one who signed up to teeter on the moral high ground.”
Jesse smacked the steering wheel in frustration. “I did not sign up for this,” he shot back. That was what was bothering him, wasn’t it?
“And yet here you are,” his brother said, not unkindly. “So stop feeling sorry for yourself, do what you have to do, and live with the consequences. That’s being a grown-up.”
“I don’t need you to tell me how to live with consequences,” Jesse snapped. “You don’t know what the last few months have been like for me.”
“Maybe not,” Noah said quietly. Unlike Jesse, his brother was one of the rare people who got quieter when he got upset. “But I do know that you could have gone to the pawnshop by yourself tonight. Instead, y
ou called me.”
The thick bubble of anger in Jesse’s chest began to deflate. “Fuck you,” Jesse said, but without heat. They rode in silence for a few more minutes, until finally he added, “Thanks.”
Chapter 16
I told Corry I needed to think about what she’d said—what else could I do? She was right, but then, so was I. After everything Corry had already gone through because of being a null, she had earned a place in the Old World. But that place was also incredibly dangerous, and if she became part of the supernatural community, it couldn’t be undone. How was I supposed to make that kind of decision on her behalf? I couldn’t even decide when it was time to water a houseplant. They all died on me.
In true Scarlett fashion, I pushed the problem aside for the moment and went to bed.
When pain from my knee woke me up around eight on Thursday morning, there was a note on my bedside table. Gotta call biz manager today. Please wake me up during biz hours. M. I yawned, picked up my cane from the floor, and shuffled off toward Molly’s room, my stiff, swollen knee protesting with each movement. I didn’t know how long I’d be interviewing victims’ families, so I figured I might as well get Molly up now.
She made her call from right outside the bathroom door while I was in the shower. Molly’s pretty private about her finances, but I know that she has a business manager who handles all her payments, because I send my comically small rent checks to his office. Like most vampires who’ve lived long enough to make extremely long-term investments (and press the minds of a lot of bankers), Molly never seems to worry about money, or even give it much thought. I suppose the whole point of a business manager is to have somebody else worry about it for you.
After I had completed the arduous procedure of getting dressed while Molly waited just outside my door, she came downstairs to have coffee with me at the kitchen counter. We were sitting there with our mugs, talking about the midnight movie Molly had seen the night before, when the doorbell rang. She slowly walked over to open it, with me following just close enough to keep her in my radius. We had a lot of practice moving around the house during the day like this, and had gotten even better at knowing the exact boundaries of my radius since my injury.
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