“This,” Naomi said. She held up her phone.
Dante’s mouth went dry as he stared at the video playing on the small screen. “Is that…me?
CHAPTER 10
Hollywood
Briana Warren stepped out of the taxi and tucked her short, honey blond hair back over her ears. Her bright green eyes sparkled as she peered down Sunset Boulevard with a thrill. Traffic tore by at dizzying speeds, causing her long skirt to flutter up around her legs. She tugged her skirt back down, smile faltering as an unpleasant blend of exhaust and scorched asphalt caused her nose to wrinkle.
A trunk slammed shut and the driver carried her suitcase over, cowboy boots clunking. The old man was tall and lanky with a cloud white hair parted on one side. He set the case down on the sidewalk with a thunk. The concrete was dotted with years of discarded gum, baked hard by the sun. He wiped a forearm across his brow.
“In town for a visit?” he asked, pale gray eyes flicking to the messenger bag at her shoulder.
“Uh, no. Well, something like that,” Briana said.
The old man gazed at her a moment from under bushy brows, wrinkled face tightening. “Well, if you want my advice-”
“I don’t.” Briana reached into her bag, clamping her teeth down on the apology that threatened to break loose. “How much do I owe you?”
He squinted down at her, eyes glinting in the flash of windshields sweeping past. “First rides’ free if you tell your friends.” He clunked back over and yanked open the driver door. “Uber is killing the taxi industry.”
The old man eased himself into the taxi with a groan then cut back into traffic to a chorus of shrill horns. Briana hefted her messenger bag and gripped the handle of her suitcase and stared, mouth slightly open.
I’m really here.
She peered westward and frowned. Not a palm tree in sight. No corn stalks either, thank God.
The buildings were all drab and boxy and short, except for one down the street up on the left. Its shiny glass and steel looked out of place among the stubby little structures that crouched along Sunset Boulevard. It reminded her of Disneyland in a way. Main Street had felt so big, so ripe with magic and possibilities when she’d visited as a girl. But when she’d returned years later with her high school graduating class, it’d felt small and fake, a polished, sanitized version of reality. But there was nothing polished or sanitized about Hollywood, at least from where she stood.
I must look like a husker, standing here gaping, she thought as she pulled out her phone and typed.
I’m here Dad.
A moment passed before her phone chimed.
Good. You’re doing the right thing.
Her thumbs went to work again.
How’s mom taking it?
Don’t worry about her.
Just take care of yourself.
I love you.
She began typing in a response when another text appeared.
You left your bible here.
That gave her a jolt. Thumbs hovering, Briana didn’t quite know how to respond.
“Hey, baby doll,” said a deep voice from behind.
A shiny black Mustang sat at the curb with two men seated inside. The engine rumbled as it idled, a low, throaty growl. The passenger grinned at her, teeth a pearly white. His icy blue eyes bored into hers, pinning her there like an insect. He looked to be in his early thirties or so, his strong jaw covered in carefully cultivated stubble. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place from where. Dark, curly hair fell to the shoulders of his leather jacket. Briana wondered how he could stand it in this heat.
Must be a Hollywood image thing, she thought.
The driver was younger and stared out the windshield, eyes hidden behind mirrored glasses. Bleach blond hair swept back from his forehead.
“I’m Mel. You look lost.” That smile again.
She’d heard all about the pretty boys in Cali but seeing some up close sent butterflies swirling inside.
“No, I’m fine. I…just stepped out for a smoke,” Briana said as she turned and walked to a glass door tucked underneath a black canvas awning. She gave the handle a tug.
“They don’t open ’til tonight,” Mel said. “I know the owner. I could introduce you.”
Briana held onto the door handle a moment. She could see him watching her, reflected in the glass. “No thanks. I’m fine,” she said over her shoulder.
“Says she fine,” Mel said. “Okay then, see you around. Baby doll.”
Her eyes followed the car as it drove away, her stomach fluttering with relief and a tinge of regret.
Real smooth, Briana. A smoke? Ugh.
She walked to the corner, disappointment blooming inside her again as she gazed upward. The world-famous Whiskey a Go Go stood over her but barely, its cramped two stories patterned with sun tortured red and black paint. Gazing at the marquee, she read off the upcoming acts listed there: Silent but Violent. Intellectual Death Puppets. Cassie McMillian.
Briana Warren.
Even though the place was a letdown in the stark light of day, she still hoped to sing there someday. So many great artists had come through this place. The Doors, No Doubt, Avril Lavigne. A few blocks south down on Santa Monica Boulevard was the Troubadour where Linda Ronstadt had first sung.
Heat rose to her cheeks. I should be so lucky.
A blue street sign jutted from the side of a light pole on the corner. “Clark Street”, printed in blocky white letters. Checking the address on her phone, Briana hoisted her suitcase and strode up the hill leaving Sunset Boulevard behind.
She stopped short.
There, rising high into the pale blue sky above a cluster of shabby apartments was a single, perfect palm tree.
Briana smiled.
Excerpt from TechBeat.com article:
Online Giant Wins Bid to Unleash Drone Army
By Ian Weller
Early this morning, online delivery giant Minovo.com was awarded the coveted exemption from the FAA’s Part 107 rules that restrict the use of drones for Beyond Visual Line of Sight (BVLOS) flight, delivery, flying over people, and night flying. This exemption allows Minovo to use their army of drones to deliver small packages all throughout greater Los Angeles as well as Orange County…
CHAPTER 11
Vegan Spaghetti
Gary Wexler followed close behind his wife Gail to the front door. Their two-and-a-half-year-old twins, Terry and Jerry, were in their playpen, screaming as if hot coals had been loaded into their diapers. Gail checked her reflection in the mirror next to the door, smoothing down her wrinkled business suit.
“That home steamer doesn’t work at all,” she said. “Or you don’t know how to use it.”
“A/C is on the fritz, remember? It’s like a meat freezer in here so it didn’t work.”
“I can’t go to work like this,” she said, turning to look at the back of her navy-blue slacks.
“Here you go,” Gary said, handing her a sealed plastic container. “Last night’s vegan spaghetti.”
She ignored him, continuing her incessant smoothing.
“You look fine. Really,” Gary said.
With a sneer, she looked him up and down. “Like you’d know.”
He stiffened, cinching the belt of his robe. Her lunch almost fell from his grasp. “It’s not my fault.”
“I know, I know.” Gail looked at her reflection again and sighed, angling her head up to check her makeup. “You look terrible. The twins keep you up last night?”
“Not at all,” Gary said, trying not to hate her. He’d spent most of the night soothing their teething children as Gail slept, droning like a Skilsaw. He allowed himself a moment to hate her. It felt good. She caught his eye in the mirror.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“I’m just happy to see you looking so smart and sexy in your business suit.”
“Yeah, well, I wish I had something to leer about.”
Gary said nothing. He lacked the energy
to play “what’s wrong now” with his wife, especially when he knew only too well. As if she’d let him forget. Two months ago, he was riding high on his promotion then bam. Out on his ass. It made no sense. Downsizing, his boss had said, with a confused look on his face, like he hadn’t known it was coming.
For a moment, he’d been relieved. After years behind the IT counter, Gary wondered what could be worse. No walk ups were allowed, but goddamn it if one of those dorks didn’t stroll up every day with a five-alarm fire, mashing the buzzer about something usually fixed with a reboot. The only cool thing about his job was his position on the emergency response team. He qualified due to his three whole years in the Army, even though he’d never seen combat. Not only had it come with a decent increase in pay, but he’d been trained and certified in the use of non-lethal takedowns via Taser gun. The Tasers were locked away in a safe, so the chances of him actually being able to use one in an emergency were close to zero.
Don’t have to worry about that now.
Because now he knew exactly what was worse. And boy fucking howdy he longed for those days, plopped on his stool in the back, ignoring the buzzer while some ham-handed butterball leaned on it until Gary trudged out to tell the dope to reboot his computer. Again.
The twins renewed their bid for attention with their favorite acapella, agony in D minor. Their voices united to form a white-hot spike of aural anguish that had no equal. He was convinced that someday the neighbors would call the cops and a SWAT team would storm in, followed by a well-placed sniper’s bullet putting Gary out of his misery.
He looked down at his two little darlings, their wild hair sticking up at all angles, mucus streaming down their faces as they wailed. The phrase, kill your darlings, popped into his head and he snorted.
Where’d that come from?
They were struggling over a dragonfly plushie, even though they had two of everything. The toy slipped free and one fell back. Gary couldn’t tell which one. Maybe Jerry. Whichever one it was, he screeched loud enough to peel paint.
He stood there, numbly holding out Gail’s vegan spaghetti as she patted and smoothed and fretted. The world began to shudder and press in closer and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Gary!”
“Muh?”
She snatched the container from his hand.
“I was talking to you. You’re technical. Do something about the air conditioner. And get dressed for god’s sake. That stupid robe. This isn’t the Playboy Mansion.”
“Yes, dear,” he said as she left, closing the door with a slam that rattled the bay windows.
He shivered, trudging over to the thermostat. It was one of those smart ones, the little readout telling him it was ninety-nine degrees inside even though it felt cold enough to hang turkeys. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the Thermo Think app. It refused to sync with the thermostat and Gary cursed under his breath. He moved the phone this way and that, trying to improve the signal. He backed up a step and his foot slipped on a Dear Baby tummy-time mat. With a yelp, arms wind milling, he fell flat on his back, groaning.
The twins stopped screaming.
Gary peered up from the floor and saw them peeking over the edge of the playpen, eyes wide and curious. A grin spread on his face. Throwing himself on the carpet again, he groaned louder. The two of them giggled. He kicked his legs in the air, sending his slippers flying. The boys laughed again and he felt his exhaustion melting away.
He crawled over to the playpen and scooped them into his arms, twirling them around as they squealed with delight. Shuffling down the hall with one under each arm, he jogged into the master bedroom. After he placed them on the bed, they began jumping up and down.
If Gail found out, she’d tear me a new one, Gary thought. Screw it. Let ’em play.
His grin broadened as he slid open the closet door. Inside, behind his vast array of black hoodies was a gray metal panel. He yanked it open, exposing columns of white breaker switches. As the boys bounced and squealed behind him, he scanned with a finger down to the HVAC breaker and flipped it off. The hiss from a vent above shuddered to a halt and he sighed with relief.
“Should warm up pretty soon,” he said, gazing out the window at the morning light. “Gonna be another hot one.” Something flickered up in the sky and he tilted his head. “Hey, guys, look!”
The twins stopped bouncing and gazed outside as a flock of white drones drew closer, visible through a screen of trees. They flew up and out of sight over the house, but their irate buzzing could be heard through the ceiling as they passed over. Gary went down the hall to the back door, his sons waddling close behind.
A large shadow was building in the back yard as the drones gathered together somewhere beyond the edge of the roof. Gary opened the back door and shivered in the heat that bled through the screen door. The deafening sound of miniature propellers set his teeth on edge and he looked back at his little boys, concerned for their hearing. They gazed up at him, wide-eyed, hands clamped over their ears. Gary smiled at them then knelt down, peering through the screen door up at the sky.
There were hundreds of drones up there.
The twins crept forward and pushed themselves past his legs, pressing their faces up against the screen.
“Airplane, Daddy,” Jerry said.
“Yeah,” Gary said. “I don’t know…”
The drones lifted straight up into the sky and disappeared.
“All gone,” Terry said.
But they weren’t all gone. One remained behind, hovering above the overgrown backyard. It was different from the others, smaller, its metallic body glinting in the sun. Orange wings twitched as it swept down and placed a small object on the concrete slab of the back patio. It was a box about the size of a golf ball, made of wood.
“Dagonfye,” said the twins in unison.
They’d just started doing that and usually, it made him smile, but right then, it gave him gooseflesh. The dragonfly drone lifted off, hovered a moment before sailing over the unpainted wooden fence surrounding the back yard.
Gary stared at the box, wondering what could be inside. He couldn’t recall ordering anything that small. He’d heard on the news that drone deliveries had been recently legalized, but a group that large seemed like overkill just to drop off one tiny little box. He reached up and put his fingers on the screen door handle when the house alarm went off.
Red lights triple strobed as ear piercing beeps rang out. The twins clutched at him, eyes going wide.
“It’s okay,” he said. They jumped at the harsh tone of his voice. He picked them up again, one in each aching arm as he trudged back down the hall. The boys began to cry as he placed them back in the playpen and jogged over to the alarm panel.
What was the code? Gary jabbed at the little keypad. He gritted his teeth so hard he could hear them squeak over the combined din of screaming children and blaring alarms. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think, when a loud pounding came at the door, causing him to jump.
“Who’s there?” Gary called out.
“Police. Open the door. You have three seconds to comply.”
Gary yanked the door open and an officer decked out in full riot gear aimed a gun at his face.
“Hands where I can see them!”
Gary’s hands shot up as he peeked over the policeman’s shoulder. A boxy black truck was parked across the driveway, SWAT emblazoned across the side. The twins screamed as the alarm continued to peal. It was the single, most excruciating thing he’d ever heard in his life.
“Oh, thank god,” Gary said. “Tell your sniper to aim for the head.”
CHAPTER 12
Hyenas
The apartment building was four stories tall with wraparound balconies jutting out from its beige exterior, hemmed in by a thin metal railing. Each door was a rich mahogany, stark against the pale walls. Beyond a low brick wall topped with squared off shrubs grew leafy palms and the clean smell of cool water. One palm brushed the face of a balco
ny, its fronds reaching deep inside.
Briana sighed with relief.
On the way up, she’d passed more than a few places that were either rundown or reeked of sour garbage. One of the apartment buildings was famous for a wild rock band that lived there during the eighties. Motley Dudes or something. But the white paint was a dingy gray and there was stucco crumbling along the bottom edges, revealing rusty chicken wire.
A buzz rattled the nearby security door and the lock popped like a gunshot, startling her. The door eased open a crack and Briana gazed around before grasping the knob, warmed by the morning sun. It opened with a rattle of springs as she walked through.
Climbing the pebbled concrete steps, she made her way to the fourth floor, the metal framework jittering under her feet. She wondered how this place had survived all the earthquakes. Briana had never experienced one and the thought terrified her.
There’re scarier things than earthquakes back home, girl.
Warm air flowed down the enclosed hallway as she walked, ruffling her clothes. The last door on the right had three brass numbers on it: 402. She raised her hand to knock when it swung inward.
“Oh my god, you’re here!”
A young woman leapt out and threw her arms around Briana. She stood back, her hazel eyes gazing out from under a cascade of blue hair. A single lock of shimmering purple fell from over her right ear as her grin widened.
“Briana, right? I’m Leish. Nice to finally meet you in person!”
A flush rose to Briana’s face. The young woman was naked, or nearly so. She wore a white pair of men’s briefs and a glowing red light on each nipple, and nothing else. Briana glanced away and found her voice.
“Did I come at a bad time?”
“Of course not. Come in, come in, come in!” Leish grabbed her hand and tugged her inside.
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