Necrophiliac's Honeymoon

by Paul Neuhaus

  “Then I gotta wonder who’s stupider in this scenario: you or him.”

  “He said you wouldn’t figure it out. He said you were off your game.”

  “Well, he’s right about that, but this ain’t about me right now. It’s about you and it’s about him. The you part could be over quick. If you tell me where he’s scampered off to, you’re done. At least until I find out you weren’t being straight with me, then I come back. Sure. I’m off my game, but wouldn’t you say I put you down with an acceptable level of competence? If you figure I’m coming out of a long funk, how do you think I’ll be in another day or two when I’ve shaken off more of the frost? Do you wanna meet Future Me? Future Me will be just that much more spry and just that much more pissed off. Do you wanna meet that Pandora?”

  Harper Antoinette Adcock shook her head.

  “I have a list of questions. Let’s go through them and then I’ll get out of your hair. First: Who’s your boyfriend?”

  She hesitated. She didn’t wanna rat him out, but she didn’t want to get the knuckles or the pepper spray again either. “Dwayne. His name is Dwayne.”

  “Does Dwayne have a last name?”

  “If he does, he didn’t give it.”

  “Okay. Second question: How was Dwayne able to talk you into stealing my jug? I’m assuming it wasn’t your idea.”

  She shook her head to show that it was not, in fact, her idea. “He said it was his and you stole it from him. Also, he fucked good.”

  “So, you’re willing to commit a wrong to correct another wrong as long as the fuckin’s good? Come on. You don’t look like that kinda girl to me. According the USC Daily Trojan, you’re a strong, beautiful black woman. You telling me you’d drop all that pride for a strong shot of vitamin D?”

  Adcock sighed and lowered her chin. She bunched up her shirt and used it to wipe her face. “It wasn’t just the D,” she said. Her voice was returning to normal. “He sang for me.”

  “He sang for you? What does that even mean?”

  She grew frustrated. What she was telling me wasn’t coming easy. “Exactly that. He sang for me. It sounds stupid, but it wouldn’t if you could hear him sing. When he sings, his whole soul’s in it. Whatever I was feeling about him beforehand got replaced. I’ve never seen that deeply into anyone before. It... I fell in love with him. I’d’ve done anything for him.”

  Great. I was dealing with some kind of sick groupie. But the exact nature of Harper’s relationship with Dwayne wasn’t especially relevant right then, so I decided to breeze past it. “Third question: How did you guys trick us down here? How’d you fool Hope?”

  She looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know any Hope. Dwayne told me you would go into the school and you’d come back out again. He said when you came out, you’d be beating on somebody. When I saw that, I was to run over, smash the window, get the jar and run to him in his car.”

  Dwayne clearly wasn’t your run-of-the-mill pithos thief. He had a lot on the ball, and there was no reason for him to share his secrets with Adcock. Let’s face it: Harper was little more than a dupe, chosen for her running speed (if not her skiing). I almost felt sorry for her. But not really. “I’ve only got one more question, and then I’m gonna leave you to your show. Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Where’s Dwayne now?”

  She sighed a deep sigh. A sigh laced with emotion that wasn’t solely from the beating and the pepper spray. “After we got the jug, we tooled around a little while. We took a roundabout way back to my place. He wanted to make sure you hadn’t followed us. Or that the cops’d somehow gotten onto our trail. When he was satisfied, he pulled up in front of the building here and he pulled me to him and kissed me hard. He was happy. Real happy. Then he said he was gonna park the car and he’d be right up. He told me to run on ahead. I asked him If he wanted me to take the jug with me and he said no he was gonna stash it in the trunk and then he’d run right up to join me. I haven’t seen him since.”

  I smirked at her. “And how’re you feeling? You feeling like maybe you got taken for a ride by a guy with a golden cock and a nice set of pipes?”

  Harper looked at me with hard eyes. The effect was amplified by her red whites. “I... don’t know.”

  ‘I don’t know’? Those weren’t the words of a woman who was fully in touch with the fact she’d been used. She was still the Harper Adcock that’d fallen in love with a song. Turns out that I lied about the one more question. I asked her another, but I knew what the answer was before I asked it. “Did Dwayne say or do anything that might tell you where he was from, where he was headed, or what he intended to do next?”

  She called me on it. “I thought you were done asking questions.”

  “I did say that, but I’m the one with the pepper spray. Come on, Ms. Adcock. You got hoodwinked and I’m planning on bringing some pain to the guy who hoodwinked you. Surely, that holds some appeal.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear her say it.

  “I mean... Maybe I still love him.” She said it in such a way that it might as well have been accompanied by spooky music. The bitch was far-gone.

  “How long did you spend with Dwayne? Before the incident.”

  “A day and a half.”

  “So, the singing and the fucking was just that good, huh?”

  She didn’t say anything for a while, so I thought she’d deliberately dummied-up. Then I noticed she was crying. Boy, whoever this Dwayne cat was, he’d put a real whammy on her. I didn’t say anything else, I just got my shit together and left. As I walked by her, I dropped Mrs. Padovano’s wig onto her head. It didn’t suit her.

  I sat behind the wheel of Jacobo Padovano’s Dodge Charger and took stock of where I was. (Miracle of miracles, no one had fucked with the car while I was gone, so at least I had that going for me.) Ticking off the day’s discoveries: I’d found the woman who’d stolen Hope for her boyfriend. I had a name, a description and a short list of traits for said boyfriend—he was our generation’s answer to Sinatra and a cocksman to boot. Both traits were such that he could trick people into doing his dirty work for him. Either Harper Adcock was a lightweight, or Dwayne had powers greater than those of mortal men. Offhand, I’d say he was probably a Mythnik like me, but that didn’t really narrow the field. I don’t have the expertise Hope had when it came to all things Greek, but I definitely knew more than your average Joe. Believe me when I say Dwayne could’ve been any one of a hundred Mythniks. The Ancient Greeks loved their stories—so much so that it got hard to tell the players apart without a scorecard.

  I sighed, fired up the Charger’s big engine and pointed it back toward Los Angeles.

  All the way back, my hybrid-driving tail was a car-length or two behind.

  After I returned Jack’s car and Donatella’s clothing, I headed back to Malibu in the Firebird. Dona tried to get me to take her out to dinner, but I wasn’t feeling it. My funk was digging in its nails and breathing down my neck. By the time I arrived back at the trailer, I was feeling pretty down. I’m not the optimistic type but, when I woke up that morning, I expected to gain more ground than I had. Sure, I at least had a vague idea who’d stolen Hope, but I didn’t know where he’d gone or what his real motive was. After I locked my car, I stood for a moment in hip-high fog, listened to the surf and drank in the cold night air. That out of the way, I went inside, looked briefly and the Walking Dead commemorative plates and went to bed. I didn’t even bother to feed myself. Once I was out of my clothes and on top of the comforter, I realized there was one last thing I needed to do before I called it a night.

  I had myself a good cry and fell asleep.

  I woke up early the next morning to the sound of insistent pounding. I tried to ignore it but, like I say, it was insistent. I looked around, smacked my lips and felt on the floor for my panties and my shirt. If
whoever was banging on my door wanted pants, they should’ve waited until at least nine a.m. I dressed as I walked, and I was more or less presentable by the time I opened the door. Standing on my little wooden stoop was a girl. She looked at me for a second, focusing on my bare legs. She wasn’t checking me out, she was just trying to process my slovenly appearance. “Look,” I said. “I don’t do Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and I don’t do Scientology. In fact, I don’t do any of your fringe-y, cult-y mass delusions. If you think you can somehow sway me then I invite you to leave your literature and fuck the hell off.”

  “Pandora?” she said. “Pandora Weir? I think I can help you. I know where you can find your urn.”

  I stepped out of the way. “Please. Come right in.” I indicated the couch facing the desk and told her to sit. Then I went back into the bedroom to look for my pants. I didn’t find my pants. All I could find was the poodle skirt from when I went as a bobbysoxer last Halloween. It looked ridiculous, but it was better than nothing. I went back into the office (I call it an “office”, but remember we’re talking about a trailer here. The whole place was just one big rectangle). I grabbed a chair from next to the front door and pulled it over, so I could sit facing my new guest. I held out my hand. “I’m Pandora Weir.”

  She shook my hand. “Where’d you get the name ‘Weir’? Just out of curiosity.”

  I shrugged. “I just liked the sound of it. A lot of people think I got it from that Bob Weir guy from The Grateful Dead. I wanna squash that rumor right now. I fucking hate The Grateful Dead. Stupid hippies. Luckiest garage band of all time.”

  She grinned at that. “I couldn’t agree more. My parents were deadheads. Me, I’d rather listen to cats fuck.”

  “I didn’t get a name, Miss—”

  “I’m Amanda. Amanda Venables.” Amanda Venables was cute, but in that, Don’t look at me, I’m a professional kind of way. Ear-length brown hair. Shirt, matching blazer and pants. Sensible shoes. Mid- to late-twenties. She looked like a lawyer. “I’m a lawyer,” she said. “From the firm of Eaton and Whills. You ever heard of us?”

  I shook my head.

  “We’re out in the Valley between Warners and Disney. We’re exclusively music industry. Contracts. Clean-up. Although, not as many rock stars bust up hotel rooms as they used to. I was born too late for Keith Moon. Anyway, I’m what you call an up and comer. I’ll translate that for you if you don’t know: It means I’m a nobody and I’ll probably always be nothing. I’m a new hire, fresh out of law school. Nobody’s bothering to learn my name and I’m invisible in a room. Here’s the thing, though: I don’t wanna be nothing. That’s why I’ve been following Dwayne Panagopoulos around for the last couple of weeks.”

  Okay. Amanda Venables was clearly a good person to know. “I insist that you not stop talking,” I said.

  Venables smiled. “I had a feeling. Do you have any coffee? I’m not used to pounding on strangers’ door at six A.M.”

  I was embarrassed. “I don’t have coffee,” I admitted. “I have Budweiser.”

  She shrugged. “Gimme a Bud then.”

  I went to the fridge and grabbed two ice-cold beers, handing one of them to the lawyer.

  She popped the top and went on. “Panagopoulos is a weird one. We were the conduit between him and SME, and—”

  “SME?”

  “Sorry. It’s a little early for jargon. Sony Music Entertainment. His soon-to-be-former record label. Anyway, they signed him back in two thousand six. It took them five years to get him to knuckle down and record an album. When it came out, he wouldn’t let them put his name on it. He changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol. Which isn’t even original.”

  “What was the symbol?”

  “You got a piece of paper?”

  I grabbed a pad and pen from the desk and handed them to her. She sketched for a minute then handed me back the pad. On the top page was a circle with an open bottom and a short line sticking out horizontally from each side of the hole. It wasn’t an unpronounceable symbol per se. It was the Greek letter “Omega”, which usually stands for the final (and best) version of something. “How’d the record do?” I put the pad back onto the desk.

  “Not that good. By that time, SME’d had it with Dwayne’s antics. They under-promoted it and it barely had a reach. Those that found it loved it, but not many found it.”

  “Have you heard it?”

  “Yeah, of course,” Venables replied. “It’s... haunting. I mean genuinely haunting. I’ve never heard anything quite like it.”

  “Is it still in print?”

  “No, I’ll get you a copy.”

  I crossed my legs and leaned back. “Tell me about Dwayne. Have you met him?”

  “I have. He’s unusually handsome. Dark complected. Blonde hair. Tall. He looks like a young Rutger Hauer. The Bladerunner guy.”

  “I’m gonna guess his hair’s not really blonde. He’s Greek through and through.”

  She nodded. “Like you. I met him at a contract signing in the Eaton and Whills conference room. He has a way of talking to nearly everyone. Asking their name and coaxing out a personal detail or two. Some might interpret it as just being a good guy. Even at the time, he struck me as mining things he could use later. You know the type. That notwithstanding, I still would’ve fucked him.”

  “I met somebody yesterday that did fuck him—and paid for it with a broken nose.”

  “Harper Adcock?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “I was there the day before when they stole your jar. I was also behind you the whole way yesterday. From Tricky Dick’s to MacDuff’s to the Library to Harper’s place. Obviously, I didn’t go in with you to Harper’s place, but I assumed you were the nose breaker.”

  A thought crossed my mind as I uncrossed my legs and recrossed them in the other direction. “Impressive. You shoulda been a private dick. You wouldn’t happen to have a good Samaritan streak, would you?”

  “You mean am I gonna rat you out for trashing Adcock? Snitches wind up in ditches. My only interest in this whole tawdry affair is getting ahead. Dwayne Panagopoulos welshed on a contract, and then he went missing. If I can track him down, my bosses are gonna notice me for the first time. Besides, if I’d’ve been you in that situation, I might’ve done a whole lot more than break Adcock’s nose. I may look small and mousy, but bitches don’t get between Amanda Venables and what’s Amanda Venables’.”

  I tried not to grin. After that speech, I really wanted Amanda Venables to be my new BFF. “So... I’m Pandora. I have an urn. When’d you first realize I was the girl from the stories?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I didn’t until I brought it up and you didn’t deny it. Thing is, when I heard Dwayne’s record, it struck me there was something otherworldly about it. You ever hear of a guy named Jeff Buckley? Singer songwriter in the early- mid-nineties. Put out one record. Same vocal range as Pavarotti. You listen to that one record and it gives you chills, you know? Makes you think Buckley was touched somehow. Beyond mortal men. You got that same vibe with Dwayne, but it wasn’t just a feeling. You knew there was something there beyond what your ear was telling you. Something... supernatural. I’m not the only person to comment on it. The Rolling Stone review asked point blank if Panagopoulos was some kinda alien. Anyway, the alien went missing, I tracked him to a house in Encino he’d rented under the name ‘Elijah Sanger’. I kept a low profile for a while, just watching him go here and there. The house in Encino. Supposedly, he’s got another roost in Bel Air. Next thing I know, he’s set up shop in Long Beach. He finds Adcock, hangs at her place a coupla days, and then you show up. He steals your jar, you end up in the pokey, fancy guy in a suit bails you out. I think that brings us up to do date, doesn’t it?”

  I scrunched my Bud can and stood up to get another. “You want another?” I said.

  “Hell yes.”

  I replaced her empty can with a full one and sat back down. “Okay, let me ask you something. Why’d you switch gears
yesterday? You were clearly following me, not Dwayne.”

  She looked guilty. “Yeah, well, that’s where we get to the fib.”

  “The fib?”

  “Remember when I said I could tell you where to find your urn?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was a bold-faced lie. To get in the door. After they stole your thingy, Dwayne and Harper tooled around town a little. To look nonchalant. Then they went back to Adcock’s place and Dwayne gave our long-distance runner the slip. Problem is, he gave me the slip too. I followed him up PCH until he hit Redondo then I lost him. I think he finally got wise to me. I thought I saw him dip into an In n’ Out Burger, but it wasn’t him. I got my wires crossed. Since I’d lost Dwayne, I doubled back to LBC in time to see you get sprung. I was at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. I overheard a lot, but I wanted more. Rather than risk getting ditched again, I followed a hunch and went with your well-dressed friend into the bar you dropped him at. Nice dude, but a little vain. Also, doesn’t hold his liquor very well. He told me a) who you were and b) encouraged me to seek you out. Said we’d make a great team.”

  Huh. I wasn’t sure I liked Herpes dishing my dirt, but, having spoken to Amanda, I kinda thought he might be right. We probably would make a great team. Still, there was a huge impediment to our success—neither one of us knew what to do next. I told her so.

  “I do have one last lead,” she said. “We could check it out together. I mentioned it already. It’s an address on Sunset Boulevard. Dwayne was having his mail sent there for a while.” She fished in her purse and handed me a scrap of paper. On the paper was the address.

  I looked at the info and it was immediately familiar. I had to wrack my brain for a second but then it hit me. “Oh, shit! Gloria Mae.”

  “Who’s Gloria Mae?”

  “Come on. You’re gonna see.”

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