voice. Then she kicked on “Dead Stars,” and they screamed so loud the hair stood up on my arms. I climbed the stairs and sat down in the shadow of a speaker. Ash was bent over the board, setting up the next song. I offered her a smoke when she turned. She looked me dead in the eye, took it, and leaned into my light.
“Thanks,” she said. She smelled like a thunderstorm.
I nodded and leaned back against the wall, waiting for her to start talking, tell me where Lily was. Eventually she did.
“We crashed an art show on the West Side. It was in some empty condo. There were pictures of hot Asian women wearing bugs for clothes.” Then her eyes wandered off a little. “Mofet would’ve dug it. ‘Infectious,’ I think it was called.”
I nodded. I knew where she was headed already.
She took another drag, turned away and mixed in “Wasted” by And One. The crowd blew up again. Somebody screamed her name, and she rolled out this grin to beat the devil. When she turned back to me, I got a full dose of it. Almost knocked me off my seat. She leaned back against the deck and went on with her story.
“It was the most pretentious bunch of bullshit I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Not the art—the people. The art was decent. We looked around. Then we got a drink and went outside to smoke. It was raining. Lily said she was cold, so I went in for her coat. I got back outside, and she was on the ground. She fell. She was hurt. And instead of helping her up, the bitch got out his camera.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Kendol Strike.”
She looked like she wanted to hit something, and I thought it might be me. “That’s the one,” she said.
“You took Lily to a Zombarbie show.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“So you’ve heard of them?” I said.
“Who hasn’t?”
She turned like she sensed there was a guy in a skirt and eyeliner coming up the stairs. He leaned over the wall and held out a twenty, said he wanted to hear “A Daisy Chain 4 Satan.”
“I’m your white rabbit,” Ash replied. She winked at him and slipped the bill in her back pocket. The guy was drooling. He tripped a little when he went back down the stairs. All I could do was shake my head.
“So where is she?” I asked.
“She’s with him. At the after-party.”
I tried not to scowl.
“Didn’t you say she was hurt?”
“That, I did.”
Kendol and Zombarbie were notorious step-siblings, a photographer and his muse, trust-fund babies. They made their name here and then moved out to LA. Every time they blew back through town, the designer elite would piss themselves.
Kendol could get almost anybody to drop trou for his camera. I’m convinced he struck a deal with somebody higher up than the devil. There were other theories, of course. I heard he doled out illegal party favors, along with cash and clothes. I also heard he had a really big dick, but I prefer to stay in the dark on that one.
Zombarbie was his first muse. Twisted sister, indeed. I gotta say, that girl makes gore look good, but nobody should be looking at the camera like it’s meat when their brother’s on the other side. They wanted people to wonder. And their scantily-clad scandal nicked the local art world’s attention until higher ups in higher places could see Kendol actually had talent under all that trash. They got so much notoriety off the first show that Z stopped modeling and became Kendol’s full-time promoter, part-time bait. And all of his shows became known as “Zombarbie” shows, even though he’d retired his flesh-eating hottie. I think there’s a print of her left on the office door.
Anyway, Kendol always had his lens poking out of his pants, looking for the flavor of the month.
Which is about how long Lily was gone.
A little over a month.
Chapter 11
Later that night, I got the rest of the dirt from my crew. Lily did slip and fall. Got her heel stuck between a rock and a hard place. In fact, her precious, vintage, tea-colored Victorian
“Thanks,” she said. She smelled like a thunderstorm.
I nodded and leaned back against the wall, waiting for her to start talking, tell me where Lily was. Eventually she did.
“We crashed an art show on the West Side. It was in some empty condo. There were pictures of hot Asian women wearing bugs for clothes.” Then her eyes wandered off a little. “Mofet would’ve dug it. ‘Infectious,’ I think it was called.”
I nodded. I knew where she was headed already.
She took another drag, turned away and mixed in “Wasted” by And One. The crowd blew up again. Somebody screamed her name, and she rolled out this grin to beat the devil. When she turned back to me, I got a full dose of it. Almost knocked me off my seat. She leaned back against the deck and went on with her story.
“It was the most pretentious bunch of bullshit I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Not the art—the people. The art was decent. We looked around. Then we got a drink and went outside to smoke. It was raining. Lily said she was cold, so I went in for her coat. I got back outside, and she was on the ground. She fell. She was hurt. And instead of helping her up, the bitch got out his camera.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Kendol Strike.”
She looked like she wanted to hit something, and I thought it might be me. “That’s the one,” she said.
“You took Lily to a Zombarbie show.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“So you’ve heard of them?” I said.
“Who hasn’t?”
She turned like she sensed there was a guy in a skirt and eyeliner coming up the stairs. He leaned over the wall and held out a twenty, said he wanted to hear “A Daisy Chain 4 Satan.”
“I’m your white rabbit,” Ash replied. She winked at him and slipped the bill in her back pocket. The guy was drooling. He tripped a little when he went back down the stairs. All I could do was shake my head.
“So where is she?” I asked.
“She’s with him. At the after-party.”
I tried not to scowl.
“Didn’t you say she was hurt?”
“That, I did.”
Kendol and Zombarbie were notorious step-siblings, a photographer and his muse, trust-fund babies. They made their name here and then moved out to LA. Every time they blew back through town, the designer elite would piss themselves.
Kendol could get almost anybody to drop trou for his camera. I’m convinced he struck a deal with somebody higher up than the devil. There were other theories, of course. I heard he doled out illegal party favors, along with cash and clothes. I also heard he had a really big dick, but I prefer to stay in the dark on that one.
Zombarbie was his first muse. Twisted sister, indeed. I gotta say, that girl makes gore look good, but nobody should be looking at the camera like it’s meat when their brother’s on the other side. They wanted people to wonder. And their scantily-clad scandal nicked the local art world’s attention until higher ups in higher places could see Kendol actually had talent under all that trash. They got so much notoriety off the first show that Z stopped modeling and became Kendol’s full-time promoter, part-time bait. And all of his shows became known as “Zombarbie” shows, even though he’d retired his flesh-eating hottie. I think there’s a print of her left on the office door.
Anyway, Kendol always had his lens poking out of his pants, looking for the flavor of the month.
Which is about how long Lily was gone.
A little over a month.
Chapter 11
Later that night, I got the rest of the dirt from my crew. Lily did slip and fall. Got her heel stuck between a rock and a hard place. In fact, her precious, vintage, tea-colored Victorian
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