Quietly, I open the door and start down the stairs, then turn around and go right back up. The .45 and Brad Pitt’s stun gun are lying on the floor. I stuff them under the mattress, then head back down.
Allegra is by the door, backlit by the light through the window. She looks to be not much older than I was when I was carried off to Oz. Maybe old enough to drink. Maybe not. She doesn’t wear much makeup. Black around her eyes. Gloss on her lips. She’s thin, with darkish café au lait skin. She’d look like Foxy Brown’s little sister, except her head is shaved smooth. Her coat and skirt are thrift store hand-me-downs, but her boots look expensive. An art school girl with priorities.
She looks up as I unlock the chain at the bottom of the stairs.
“Morning. You must be Allegra.”
Her head snaps up in my direction. “Who are you? Where’s Mr. Kasabian?”
“Kasabian had to leave town. Some kind of family crisis. I’m an old friend. I’ll be in charge of the place while he’s gone.”
That wasn’t the right thing to say. Allegra is angry. She tries to hide it with surprise, but doesn’t pull it off.
“Really?” she asks. “Have you run a video store before?”
“No.”
“Ever run any kind of retail operation?”
I come up front and lean on the counter, checking the floor for blood as I go. Only a few drops that I can spot. I tend not to bleed for very long, and it looks like Brad Pitt’s clothes soaked up most of what leaked out of me.
“Let me clarify. When I say I’ll be in charge, that doesn’t mean I’m going to actually be doing anything. I’ll mostly be gone or working upstairs.”
“Ah,” she says, even colder than before. She knows exactly what Kasabian does up there and she doesn’t approve. An L.A. girl with a conscience. They’re about as rare as unicorns.
“Not doing anything is Mr. Kasabian’s management style, too. You’ll fit right in.” Her heartbeat kicks up and her pupils dilate. Why the hell am I noticing these things?
She frowns, looks down, then up at me. “Please, don’t tell him I said that.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
Her breathing slows. She relaxes, just a hair. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What the hell is wrong with your clothes?”
“Yeah. I had a little accident coming into town,” I say, giving her a sheepish grin. It’s a look that girls used to like when I was young and not entirely unhandsome. Talking to a cute human girl that I might have flirted with in my former life, I forget for a second that I’m no longer young or handsome. I shift to what I hope is a more neutral expression.
“I might need to pick up some new things. What do you think?”
“Don’t bother. I hear that arson is the new black.” She crosses her arms, giving me her best defiant look.
“Stark.”
“Stark. Just the one name then, like Madonna?”
“Or Cher.”
“Okay, Mr. Stark …”
“Stark. No ‘mister.’ Just Stark.”
“Okay, Just Stark. Here’s the thing—I quit. I can run this place in my sleep, but Mr. Kasabian obviously doesn’t trust me enough, so he brings in some, if you’ll excuse me, thug buddy to keep an eye on me? No fucking thanks.”
“The last thing I’m here to do is keep an eye on you. The truth is, I don’t have any place to stay and Kasabian told me I could crash upstairs. The running-the-shop thing is purely honorary. As far as I’m concerned, you’re in charge. Run the place any way you like.”
“You still look like somebody I probably shouldn’t know.”
“Yeah, you said that.” I take a step toward her, waiting to see if she’ll take a step back. She doesn’t. Nervous, but brave. I like her already. “Listen, a thug is someone who’s out for no one but himself. Me? I take care of my friends.” Alice’s face flashes in my brain, a reminder of how empty a promise like that can be. Good intentions and a dime won’t get you a damned thing in this world. Reluctantly, I push Alice back into the dark. “Stay here and I guarantee that you’ll work in the safest video store in L.A.”
“Gee, that’s not at all terrifying.”
“Also, whatever Kasabian has been paying you, I’ll give you a fifty percent raise.”
Now I have her attention.
“You can do that?”
“There’s no one here to tell me I can’t. I figure, as long as I’m technically in charge, I can pay people whatever I like.”
“When will Mr. Kasabian be back?”
“I have no idea. You know how these family things are. It could be a while.”
She nods, looks down, then up at me. “Okay. I’ll stay. For now.”
Hallelujah. “Thank you, Allegra.”
“You’re welcome, Just Stark.”
I WAIT FOR an hour upstairs, until the store fills with the lunch-hour crowd. When there’s enough ambient noise downstairs, I figure that I can check on Kasabian and be covered if he starts screaming again.
He’s right where I left him on the shelf. When he sees me, he doesn’t scream. He just moans.
“For chrissake, put a bullet in my head or change the goddamn channel!”
On the set, some daytime talk show is playing. An older guy in a suit and a bottle blonde are talking about an actress I never heard of and a pasta maker that’s going to change everyone’s life.
“Please, turn this shit off.”
“I don’t know. That sounds like one damn fine pasta maker.”
“Fuck you.”
“Do you have a car?”
He stares at the TV, ignoring me. I reach over and turn down the sound.
“The keys are in my right hand pocket,” he says.
I tilt his comatose body to the side so I can reach into his pocket. Got ’em.
“What kind of car is it?”
“Give me back my body.”
“Where’s Mason?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t
