He shrugged. “What did I care? I’d wasted enough time on her.”
His compassion for the dead girl was overwhelming. Not for the first time, I found myself kinda feeling sorry for Alexa. “You said you saw her with someone,” I said, jumping on that nugget of info. “Who was it?”
“Hell if I know.”
“But you knew it was someone from the vampire parties?”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “All dressed in goth black and had a pair of fangs in.”
Which could have fit any one of the people we’d seen at the vampire party.
“Anything else you can tell us about him?” I asked, grasping.
He bit his lip, sucking a black stud into his mouth. “Yeah. The guy had these weird eyes. Like, super pale looking, you know?”
I did know.
Sebastian.
“So, Becca and Alexa are into something,” I said, thinking out loud as we hopped back into Dana’s Mustang. “Blackmail maybe. But something goes wrong, and Becca decides to kill Alexa. Only she needs help to stage it like a vampire murder.”
“And she gets Sebastian to do it?” Dana asked.
“Or Darwin,” I answered, playing devil’s advocate. “I mean, we only have his word for it that Sebastian was even there.”
“True,” Dana nodded.
“Either way,” I said, remembering what Goldstein had said about Becca being nervous, “the accomplice suddenly has the power, and now Becca is on the run.”
“We’ve got to find her,” Dana said.
I nodded. And quickly. Before the accomplice did.
“Well, the last place anyone saw her was in North Hollywood where Goldstein dropped her two nights ago.”
“Let’s check it out.”
We stopped at a Jack-in-the-Box for a couple of sandwiches first (Okay, I had a couple of sandwiches, and Dana grilled the woman behind the counter to see if there was anything on the menu without trans fats and “hormone pumped meats”, finally settling on a side salad sans dressing.), then we headed toward No Ho to look for Becca.
North Hollywood is not my favorite of places. First off, its name is deceiving. While Hollywood is known for glamour, glitz, and stars, North Hollywood is known for used cars (with or without pink slips), liquor stores, and porn studios. Bad place to drive at night, but a great place to hide out if you’re on the run after killing your best friend.
We slowly drove down Victory, passing several sad storefronts and a couple of houses with tilting porches and chain link fences around the yards, until we hit Lankershim.
Dana pulled the Mustang in the lot of a strip mall featuring a discount cigarette shop, a check cashing place with bars on all the windows, and a pawn shop, and we took stock of the corner. Across from us was a furniture warehouse. On the opposite corner, a square cinderblock of cheap housing where a couple of guys in jeans that were just barely hanging onto their butts were engaging in pharmaceutical trade in the front entrance. Across the street from that sat a fast food place that served both Chinese and Mexican buffets all night long.
“Okay, so where do we think Becca is hiding out?” Dana asked, her eyes doing the same sweep as mine.
I shrugged. “The housing project?”
Dana nodded. “Likely place to start.” She paused. “You wanna go in?”
I looked across at the Baggy Pants Dealers. I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
We sat there for a beat, holding onto our chickenhood, watching the transaction complete across the street.
“Maybe we should drive around the back,” Dana suggested. “Maybe just peek around. You know, with the windows up and the doors locked.”
“Fabulous idea,” I agreed.
We pulled back out onto the street, rounding Victory until we hit the back of the building. A small service alley separated it from the next block of houses behind it, the length of it filled with covered parking spots holding dented Chevy’s, supped up Impalas, and a couple of vehicles so rusted they were beyond brand recognition. The pavement was coming up in chunks, the dumpsters overflowing, and the windows all covered in sheets and dirty blinds, shut tight against prying eyes.
Dana eased us down the length of the alley, passing by an emaciated looking dog and a group of boys with guilt written all over their faces. (I didn’t even want to know why.) In the center of the building, the parking slots gave way to a small courtyard, punctuated with overgrown bushes and a couple of faded folding lawn chairs. An elderly man sat in one smoking a cigar in his boxers.
But there was no sign of Becca.
Dana swung into an empty spot at the end of the alleyway and, on a last ditch effort, I dialed Becca’s cell number. I rolled my window down a crack, listening intently.
Through my phone I heard the call ringing on the other end. Outside the window all I heard was a dog barking somewhere far away and a booming bass from one of the upstairs apartments
“Even if she is around, we’re not going to be able to hear her phone from in here,” Dana pointed out.
I nodded. “Okay. Fine. We’ll get out of the car.”
I eyed the guilty looking kids. They wouldn’t hurt a pregnant woman, right? I mean, they were just kids, right?
I slowly eased my car door open and gingerly stepped outside, immediately feeling like I was invading foreign territory. I heard Dana do the same, then quickly scuttle around to my side of the car, sticking close as I dialed Becca’s number again. Again we waited, listening to it ring on my end. I closed my eyes, willing my hearing to strain to its most super sonic. I heard a baby crying somewhere inside the building. A muted TV show. And a faint ringing sound.
My eyes shot open. “I hear it!”
Dana must have heard it too, as I felt her perk up beside me. “Dial again,” she prompted. “I think it was coming from that way.” She pointed toward the middle of the alleyway where the building split in the center at the courtyard.
I did, hitting redial as we power walked toward the courtyard. This time the ringing on the other end grew louder as we approached. I turned into the courtyard, Dana a short step behind me. Bushes flanked either side of the tiny space, a cement block serving as a patio area. In the far right corner sat what might have been a koi pond in the building’s finer years, but was now a concrete hole in the ground, covered by brush and debris.
The guy in the lawn chair watched us walk in.
“What you want?” he barked, smoke billowing from his mouth.
“Um, we’re looking for our friend,” I told him as the ringing went to voicemail on the other end. “Becca Diamond. Do you know her?”
The man stared at me. “What do I look like, the damned yellow pages?”
I bit my lip. “Right. Thanks. We’ll just keep looking,” I said, hitting redial again. I strained to hear which of the apartments the ringing on the other end might be coming from.
Only I realized, as I listened to it trill, that it didn’t seem to be coming from the apartments above us. It seemed to be coming from somewhere below us.
“Maddie,” Dana said, grabbing onto my arm. I looked up to see her staring at the koi pond.
Uh oh.
