obnoxious drivers with an invisible fist round the ear, and quickly decided it was in everyone's best interests if I got out of there as fast as possible. So I broke into a run, moving faster and faster as the incredible strength of my armoured legs kicked in. The cars became just a blur as I got up to speed, shooting in and out of gaps in a split second, thanks to my speeded-up reflexes. I was laughing into my featureless golden mask now, arms pumping easily at my sides as I really hit my stride. The world was just a smear of colours, every sound dopplering down behind me, and I wasn't even breathing hard. My family has the best toys in the world.
Soon enough I was past the pileup that had caused all the congestion, and was sprinting in and out of moving traffic. Cars and trucks and bikes roared along, filling all the lane space available, and I had to slow down or? risk running right over them. Reflexes are great, but they're no match for an idiot behind the wheel, of which Los Angeles has more than its fair share. I got fed up dodging drivers who changed lane with no warning and no signal, so I waited for a lengthy articulated to come along, raced along beside it to match speeds, and then jumped up onto its roof. My armoured legs sent me flying through the air, and then absorbed the impact on landing so completely the articulated's driver never even knew I was there. I struck a heroic pose that no one could see, just because, and surfed the articulated all the way to Anaheim.
I got hit by an awful lot of insects, but the armour just absorbed them.
When we finally got to Anaheim, I switched from vehicle to vehicle, riding the roofs as I followed the street map I'd memorised, and jumped off a block short of the Magnificat. I found a quiet side street, and armoured down when no one was looking. And just like that, I was just another tourist, wandering happily down the street. The air was blisteringly hot again, and so thick with pollution you could practically chew the stuff, but that's what you get for living in the real world. No one paid me any attention as I joined the throng in the main street, heading for the Magnificat. There's nothing memorable in my appearance. I've gone to great pains to appear to be just another face in the crowd. Field agents are trained to blend in, and not be noticed. It's a useful skill for a field agent, not looking like anyone in particular. The last thing you want in this business is to be noticed or remembered.
Even when I was still a long way off, I could see the Magnificat Hotel. It was the tallest building for miles, a massive steel and glass block that towered over everything else, effortlessly dominating the scene without a single trace of character or style in its appearance. The neon sign with the hotel's name was almost brutally ugly. Everything about the building shouted that it was there to serve a purpose, nothing more. All very efficient, but a total pain in the arse to look at. Ugly buildings are like ugly women-you can't help feeling someone should have made more of an effort. I said this to my girlfriend Molly once, and she hit me. I've got a lot more careful about what I say out loud since I acquired a girlfriend. I still think things, though. Sometimes very loudly.
Luther Drood was already there, waiting. He looked exactly like the photo in his file, except even more tanned, if that were possible. Luther was a tall, heavily built man in his late forties, wearing a baggy Hawaiian shirt over blindingly white shorts, and a pair of designer flip-flops. He had a broad, lined face, with close-cut grey hair and a bushy grey moustache. He was standing right in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at nothing, smoking a large cigar as though it was the most important thing in his world. But people just walked right past him, paying him no attention at all… because he had a mobile phone at his ear. Those things are a godsend to the modern agent-the perfect excuse for just standing around, doing nothing.
Luther saw me approaching, put his phone away, and nodded easily to me. As though he saw me every day of the week. Typical LA native: cool and calm and so laid-back it was a wonder he didn't fall over. I stopped before him, gave him my own very cool and collected nod, threw in a quick smile for good measure, and offered him my hand. He clasped my pale offering in his large bronzed hand, and gave it a quick meaningless LA shake.
'Hi,' he said, in a deep and apparently sincere voice. 'Welcome to LA. I'm Philip Harlowe.'
I gave him a look. 'Does that fool anyone?'
'Does Shaman Bond?' He allowed me a small tight smile. He still hadn't removed his cigar from his mouth. 'Everyone knows use names are fakes, but the kind of people we have to deal with are only ever comfortable with masques and illusions. So better a false ID you know is fake, than a seemingly real name you know you can't trust.'
'But we're family,' I said. 'You're Luther and I'm…'
'Please.' He stopped me with a raised hand. 'Everyone in the family, and everyone in the field, knows Eddie Drood. Your reputation proceeds you-like an oncoming missile.' He took a map out of his back pocket, and unfolded it. 'Look at this. It isn't important or even relevant, but maps make excellent cover. No one pays any attention to two tourists studying a map.'
He had a point. I stood beside him, and looked at the Magnificat over the top of the map. Luther finally removed his cigar, just for a moment, and blew a perfect smoke ring. If my Molly had been there, she would have turned it into a perfect square, just to put him in his place. I settled for giving him a hard look.
'I thought tobacco was forbidden in this health conscious, zero tolerance paradise?'
'That's cigarettes,' Luther said easily. 'Cigars are different. Only important people smoke cigars, and no one bothers important people in LA. Even a complete health nazi will light your cigar for you, if they thought you could get them a meeting.'
'My worst fears are realised,' I said sadly. 'You've gone native.'
He raised an eyebrow. I'd never seen so much work go into the creation of such a bitingly sardonic gesture. I felt like applauding.
'At least I still serve the family,' said Luther. 'I've never tried to run it. Or run away from it.'
I sighed, plucked the cigar out of his mouth, dropped it on the ground and stamped on it. Luther made a shocked, pained sound, as though I'd just shot his dog. I gave him my very best hard glare.
'Do you have a problem with my being here, Luther?'
He would have liked to glare at me, but his cool and laid-back persona wouldn't let him, so he settled for looking down his nose at me. There was a lot of nose to look down. Noses run in our family. (Old family joke. Really old. You have no idea.) Luther must have realised my attention was wandering, because he stuck his face right in close to mine.
'Just for the record,' I said. 'Second-hand cigar smoke is in no way attractive.'
'This is my town,' said Luther. 'My territory. No one knows it better than me. The people, the organisations, the schemes and the hustles. They didn't need to send you. I could have handled this myself. I've handled a lot worse in my time, and never once made a ripple in the waters. I have a reputation for getting things done and keeping things quiet, and I don't want it upset. I operate without being seen, behind the scenes. I keep the lid on things, I defuse situations before they get out of control, and no one ever knows I was there. It's the only way you can operate, in a media-saturated town like this. The last thing I need is a show-off, grandstanding overachiever like you, coming in here playing the hero, overturning the applecart and then setting it on fire. I know all about you, Eddie. No gesture too dramatic, no action too violent. Well, you aren't going to operate like that here. We can't make waves; we'd be noticed. Even after everything you've done recently, we're still supposed to be a secret organisation of secret agents.'
'After everything I've done?' I said, innocently.
He wanted to splutter and raise his voice. I could tell.
'I know your reputation,' he said doggedly. 'It doesn't impress me. You're impetuous, you're unnecessarily aggressive, and you're sloppy! How many times have you been seen in armour in public? That's not how we get things done!'
'I saved the entire world from the Hungry Gods,' I said.
'And got a lot of good Droods killed in the process. You're not getting me killed, rushing in where devils fear to tread. This is my territory, and we're going to do things my way. Either you agree right now to follow my orders, or I'll kick you out of town and deal with this problem myself. And to hell with the Matriarch's instructions!'
I considered him thoughtfully. 'If my girlfriend was here, she'd make all your pubic hair fall out, just by looking at you in a Certain Way. I'm not as subtle as she? is. So either you agree to work with me, as a full partner… or I'll just punch you repeatedly in the head till your eyes change colour.'
'You see! You see! This is what I'm talking about! You can't operate like that in a city like this!'
'Pretty sure I can,' I said.
He glared at me for a moment, and then his face went studiously blank, his eyes cold and calculating. 'Is it true?' he said. 'Did you kill the Grey Fox?'
'Yes,' I said. 'I killed my Uncle James. And he meant a lot more to me than you do.'
