Sublett closed his eyes, scanning his inner trivia-banks. Yeah? Hows it end?
Dunno Rydell said. I went to sleep.
Sublett opened his eyes. Who was in it?
Got me.
Subletts blank silver eyes widened in disbelief. Jesus, Berry, you shouldnt oughta watch tv, not unless youre gonna pay it attention.
He wasnt in the hospital very long, after he shot Kenneth Turvey; barely two days. His lawyer, Aaron Pursley himself, made the case that they shouldve kept him in there longer, the better to assess the extent of his post-traumatic shock. But Rydell hated hospitals and anyway he didnt feel too bad; he just couldnt recall exactly what had happened. And he had Karen Mendelsohn to help him out with things, and his new agent, Wellington Ma, to deal with the other people from Cops in Trouble, not one of them as nice as Karen, who had long brown hair. Wellington Ma was Chinese, lived in Los Angeles, and Karen said his father had been in the Big Circle gangthough she advised Rydell not to bring it up.
Wellington Mas business card was a rectangular slice of pink synthetic quartz, laser-engraved with his name, The Ma-Mariano Agency an address on Beverly Boulevard, and all kinds of numbers and e-mail addresses. It arrived by GlobEx in its own little gray suede envelope while Rydell was still in the hospital.
Looks like you could cut yourself on it Rydell said.
You could, many no doubt have said Karen Mendelsohn, and if you put it in your wallet and sit down, it shatters.
Then whats the point of it?
Youre supposed to take very good care of it. You wont get another.
Rydell never actually did meet Wellington Ma, at least not til quite a while later, but Karen would bring in a little briefcase with a pair of eyephones on a wire and Rydell could talk with him in his office in LA. It was the sharpest telepresence rig Rydell had ever used, and it really did look just like he was right there. He could see out the window to where there was this lopsided pyramid the color of a Noxzema jar. He asked Wellington Ma what that was and Ma said it was the old Design Center, but currently it was a discount mall, and Rydell could go there when he came to L.A., which was going to be soon.
Turveys girlfriend, Jenni-Rae Cline, was bringing an intricately interlocking set of separate actions against Rydell, the Department, the City of Knoxville, and the company in Singapore that owned her apartment building. About twenty million in total.
Rydell, having become a cop in trouble, was glad to find that Cops in Trouble was right there for him. Theyd hired Aaron Pursley, for starters, and of course Rydell knew who he was from the show. He had that gray hair, those blue eyes, that nose you could split kindling with, and wore jeans, Tony Lama boots, and plain white oxford-cloth pima cotton cowboy business shirts with Navajo-silver bob-ties. He was famous and he defended cops like Rydell from people like Turveys girlfriend and her lawyer.
Jenni-Rae Clines lawyer maintained that Rydell shouldnt have been in her apartment at all, that hed endangered her life and her childrens by so doing, and that hed killed Kenneth Turvey in the process, Mr. Turvey being described as a skilled craftsman, a steady worker, a loving father-figure for little Rambo and Kelly, a born-again Christian, a recovering addict to 4-Thiobuscaline, and the familys sole means of support.
Recovering? Rydell asked Karen Mendelsohn in his room in the airport Executive Suites. Shed just shown him the fax from Jenni-Raes lawyer.
Apparently hed been to a meeting that very day Karen said.
What did he do there? Rydell asked, remembering the Last Supper in drying blood.
According to our witnesses, he openly horned a tablespoon of his substance of choice, took the podium by force, and delivered a thirty-minute rant on President Milibanks pantyhose and the assumed current state of her genitalia. He then exposed himself, masturbated but did not ejaculate, and left the basement of the First Baptist Church.
Jesus Rydell said. And this was at one of those drug meetings, like A.A.?
It was Karen Mendelsohn said, though apparently Turveys performance has triggered an unfortunate sequence of relapses. Well send in a team of counselors, of course, to work with those who were at the meeting.
Thats nice Rydell said.
Look good in court she said, in the unlikely event we ever get there.
He wasnt recovering Rydell said. Hadnt even recovered from the last bunch he jammed up his nose.
Apparently true she said. But he was also a member of Adult Survivors of Satanism, and they are starting to take an interest in this case. Therefore, both Mr. Pursley and Mr. Ma feel it best we coast it but soon, Berry. You and me.
But what about the court stuff?
Youre on suspension from the Department, you havent been charged with anything yet, and your lawyers name is Aaron-with-two-as Pursley. Youre out of here, Berry.
To L.A.?
None other.
Rydell looked at her. He thought about Los Angeles on television. Will I like it?
At first she said. At first, itll probably like you. I know I do.
Which was how he wound up going to bed with a lawyer one who smelled like a million dollars, talked dirty, slid all around, and wore underwear from Milan, which was in Italy.
The Kill-Fix. Cyrinda Burdette, Gudrun Weaver, Dean Mitchell, Shinobu Sakamaki. 1997.
Never saw it Rydebb said, sucking the last of his grande decaf cold capp-with-an-extra-shot from the milky ice at the bottom of his plastic thermos cup.
Mama saw Cyrinda Burdette. In this mall over by Waco. Got her autograph, too. Kept it up on the set with the prayer-hankies and her hologram of the Reverend Wayne Falbon. She had a prayer-hanky for every damn thing. One for the rent, one to keep the AIDS off, the TB
Yeah? Howd she use em?
Kept em on top of the set Sublett explained, and finished the inch of quadruple-distilled water left in the skinny translucent bottle. There was only one place along this part of Sunset sold the stuff, but Rydell didnt mind; it was next to a take-out coffee-bar, and they could park in the lot on the corner. Fellow who ran the lot always seemed kind of glad to see them.
Prayer-hanky wont keep any AIDS off Rydell said. Get yourself vaccinated, like anybody else. Get your momma vaccinated, too. Through the de-mirrored window, Rydell could see a street-shrine to J.D. Shapely, up against the concrete wall that was all that was left of the building that had stood there once. You saw a lot of them in West Hollywood. Somebody had sprayed SHAPELY WAS A COCK-SUCKING FAGGOT in bright pink paint, the letters three feet high, and then a big pink heart. Below that, stuck to the wall, were postcards of Shapely and photographs of people who mustve died. God only knew how many millions had. On the pavement at the base of the wall were dead flowers, stubs of candles, other stuff. Something about the postcards gave Rydell the creeps; they made the guy look like a cross between Elvis and some kind of Catholic saint, skinny and with his eyes too big.
He turned to Sublett. Man, you still havent got your ass vaccinated yet, you got nothin but stone white-trash ignorance to thank for it.
Sublett cringed. Thats worse than a live vaccine, man; thats a whole nother disease right there!
Sure is Rydell said, but it doesnt do anything to you. And theres still plenty of the old kind walking around here. They oughta make it compulsory, you ask me.
Sublett shuddered. Reverend Fallon always said
Screw Reverend Fallon Rydell said, hitting the ignition. Son of a bitch just makes money selling prayer-hankies to people like your momma. You knew that was all bullshit anyway, didnt you, otherwise whyd you come out here? He put Gunhead into gear and eased over into the Sunset traffic. One thing about driving a Hotspur Hussar, people almost always let you cut in.
Subletts head seemed to draw down between his high shoulders, giving him the look of a worried, steel-eyed buzzard. Aint all that simple he said. Its everything I been brought up to be. Cant all be bullshit, can it?