49.

We drove until we found an empty parking garage adjacent to an ophthalmologist college. The lights inside the garage were on full force and a white security pick-up truck was parked just inside the entrance.

We pulled up beside the truck. The guard was out cold, wrapped in his jacket, hugging himself for warmth, the windows cracked for air. Sherbet rolled down his window. The sound of thumping rain was louder and more intense with the window down. The guard still hadn't moved.

"Hey," said Sherbet.

The man bolted upright, accidentally slamming his hand against the steering wheel. The horn went off and he jumped again, now hitting his head on the cab's ceiling.

Sherbet turned to me. "Night of Ten Thousand Fools."

"An Arabian farce."

The detective leaned out the window, producing his badge from his jacket pocket. "Detective Sherbet, Fullerton PD. We need to, um, commandeer your garage for a few minutes."

"Of course, detective." The guard's voice was slightly high-pitched. He was fortyish and much too small to be taken seriously as a guard. His neck was also freakishly long. "It's the rain, you know. Knocks me out every time. My bosses found out I was sleeping again, they'd fire me." He looked sheepish.

"Don't worry about it, pal," said Sherbet. "I won't tell if you don't."

He brightened, his job secure. "Is there maybe something I can do for you? You know, maybe help you out?"

"Sure," said Sherbet. "Guard this entrance with your life. No one comes in."

"You got it, detective!"

Sherbet rolled up his window and we eased into the parking structure and out of the rain.

"Commandeer the garage?" I said.

"Sounds important."

I looked back. The guard had positioned his truck before the garage's entrance. "Good of you to give him something to do," I said. "But what happens if someone wants to come in?"

"Then they'll have to deal with Flamingo Neck."

I snorted. "Flamingo Neck? Thought he looked more like a stork."

"Whatever." Sherbet pulled into a slot. "You ready to dig in?"

"As ready as ever."

The covered garage was mostly empty, save for a few desolate vehicles. These vehicles had the look of semi-permanence. Sherbet handed me a pair of latex gloves.

The bags were sodden. One of them stank of rotten dairy. I gave that one to the detective.

"Thanks," he said.

"I'm a lady," I said. "Ladies don't dig through smelly trash."

"They do when they're on my shift."

"Yeah, well, luckily I don't work for you."

"Luckily."

With legs crossed, I hunkered down on a parking rebar. I untied the my bag and was immediately greeted with what must have been last night's chicken teriyaki. My stomach growled noisily. My stomach seemed to have missed the memo about my new diet. My new blood diet.

No chicken teriyaki for you, my friend. Ever.

I removed the big stuff first. An empty gallon of milk that, because it was sealed, had bloated to half again its normal size. Boxes of cereal, an empty jar of peanut butter, many cardboard cases of beer. Someone liked beer. A smattering of plastic Coca-Cola bottles. I sorted through it all, leaving a careful pile to my left.

At the bottom nook was a batch of papers which proved to be torn mail, the majority of which were credit card applications. Smart man. Debt, bad.

"Nothing over here," I said.

I looked over at the detective who was squatting down on one knee. His hands were smeared with gelatinous muck. He looked a little green, and for a homicide detective, that's saying a lot.

"More of the same," he said. "Nothing."

Beyond, the security guard was pacing in the rain before his truck. Occasionally he stole glances at us.

"Same time next week?" Sherbet asked.

"Yes," I said. "More fun."

"And Mrs. Moon?" he said, looking down at his rancid ichor-covered latex gloves. "Next time you get the smelly bag."

50.

Sherbet dropped me off at the hotel and suggested that I take a shower because I smelled like trash. I told him thanks. At the hotel lobby, the doorman greeted me with a small bow. I could get used to that. Then he crinkled his nose. Maybe I did need to take a shower.

Conscious of my stench, I took the elevator to the ninth floor and inserted my keycard into the lock and pushed the door open and my warning bells went off instantly.

Someone was inside.

Movement down the hall. I turned my body, narrowing it as a target, just as an arrow bolt struck me in the shoulder, slamming me hard into the open door, which in turn slammed shut. I ducked and peered through the darkness and there, standing near my open balcony, was a man. A good-looking man. Tall and slender. Silhouetted in shadows. But I could see into shadows. His spiky blond hair looked like a frayed tennis ball. He was staring at me down the length of a cocked crossbow.

I knew him. It was the UPS man.

He didn't say anything, didn't move. Simply stood there with his crossbow trained, sweat gleaming on his forehead. His hands were unwavering. A flask of clear liquid was at his hip. There was a cross around his neck and a strand of garlic. He adjusted his sights imperceptibly, and I realized he was searching for a clear shot at my heart. I was determined not to give him that clear shot. I looked at him from over my shoulder.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"You don't need to know."

"Then why are you doing this?" My breath came in short gasps. I needed to do something about the shaft in my shoulder, but I didn't dare take my eyes off the man. The strand of garlic was bullcrap. Hell, I cooked with garlic all the time. But the water on his hip�Dholy water, no doubt�Dwas troubling. I hadn't dared experiment with holy water.

"It's nothing personal," he said.

"The bolt in my shoulder makes it personal."

"It was meant for your heart."

Behind me I heard voices. Someone was getting off the elevator. The voices were mixed with drunken laughter.

Although I hadn't taken my eyes off the hunter, I had unwittingly shifted my weight to the sound of the voices. Apparently I had exposed my heart. He saw the opening he was looking for, and fired.

I heard the twang and snap of the bolt leaping from the crossbow. I saw it coming, too. Clearly. Rotating slightly in the air. My world slowed down. Much as it had when I leaped off the balcony.

As it rotated, its metal tip gleaming off of light unseen, my hand was coming up. And just before it buried itself into my heart, I caught the damn thing in the air, snagging it just inches from my chest.

The hunter gaped at me in disbelief, then flung himself backward through the open French doors and vaulted the railing. I pushed away from the doorway, stumbled through the suite and out onto the balcony. It was still raining. I peered down over the ledge and saw a man rappelling down the facade of the building. The rope was attached to the roof above. He dropped down into some foundation brush and unhooked himself. He looked up at me briefly and then dashed off. I watched him disappear around the corner of the hotel.

Back in my suite, out of the rain, I gripped the fletched end of the arrow shaft and winced. Okay, this is going to hurt. I inhaled deeply and pulled slowly. The pain was unbearable. I gasped and stumbled into the bathroom. The mirror revealed empty clothing, animated clothing, a miracle of special effects. An arrow protruded from the blouse's shoulder area. A thick wash of blood was spreading down from the shoulder. The sight of the bloodied disembodied clothing was surreal.

I closed my eyes, continued pulling. White flashes appeared behind my eyelids. I pulled harder, screaming now. I looked down once and saw that the metal tip was almost out. I also saw that it was bringing with it a lot of meat from my arm.

Tears streamed from my eyes and I heard myself whimpering and still I continued to pull, and finally the bolt came free, followed immediately by a great eruption of blood.

It was then that I fainted.