Chapter Twelve
I swung past my apartment to grab lunch, a shower, and some clothes without so much blood on them. A beaten-up old Rabbit had lost a game of bumper tag with a Suburban, and traffic was backed up for a mile. As a result, I got back to the set a few minutes late.
A vaguely familiar girl with a clipboard met me at the door. She wasn't old enough to drink, but made up for a lack of maturity with what I could only describe as a gratuitous amount of perkiness. She was pretty, more awkwardly skinny than sleek, and had skin the color of cream. Her dark hair was done up in Princess Leia cinnamon rolls, and she wore jeans, a peasant-style blouse, and clunky-looking sandals. "Hi!" she said.
"Hi, yourself."
She checked her clipboard. "You must be Harry, then. You're the only one left, and you're late."
"I was on time this morning."
"That makes you half as good as a broken watch. You should be proud." She smiled again to let me know she was teasing. "Didn't I see you talking to Justine at Arturo's party?"
"Yeah, I was there. Had to leave before I turned into a pumpkin."
She laughed and stuck out her hand. "I'm Inari. I'm an associate production assistant."
I shook her hand. She wore some light, sweet scent that I liked, something that reminded me of buzzing locusts and lazy summer nights. "Nice to meet you-unless you're stealing my job. You're not a scab, are you?"
Inari grinned, and it transformed her face from moderately attractive to lovely. She had great dimples. "No. As an associate gofer, I'm down the ladder from you. I think your job is safe." She checked a plastic wristwatch. "Oh, God, we need to get moving. Arturo asked me to take you to his office as soon as you got here. This way."
"What's he want?"
"Beats me," Inari said. She started a brisk walk, and I had to lengthen my steps to keep up with her as she led me deeper into the building. She nipped to a second page and took a pen from behind one hair-bun. "Oh, what would you like on your vegetarian pizza?"
"Dead pigs and cows," I said.
She glanced up at me and wrinkled her nose.
"They're vegetarians," I said defensively.
She looked skeptical. "With all the hormones and things they put in meats, you know that they're having a number of very bad effects on you. Right? Do you know the kind of long-term damage fatty meats can do to your intestinal tract?"
"I choose to exercise my status as an apex predator. And I laugh in the face of cholesterol."
"With an attitude like that, you're going to wind up with bulletproof arteries."
"Bring it."
Inari shook her head, her expression pleasant and unyielding. "Everyone decided they wanted to stick with veggies when I order. If someone has meat, the grease will get all over the rest of the pizza, so they settled on veggies."
"Then I guess I will too."
"But what do you want on yours? I mean, I'm supposed to make everyone happy here."
"Kill me some animals, then," I said. "It's a protein thing."
"Oh, you should have said," Inari replied, smiling at me. We stopped in front of a door and she scribbled on her clipboard. "Some extra cheese, maybe some beans and corn. Or wait. Tofu. Protein. I'll fix you up."
Bean- curd pizza, good grief. I should raise my rates. "You do that." The puppy stirred in my pocket and I stopped. "Here, there's something you could help me with."
She tilted her head at me. "Oh?"
I reached into my pocket and drew the pup out. He was sleeping, every inch of him completely limp. "Could you keep my friend company while I talk to Arturo?"
The girl melted with adoration the way only girls can, and took the pup, cradling him in the crook of her arm and crooning to him. "Oh, he's so sweet. What's his name?"
"No name," I said. "Just watching him for a day or three. He might be hungry or thirsty when he wakes up."
"I love dogs," she replied. "I'll take good care of him."
"Appreciate it."
She started to walk away. "Oh, Harry, I almost forgot. What do you want to drink? Is Coke okay?"
I eyed her suspiciously. "It isn't noncaffeinated, is it?"
She arched a brow. "I'm health-conscious, not insane."
"Dear child," I said. She gave me another sunny smile and jounced off down the hall, holding the pup as if he were made of glass. I went into the office.
Arturo Genosa was inside, sitting on the corner of a desk. His silver hair looked rumpled, and a half-smoked cigar smoldered in a thick ashtray beside him. He summoned up a tired smile for me as I came in. "Hey, Harry." He came over and gave me one of those manly Mediterranean hugs, the kind that leave bruises. "God bless you, Mister Dresden. Without you there, I think we would have lost them both. Thank you."
He kissed me on either cheek. I'm not a kissy-huggy type, really, but I figured it was another manly European affection thing. Either that or he'd just marked me for death. I stepped back and said, "The girl going to be all right?"
Arturo nodded. "Going to live. All right? That I don't know." He waved a hand at his neck. "The scars. They will be very bad."
"Tough on an actress."
He nodded. "In the phone book, your ad says you give advice."
"Technically I sell it," I said. "But that's really more for-"
"I need to know," he said. "Need to know whether I should stop the project."
I arched an eyebrow. "You think that's why these people have been attacked?"
He picked up his cigar, fiddling around with it. "I don't know what to think. But I was nowhere nearby. This could not have been an attack on me."
"I agree," I said. "And it was the Evil Eye. I'm sure of it."
"Mister Dresden, if a man threatens me, then it is nothing to face it. But this person, whoever he is, is hurting the people near me. I no longer choose only for myself."
"Why would someone want to stop your film, Mr. Genosa?" I asked. "I mean, pardon me if this insults you, but it's a skin flick. There are lots of them."
"I don't know. Maybe it is the business end," he said. "Small entrepreneur, maybe could be a threat to more entrenched businessmen. So they lean. Apply pressure. Quietly, you understand."
"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you just told me that you think you're being persecuted by a covert pornography syndicate."
Genosa put the cigar in his mouth, rolling it around. He drummed his fingers on the desk and lowered his voice. "You joke, but in the past few years someone has been buying the studios a little at a time."
"Who?"
He shook his head. "It is hard to say. I have investigated, but I am not a detective. Is there any way you could-"
"I'm already on it. I'll tell you if I turn up anything."
"Thank you," he said. "But what should I do today? I can't allow any of these people to be harmed."
"You're racing the clock, right? If you don't finish the film, your business is kaput."
"Yes."