Fun and Games - Duane Swierczynski [61]
Lane looked at Hardie. “Okay, so where are we going?”
“Downtown. Or wherever there are a lot of people.”
“So you want to get stuck in downtown when we’re fleeing a group of unstoppable killers?”
Hardie thought about the one he’d sent flying off the edge of the cliff. That sorry son of a bitch didn’t seem too unstoppable. The guy’s surprised scream echoed in his mind. In fact, Hardie probably should worry about how much he liked replaying it.
Hardie signaled left, then changed lanes.
“What would you prefer to do? Drive out to the middle of nowhere, so they can hunt us down and kill us in total privacy? When you’re in trouble, you run toward people, not away from them. If they’re going to make a play, they’re not going to do it in broad daylight.”
“How do you know? I mean, they attacked me on a highway this morning. It was early, but there were plenty of other cars on the road. They didn’t seem to give a shit. Charlie, they could be tracking us right now, fixed on a LoJack signal or some crazy shit like that. Any one of these cars could just smash into us…”
“They wouldn’t do the same thing twice.”
“How do you know? Seriously, how the hell do you know what they would do? God, I feel like we made it out of that house but we’re still trapped, no matter where we go. It’s not as if I can hide all that easily. People tend to recognize me. Even when I’m looking like shit.”
Hardie glanced over at her. She was still a beautiful woman, despite the dirt and blood and swollen eye. He guessed that’s what separated famous people from the rest of humanity. People would recognize her.
And then Hardie figured it out. Their next move, until he could call Deke.
“Where’s Musso and Frank?”
“The restaurant?”
“Yeah.”
Lane shook her head, squinted, held up her hands. “Why the fuck do you want to go to Musso and Frank?”
Hardie told her:
“Lunch.”
They blasted past the entrance to the Hollywood Bowl. An electric marquee was mounted in a stately chunk of white stone; a jazz musician Hardie didn’t know was performing here tonight, eight p.m. Cars fought their way into the parking lot. Cars full of people who probably had no worries on their minds. After all, they were going out in the cool California afternoon on a Saturday to see somebody play jazz. How tough could life be?
But Hardie had always felt that way—separate from the good times everyone else seemed to be having. Like his own little world somehow sat parallel to the real world, but not actually in it.
“Get over to the left,” Lane said. “No, really, right now.”
“I’m trying.”
But other vehicles quickly closed the gap, forcing Hardie to retreat. Somehow he ended up being corralled into the right lane. All down Highland giant billboards advertised movies he hadn’t heard of, featuring actors and actresses who were equally unfamiliar. Some of the cars on the road looked bizarre to him, too, now that he was really looking at them. If his life were a DVD, Hardie thought he must have skipped over a couple of chapters.
“Okay, we missed Franklin, so turn right onto Hollywood. We’ll have to come around.”
“Where…?”
“Hollywood Boulevard. The next light. Right. As in turn right… right now!”
And suddenly Hardie found himself at L.A. Tourist Ground Zero. Some of his homeowners had cautioned him to avoid this area at all costs. The sidewalks were jammed with goofy tourists being preyed upon by people in costumes and photographers and drug dealers and hustlers and punks. Traffic came to standstill a few car lengths away from Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. Hardie saw that the marquee read proximity, which apparently was having its premiere tonight. Another movie he’d never heard of. Outside, along dark velvet ropes, people stood around with vacant stares. Waiting to be entertained,