26

IT WAS RAINING the day Nicki Sadler was buried, and though he was interred at one of the most famous celebrity cemeteries in the world, Forest Lawn in Glendale, the funeral didn’t make the afternoon news.

The only mourners were Jack, Oscar, and a woman wearing a black veil over her face, circa 1953. There was a priest, with a bad comb-over and a melon-sized head. He worked for the cemetery. He said a few words about Nicki Sadler’s various charitable donations and how Nicki worked in the land of “celluloid magic. Behind the scenes, yes, but no less of an important part of the wonderful world of Hollywood than the actors and directors.”

Oscar and Jack huddled under a half-dead eucalyptus tree. Oscar wore his old Dodgers baseball cap as the cold rain ran down their faces.

“That woman looks familiar,” Jack said.

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “That’s ’cause she used to star in horror flicks. I saw her in Beasteaters and Brain from Planet Jerry. Name’s Joyce Domergue.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack said. “I remember her. Something about her nostrils. She had a perfect face, but her nostrils were too big.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “And she used to flare them to show she was sexually aroused. Looked like you could drive a dune buggy in there.”

“Great tits, though,” Jack said.

“Yeah, but not enough to overcome the monstro nostril factor,” Oscar said.

They waited until the minister had intoned “dust to dust,” then walked over to the retired horror starlet.

As they got closer, Jack silently reminded himself to be polite, and not to stare at her nose.

“Hey,” he said. “Excuse me, but aren’t you Joyce Domergue?”

“Yes, I am,” she answered. “Let me guess. You’re at Nicki’s funeral, so you must be creditors.”

Jack laughed and shook her hand.

“No, ma’am. FBI.”

“Oh,” she said. “I knew Nicki was a bad boy, but not an international felon.”

She laughed and lifted her veil. Her nostrils looked almost normal, Jack thought. Maybe it was bad camera work. She had a few lines in her face, but she was still beautiful.

Jack introduced Oscar, and they walked with her toward her limo.

“Loved you in Beasteater,” Jack said. “When you killed the monster with that magic lantern . . . whoa!”

“It was actually a parking flare with some stucco bullshit on it,” the actress said. “Cost about twenty cents to make.”

“Yeah, but it looked like the real deal,” Oscar said.

“You guys are funny,” she said. “That movie was total shit. But I was great in it.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “You were my favorite eater of beasts.”

“Thanks,” Joyce Domergue said. “You gonna put the cuff s on me now, boys?”

“Not yet,” Jack said.

“Oh, why not?” Joyce said. “I could use some fun.”

“We just want to ask you a little bit about Nicki Sadler’s friends,” Oscar said.

Joyce Domergue put one hand on her hip and sighed.

“Honey,” she said, “that’s a very short story. I mean, you’re looking at ’em. Nicki was garbage. When I first got out here from Iowa, he tried hard to get me work. For a while. That is, until his various vices and unpleasant associates caught up with him.”

“We’re thinking of the guy who might have done this,” Jack said. “Guy he collected information for. Information which led to the death of two federal agents.”

Joyce Domergue looked puzzled. “I don’t know . . . There was a guy that he was worried about. Guy he always met at Musso’s.”

Oscar looked at Jack.

“You ever meet him?”

Joyce shook her head.

“No, I didn’t know him. But after one of their meetings, when Nicki and I had gotten a little sloshed on Reuben’s martinis, he said the guy wanted some information that was hard to get.”

“He say what it was?”

“Something weird. About the Witness Protection Program. Guy wanted to know how he could get inside it, find someone who had changed their identity. I told Nicki he started playing around with that kind of stuff , he was going to end up in a trash bag.”

Jack felt a strange sensation in his temples, like a small electric current was whipping through his head.

“Witness Protection? The guy say why he wanted it?”

She shook her head.

“Nah. ’Least, Nicki didn’t tell me. But he did say it was worth a lot of money to him if he could come up with it.”

“And did he get the information?” Oscar asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Listen, boys, I’m getting all wet here and between you and me, I hate fucking graveyards.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jack said.

He handed her his Bureau card.

“You think of anything else, will you please call me?”

She looked down and read his name.

“Jack Harper,” she said. “Hey, listen, Jack, I’d call you even if I couldn’t think of one damned thing.”

She smiled her sexiest smile and then turned and got into the drenched limo.

They watched her drive off in the rain.

“Man,” Oscar said. “What the hell was that about?”

Jack felt a buzz of confusion.

“Doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Why would Steinbach or Forrester want a name out of Witness Protection?”

“I don’t know. You want to hit Nicki’s home again? We might have missed something.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Let’s go.”

“I thought she looked great,” Oscar said as they headed to their car.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “What about the nostrils?”

“Looked like she had ’em worked on,” Oscar said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “That’s what I thought, too. But she waited too long.”

“That’s the problem with her career,” Oscar said. “You work in low-budget movies, you can’t afford nostril work. That is, until you save up, and by that time, you’re too fucking old to get eaten by the Beast anymore.”

“Tough racket,” Jack said. “But she was still cool.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “I always kind of dug the big nostrils, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Me, too.”

Oscar laughed. “Hey, you think agents in D.C. or other parts of the country have conversations like this.”

“Fuck, no,” Jack said. “Nostril work. That’s a Hollywood thing.”

They smiled and got into their car.