Free Made to Kill by Adam Christopher Page A

and went looking around the bar for another.
    “Say, is Mr. David here tonight?” I asked. “You could call me a fan.”
    “Ray, you’re a fan.”
    “Ah, yes, that’s good.” I said. “But is he here? Seems like everyone else from Red Lucky is.” I waved a big steel hand in the general direction of everyone.
    “Oh, hey,” said Fresco, suddenly animated, suddenly sliding closer and suddenly nudging me with a elbow. “You’re coming to the premiere, of course?”
    “Well, I—”
    “No, look, I insist. No, no, you’ll be my guest. I insist. It’ll be great, Sparks, trust me. It’ll be great.”
    I nodded. “Well, thanks,” I said, and I wondered what Ada would say to a night off. Then I quit wondering and started steering my new celebrity buddy back around to the topic at hand.
    “So is he—”
    “Who, Chuck? I don’t think he’s here. Not tonight. Haven’t seen him in a while.”
    “Okay. How about Ms. McLuckie?”
    “You sure there’s no trouble, Sparks?”
    “Well, like I said, I’m not at liberty to discuss matters. But let’s just say there are some concerned parties involved.”
    “Oh she’s fine, fine,” said Fresco. He said it like he had no idea what I was talking about.
    “But she’s not here either?”
    Fresco’s eyes narrowed like he was thinking very hard about the question. He reached inside the construction he thought was a dinner jacket and pulled the cigarette case out again. He took out a cigarette and replaced the case inside the jacket. Then he reached into the other side and took out another case. It was also silver but it was smaller, like a box for matches. He kept his narrow eyes on me as he flipped the lid of the box, took out a single small white round pill from among the other small white round pills inside, and put it in his mouth. He snapped the box shut with a little more force that seemed really necessary, pocketed the box, then used the last swirl of champagne in his dead glass to get the small pill down his throat.
    Then he put the glass down and he said: “No, she isn’t here.” Then he looked around the bar again. “What do I have to do to get some service?” he asked nobody in particular, but when he snapped his fingers the lady behind the bar with the dragon tattoo materialized and refreshed his drink. I thought that kind of service was actually pretty good.
    “I heard she walked out of a picture,” I said.
    Fresco gulped his fizzy wine and when he came up for air he gasped like he’d just taken a long cool draught from a Scandinavian mountain spring. He fixed me with his eyes again. They were still narrow. Maybe a bit hard now, too.
    “She’s fine. Resting. Nervous exhaustion, you know. It’s a tough job we have.”
    I looked at the half-empty glass in Fresco’s hand and then I looked around the smoky interior of the Temple of the Magenta Dragon and the jewels that glinted in the dark like the span of the Milky Way and I thought, yeah, it’s a tough job you have.
    “And the walk-out?”
    Fresco finished his drink and pressed the empty glass into the bar top. Then the smile flickered, once, twice, then reignited as the movie star barked another one of his short harsh laughs. He shook his head.
    “I’m sorry, Sparks. I shouldn’t be like that. Not with a swell guy like you. No, that part isn’t true. Where’d you read it? The Daily News ?”
    I didn’t commit one way or the other. Fresco shook his head again. He put his new cigarette between his lips but rather than wait for my parlor trick he reached over the bar and grabbed a flat book of matches from a small collection of the same.
    “The Daily News ,” he said with a shake of the head and a flick of the wrist as his cigarette caught fire. “Those asinine pinheads. They don’t know jack, Sparks. If I were me I’d throw them off the Hollywood Sign, the whole lot.”
    I didn’t say anything in reply but I did think that was an interesting statement to make.
    Then his