infected, that she wasn’t spreading whatever her husband had brought back from the Middle East any further. And in the back of his mind, he remembered what Renee had told him before leaving for Cedar-Sinai, that Valley cops had taken down more folks who were acting like the recent widow’s husband.
Roger Whittaker’s news wasn’t exactly making things any brighter. “What were the extent of the guy’s injuries, again?”
“A bite and several scratches, it looks like,” Whittaker said. “Basically, some of the usual stuff you’d see when a couple of guys go at it.”
“So that’s what killed the guy, or did he have some kind of underlying medical condition?”
“Well, they’re not really telling me that stuff,” Whittaker told him. “Just that the guy passed away in the emergency room. They were still going through the examination process, and it sounds to me like he just up and died.”
Reese sighed. “Rog, you have to do a little better than that, man.”
“I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’! These people just aren’t talking to us yet ...” In the background, Reese heard a stir of commotion: raised voices, a shriek, something metal hitting the floor. Whittaker paused, and the sound quality changed a bit, probably as he turned in the direction of the ruckus. “Yeah, anyway, Renee’s working the desk, and ... uh ...”
“Rog? What’s going on?”
Reese heard someone screaming now, loud and strong, and the sounds of a distant struggle. Running feet then, as several people hurried past Whittaker. More shouts. Renee said, “Jesus, he’s not dead!” before another scream drowned her out. Someone yelled for help, and then a loud clunk strobed Reese’s ear, loud enough that he pulled his phone away.
“Roger?”
There was gunfire then, three rapid bangs that made people scream again. Someone was repeating “Oh, God!” over and over, and Reese had the impression it was one of the desk people Whittaker and Renee had been talking to.
“Did you get him?” Renee asked in the distance, her voice small but terrified. “Is he down?”
“Yeah, he’s down,” Whittaker said then, his voice growing stronger. There was a momentary scuffle, and then he was back on the line with Reese. “Hey, sorry about that.”
“Roger, what the hell just happened?”
“Uh, it looks like our dead guy came back to life and started chomping on people. Listen, Reese, I had to put the guy down. Looks like I’m about to be part of an officer involved shooting investigation, so—”
“I’m on my way,” Reese said, hanging up.
###
Something was definitely wrong with Los Angeles.
Gary Norton had been paying attention to the news, so he had some advance warning that things in the Southland were beginning to deteriorate past the usual malaise of crime, strident car alarms, perpetual traffic, and helicopters ceaselessly flying overhead. In fact, he had had even earlier warning than most that not all was right in the world, when he had spoken to his friend and usual investor, Walid bin Rashid, one of the wealthy princes of Saudi Arabia.
“Gary, my friend, there is something very wrong here in Riyadh,” Walid had told him directly during a telephone conversation. That was unusual for Walid in particular, as Norton had always known him to be a circumspect individual, not given to sudden outbursts of gossip. Despite having billions in his possession, Walid was still a shrewd businessman, and he knew well enough that to allow associates to become too intimate would give them undue advantage in future business dealings. “I’m thinking of coming to America for a while.”
“Well, that’s fantastic!” Norton had said, delighted that he might be able to meet Walid. He had another production on the slate, and he could use an infusion of capital to get it packaged, so he could shop it around to a few studios. Walid was usually good for twenty to thirty million right off the bat, and always declined the usual