Glamorama

On my way out I place the smell. It's popcorn.

5

The light outside the house has totally faded and the wind keeps screaming high above the courtyard I'm weaving through, a light rain slapping at my face, and the wind is blowing confetti into piles high against the walls like snowdrifts made up of gold and green and purple paper and there are bicycles I never noticed before lying on their sides, their upended wheels spinning in the wind. And in a corner a vague shape is slumped over and when I freeze, noticing it, the courtyard suddenly becomes quiet, which is my cue to slowly move closer.

Above Jamie's head, another sloppy pentagram and in streaky red letters the words

Disappear

HeRE

An empty Absolut bottle rests by her side and she's sitting propped up, stunned, barely lucid, and when I feel her check it's hot, her face puffy. I crouch down. Her eyes are closed and when she opens them she recognizes me but shows no particular interest and we just stare at each other uncertainly, both with dead eyes. She's wearing a white Gucci pantsuit, the collar lightly spattered with blood, but I can't see any wounds because someone has wrapped her in plastic.

"Jamie... are you okay?" I ask hollowly. "Should I get help?"

A shaky sigh. She says something I can barely hear.

"What?" I'm asking. "I can't hear you."

"You're... supposed to be... at the... hotel," she sighs.

"Let me get help-"

"Don't get help," she whispers and then she gestures vaguely to something behind me. I turn, squinting. It's the mattress Tammy Devol was murdered on, half-burned, lying in a blackened clump and dotted with white and silver confetti, in the middle of the courtyard.

"I'll call an ambulance," I'm saying.

"No... don't, Victor," she says, her voice muffled.

"I want to help you," I say, straining to sound hopeful.

She grabs my wrists, her face drawn and tense, her eyes half-closed. "Don't. I don't want... any... help."

"What happened?" I'm asking.

"Totally... f**ked... up," she whispers, smiling.

She starts shrugging, losing interest in me.

"Hey Jamie, talk to me-what happened, what happened here?"

"I... watched... that scene... of you at the embassy," she whispers. "They... lied to you, Victor." She keeps shuddering and I'm smoothing confetti out of her hair.

"About what?" I'm asking. "What did they lie about?" My voice is hoarse from screaming and her voice is low, the voice of a ghost, of someone lost in sleep, and from somewhere behind us there's a faint crashing sound in the wind.

"Palakon works against the Japanese," she says in a painful rush. "But he also works... for them."

She starts giggling, high, a little girl.

"What Japanese?" I'm asking.

"Everything's... connected... to the Japanese," she says. "Everything is bought with Japanese money from... Japanese banks and they... supply everything, Victor." Dreamily she starts a list, offers it entirely without tone.

"Plastique... blasting caps... digital timers..."

"Why Japanese, Jamie?" I ask soothingly, stroking her face.

"Because... they want your... father elected."

Pause. "They want him elected to... what?"

"Palakon is... also working... against your father," she whispers. "Did you hear me... Victor?" She tries to laugh. "Your father hired him... but he works against him... too."

Wind screams suddenly through the courtyard.

"He's also working for... the people who don't"-something slices through her, she shifts-"want your father elected."

"Palakon told me my father hired him, Jamie," I say.

"But Palakon has... no affinity she says in a wavery voice. "I watched... the tape of that scene at the embassy... and he lied. He knew about my connection... with Bobby... before he sent you. He lied about that."

"Jamie, why did Palakon send me?"

"Your father wanted you... out of the country," she says. "Palakon did that... but the people who don't want your father elected... also were in touch with... Palakon and... they had something else in mind." She sighs. "A proposal..."

"Like what?" I'm asking loudly, over the wind.

"A scenario..." Her eyes are drifting, half-closed, but she still manages a shrug.

"What scenario, Jamie?"

She's trying to remember something. "What if you... Victor... got hooked up with a... certain organization... and what if this information... was leaked? How much could Palakon be paid... to take care of that as well?... Either way Palakon couldn't lose. He set it all up-"