Chapter Two: The City of Angels

It was a quiet night in L.A; only a few cars sped past as the hooded figure eyeballed the club in front of him. It was a dark stone building with strobe lights on the roof and a large archway entrance. A bouncer rested lazily against the wall, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his jacket. Above him was the neon lighting that showed the name of the club he was staring at; The Star de Lune. It was one of the most popular clubs in the Los Angeles area, raking in millions of dollars, even after a fire had torn it down the year before. It wasn't open yet, the owners still needing time to get everything sorted, but he had business there he needed to attend to, and the Star de Lune had been his meeting place of choice before it was closed.

He stepped into the street, narrowly avoiding a car as it sped past, blaring its horn. He felt his lips curl into a smirk as he stepped up to the front door.

"Evening, Seth," he mused to the bouncer, slightly altering his voice. Seth stood up, squaring his shoulders with the newcomer.

"Evening. We're closed tonight, man, you'll have to move along."

He removed his hood and smiled up at the bouncer. Seth's eyebrow rose.

"James, you know they don't want you here."

James rolled his hazel eyes and slipped a fifty into Seth's pocket, making his way into his favorite club. He could hear Seth muttering something about regret as he stepped through the double doors and through the black-lit archway. The laces on his shoes glowed white as he walked. It wasn't a very long walk, but the end of the tunnel opened into the main club, beads hanging from its entrance. He pushed them aside, observing the people in the room, his eyes instantly falling to the black haired woman behind the bar, polishing glasses. Her hair, he knew, reached to just below her tail-bone and was streaked with purple. She had tattoos covering most of her torso and arms, showing she had a high tolerance for pain. She was chatting to someone by the bar, a blonde haired girl. The girl was wearing a bright green, off-shoulder singlet, a jet black mini-skirt, fishnet tights and knee-high leather boots. He walked over, making sure his face was uncovered and his shoulder-length black hair was tied back.

"That's so not fair," the blonde whined, dropping her head to the bar. The black haired woman smiled softly and ruffled her hair.

"I'm sorry, kiddo, but I'll lose my liquor license if I let you be a bartender, plus I'd also be facing jail-time."

The blonde's head shot up.

"Can I wait tables in the restaurant when it opens, then?"

"Nope. That involves serving wine to customers. Face it, Hailie, you're barking up the wrong tree if you want a summer job."

Hailie flopped back onto the bar, obviously deciding not to argue anymore. Her mother turned to James as he slid into a stool beside Hailie and grinned mischievously at her. She scowled, leaning forward on the counter, arms crossed at the elbows. James leaned forward so he had a clear view of the moody bartender.

"All I did was sit down, April."

April reached forward and grabbed James by the collar, pulling him towards her. They were almost nose to nose. James couldn't help but grin more at her; she'd never liked him.

"What the fuck are you doing in my club, Landau?"

"Meeting a client here," he replied coolly, adjusting himself so his hoody wasn't strangling him. "Don't worry; I won't hit him if he doesn't hit me."

"Why do I not believe you?"

"Believe what you want, Calaway; all you gotta know is I'm just doing a job."

April growled, her eyes narrowing as she let him go. He smirked, reaching into his backpack and retrieving his water bottle, keeping his eyes on April as she moved around the bar. It didn't really surprise him that she didn't want him here. The last time he'd used the Star de Lune to meet with a client it had ended in a fist fight of epic proportions. Several people, including himself, had left the club with a black eye and dislocated fingers. He didn't normally start fights; James was always the type of person to be dragged into them and finish them. It wasn't a weekly occurrence though; his meetings were usually brief and pleasant, with no casualties. It could get heated, of course, as most conversations can, but James was a seasoned expert at defusing explosive situations.

James smirked as April returned to the bar, shooing her daughter away.

"Any problems at all and I'll have Seth break both of your legs, understand?" she threatened, jabbing a dainty finger in his direction. He grinned, bobbing his head once.

"You have my word, and my word is my bond."

April rolled her eyes as she walked away. This allowed James to swivel in his seat and look around. In the original club, there had only been one bar, but now there was two. The club had been renovated to accommodate more patrons, with a pair of bar tenders manning each bar. Between them was a large dance floor, a large disco-ball hanging from the roof. The stage was to his right, with an elevated platform for the DJ booth. The stage itself had a set of triple-bass drums, a keyboard and four microphones, perfect for when live bands played.

Hanging on the wall behind the stage was a huge black and red curtain, hiding the secret entrance into the upstairs loft. The loft was home to April's family, but he had never been up there. She hated him with every fiber of her being, but he didn't mind. It's not like he wanted to be friends with them at all, but being on speaking terms with the club owner was more useful than anything else; it allowed him to operate in her club without being shot out of a cannon into the sun at her slightest whim. He'd been to the roof before, but that was a separate entrance all together which took him far away from the house.

Next to the stage was a staircase which led to the VIP loft. His eyes trailed up the spiral staircase to the top where his client was standing, his mammoth figure leaning over the railing to observe the few people in the club. James replaced the cap on his water bottle, put on his hood and pulled up the balaclava that had been curled around his neck. Most of his clients hadn't seen his true face, which is the way he wanted it to be; anonymity was key to his job. He headed for the stairs, climbing up them two at a time. He was as silent as a cat, and when he reached the top he slipped into a seat at the back before his client had a chance to turn around.

When he did however turn, he took a step back and blinked, surprised to see someone sitting behind him. Then he smirked, stepping over.

"Good evening, Lasombra."

James bobbed his head once, indicating for the tall man to take a seat in the booth. He did, stretching his long legs underneath the table.

"What can I help you with today?"

The man raised an eyebrow, leaning back in the seat. James took a good look at him; he had long ginger hair, tied back in a pony-tail, and a red biker bandanna wrapped around his forehead. He had piercing green eyes, a narrow nose and a goatee. On his chest was a Megadeth t-shirt that looked incredibly faded. He was muscular, but lean; imposing, but relaxed. James had had dealings with his son-in-law before, but not this man particularly, but James knew exactly who he was. Mark Calaway wasn't exactly hard to forget once you saw him.

"Xander told me you're the man to see..."

James raised an eyebrow.

"For what?"

"For locating people who are incredibly hard to find."

James smirked and picked at the table-top, his boredom incredibly clear. On the inside, he was laughing. His public image was a bad-ass who could break someone's nose just by looking at them funny. He wasn't a bad guy, really, he just needed to appear to be mysterious. It kept people out of his business and away from him.

"It's part of the job description."

"I'm aware. So can you help me?"

James looked away, maintaining his aloof demeanor. He looked back at Mark and quirked an eyebrow.

"Who's the target?"

"I don't know much; she's my daughter that I've never met. She'd be new to town, she wouldn't know her way around and she'd be trying to find her siblings."

"Appearance? Name? You aren't giving me much to go on, here, Deadman, and there is only so much even I can do."

Mark smirked and leaned forward, keeping his voice low.

"Like I said, I've never met her. Her mother told me she'd run away and needs her back. I'll pay you however much money it takes for you to find her."

James leaned forward as well, eyeing Mark closely.

"Did her mother give you a name, or was she being vague."

Mark smirked and leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head.

"Vague is her specialty."

James rolled his eyes, leaning backwards. Of course this is how the conversation was going to go; he shouldn't have even agreed to this. It was bad enough he had to come back to the Star de Lune to meet this guy, but now he was giving him the single most vague and difficult job in the history of vague and difficult jobs. He had to find someone who had just arrived in town, with no name and no appearance to go by? It was like finding specific grain of sand in the Sahara Desert; next to impossible. Of all the things it could have been, it had to be this.

"She'll be pretty hard to convince to come home; apparently she's been adamant about leaving home for a very long time," Mark said, interrupting James' train of thought. He looked at the much older man and blinked, taking in what he'd said.

"I can be pretty convincing."

"It'll take patience this time, Lasombra."

James smirked under the balaclava and stood up, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He walked off towards the stairs, stopping as he reached them.

"Sometimes I pray for patience." He turned his head to face Mark who was lowering a glass to the table. "Sometimes I pray for a gun. I'll find her."

James caught Mark's confused blink before he sat on the banister of the stairs, using his impeccable balance to stay upright as he slid all the way down, stepping onto the bottom step and walking towards the main door. He turned his head, watching April closely as she stared at him from the stage, holding a duster in one hand, the other placed firmly on her hips. He smirked at her and disappeared out the door, deciding to begin his search for Mark Calaway's wayward offspring, however long that would take.

~X~

It was midnight when James arrived at the bus depot, his motorcycle coming to a stop near the front door. The Santa Monica Bus Depot was empty, save for the few junkies shooting up under the street lights and the night manager. Carlos Martinez had been a long time informant of his, knowing all the comings and goings of the desperate runaways that used Los Angeles as their 'clean slate'. It didn't really matter to James who he was looking for, all he knew was he had a job to do and Carlos was going to help him find the girl he was looking for.

Climbing off his bike and venturing up the stairs towards the office, he winced, feeling a burn around his wrist. He looked down at the wooden bracelet that had been around his wrist for the last few years. It was a plain looking bracelet; brown in color with three white circles with dots in the middle on each rectangular segment. Lines had been scratched into the top and bottom of each piece, making it a very unique piece of jewelry. He scowled down at it, shaking away the heat that was radiating up his arm and forcing his way into the office.

Carlos, with all the Latin charm he could muster, was flirting clumsily with a blonde girl. She looked shaky and nervous, like she'd come all the way to the city by herself and didn't know what the hell she was doing. James leaned against the door way and grinned, ignoring the burning throb in his arm.

"Please, sir, all I need is a place to stay. I do not require anything else," she all but whispered, fiddling with her fingers. James raised an eyebrow, observing the poor girl. She had waist length, platinum blonde hair, some of it pulled back into a pony-tail. She wore a red singlet shirt and a pair of faded Daisy Dukes, complete with a white woven belt. On her feet were a pair of worn in, red and white sneakers. She looked as lost as a puppy in a lion's den.

"A fine girl like you will need more than that," Carlos joked, reaching forward to touch the girl on the wrist. She pulled away, the white beaded bracelets on her wrist jangling as she moved. Carlos moved to intercept her as she backed away.

James knew exactly where this was going; Carlos was a colossal pervert, to the point of stalker tendencies. He had his uses, yes, but James would still not stand for anyone hurting such an innocent girl.

Slipping passed the girl, James dropped to his knees, swinging his right leg around. His leg collided with Carlos' ankles, causing the Mexican to fall face first to the ground, barely missing the corner of the coffee table in the center of the room. James stood, standing on Carlos' back to keep him pinned to the ground. The girl blinked her startling green eyes at him, taken aback by everything that had just happened.

"Excuse Carlos' rapey nature; he hasn't gotten laid in a long time," he mewled, grinning as his informant wiggled beneath him.

"Yo, èse, I wasn't gonna hurt her none, lemme go!"

James looked down at Carlos and grinned more, reaching towards Carlos' desk to retrieve his cigarettes. He pulled one from the pack and lit it before responding.

"Why don't I believe you, my Spanish speaking friend? You have been known to pursue the young ladies a little too enthusiastically."

"Jimmy, that was one time!"

"Doesn't matter, Martinez. I'm sure young..." He looked at the girl who was standing near the door, holding her hands near her throat as she watched. "What's your name, love?"

"B-b-Brooke," she stuttered, her voice barely audible. James nodded and looked back down at Carlos.

"I'm sure young Brooke doesn't appreciate your advances and would like to go home to a warm bed. So why don't you crawl back into the slime you climbed out of, hm?"

He pressed against Carlos' back for emphasis as he stepped away, grabbing Brooke's hand before the fuming Mexican could get up and chase them out the door.

Brooke couldn't help giggling as James handed her his spare helmet and climbed onto the back of his bike. She curled her arms around his waist and held on tight as he kicked the stand up and pulled away from the curb, gunning his bike to life. It was getting too late to continue his search for his target, so he would drop Brooke at a hostel and call it a night. Or perhaps he would let her stay at his apartment with him, allowing her a safe haven until he found the one he was looking for. Hopefully she was as clueless as he thought she was and she wouldn't discover his nightly activities, or his darkest secret.

He just needed to keep her away from Willa.