Chapter 4

CLUB CARITAS, LOS ANGELES

MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.

"Don't let your friends say you have no taste.

Go ahead and marry, anyway.

So, her face is ugly. Her eyes don't match.

Take it from me, she's a better catch!"

'If you want to be happy for the rest of your life,

Never make a pretty woman your wife.

So, from my personal point of view,

Get an ugly girl to marry you!"

Lorne opened his eyes, and looked at me.

"OK, Mick! That's enough. Your choice of song clearly shows me you have commitment issues."

"I thought it was supposed to show you images of the person I'm looking for."

"I meant in the psychological sense. Not the sixth sense!"

"I'm not here for marriage counseling, Lorne. I'm here for more info on this Angel character!"

"Alright, alright! Don't bite my head off!"

Krevlorn'swath of the Dethlok Clan was a humanoid demon, from another dimension, who could see into the near-future for anyone who sang to him. I had first met him during a kidnapping case involving a little girl named Beth Turner. And, I had occasionally consulted him ever since.

"He's fled to San Francisco, just as you thought. And, he's not alone. There are two others with him. A very pretty young woman. And, an Irishman who's actually half-demon!"

"Did you see _where_ in Frisco he fled to?"

"Some fleabag hotel in Chinatown. I can draw you the Mandarin ideograms I envisioned on the neon sign. But, I can't, for the life of me, pronounce them!"

"That'll do fine."

Lorne was as good as his word. Although, I wish he had used regular scrap paper (instead of a large cocktail napkin). In any case; as I was leaving the club, Lorne told me one more thing.

"Be careful, Mick! You won't be the only one looking for him."

Lindsey McDonald's fingers nervously drummed on the steering wheel of his gray Ford pickup truck.

"Would you take it easy?" admonished Boone: "Here he comes now."

"This is a bad idea," replied Lindsey: "He's a vampirized ex-cop, for Pete's sake! So, he's bound to notice us tailing him."

"Not with our little jamming device in the back, there."

Boone gestured to the lump underneath the tarpaulin that covered the floor of the pickup's bed.

"OK!" exclaimed Lindsey: "He's pulling out. How much of a head start do we give him?"

"Wait ten seconds," instructed Boone: "Then, go."

MICK ST. JOHN'S P.O.V.

I made another detour. This time, to the Chinatown of Los Angeles, where I had another contact of mine interpret those Mandarin ideograms for me. It turns out that they translate into English as "The House of Lavender Flame." And, when I paid him for his services, I turned my car northward.

My side-trips had cost me some valuable time. So, I knew I wouldn't be getting to San Francisco before dawn. I therefore decided to rest up for the day, at a little place roughly equidistant between there and L.A. A small town that I had begun hearing more about, recently. I exited the highway at a sign that read:

"Sunnydale

Food Phone

Lodging"

tbc

"If You Wanna Be Happy..."

by Frank Guida

1963 (SPQR/London Records)