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The nephew opens and closes his fingers around the champagne glass.

“I don’t believe you. You come in here claiming to want to fix things. So know what? Fuck you. The only one who’s offered any real help is Tamerlan Radescu.”

“Radescu’s been around? What did he want?”

“Like I said. To help.”

“The bastard,” mutters the pompadour.

“Shut up,” says the nephew.

“Why’s he a bastard?” I say.

No one says anything.

“Boys, I have nowhere to be, so if you want to get rid of me, tell me something.”

“What Eddie means is Tamerlan drives a hard bargain,” the nephew says. “He wants a piece of our business.”

“A big piece,” says the pompadour.

The nephew throws the last of his champagne at the kid.

“Don’t go telling this fucker our business.”

“Let me get this straight. Tamerlan Radescu told you he knows what’s going on and can maybe make ­people start dying again?”

The pompadour uses a thumbnail to scrape at a flaw in the ice on the edge of the table. The nephew shakes his head back and forth like he can’t believe this is his life. I can see that he’s had about enough. Scared or not, he’s close to making a scene to get security over here.

“One last question. Did Tamerlan say anything about the Angel of Death?”

The nephew says, “He said the last thing he wants is what’s going on. Both of our businesses rely on complete death. These loafers in comas are hitting business hard.”

The nephew’s eyes go hard. Time to stop pressing my luck. I get up. The pompadour reaches to retrieve his glass, but it’s frozen solid to the table where I spilled the champagne.

“Thanks, boys. Come around the Bamboo House sometime. I’ll buy you all milk shakes.”

“Don’t think just ’cause we talked to you we believe you, Stark,” says the nephew. “We know you’re part of this, and when we get proof, my uncle is going to the Augur and he’ll put a hit out on you himself.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see a woman sit up straight, like she’s startled. I turn and find Tykho, head of L.A.’s more powerful vampire gang, having drinks with a cluster of business creeps in one of the VIP areas. She smiles and nods when she sees me. She’s the only one in the club not wearing a parka. Being a shroud eater has its advantages.

I turn back to the boys.

“You don’t know where I could get some brass knuckles, do you?”

“Get out,” says the nephew.

I head for the front door, tossing the parka a

nd ten dollars to a coat-­check girl on the way out.

“Thanks for the loan,” I say.

She looks at me funny, but doesn’t say anything. Just pockets the money. Smart kid. One day she’ll be a millionaire.

When I get back to the car I almost call Julie, then think twice about it on the off chance she asks me how I got into the club. Instead, I’ll write down the meeting when I get home. I figure I can remember the important parts because they were so few and far between. From what the nephew and the pompadour said, it sounds like Tamerlan might be flat-­out blackmailing the Cold Cases. I wonder who else he’s muscling? And how did he get a line on Death? What’s changed that he has that kind of power? I can’t wait to hear what Brigitte comes up with.

I START THE Crown Vic and head south on the 101. Get off in Little Tokyo, pick up a few things from a bakery, then swing the car west to Beverly Hills. I leave it in a lot on Wilshire and head up Rodeo Drive on foot.