A projection of Eddie Michaels behind the wheel of a bright blue Cadillac flickers across every wall. As much of a fan as I am, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this video before, and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to its glorious nostalgic scenery. Eddie belts out the verse as he cruises down the titular Pacific Coast Highway, joyfully announcing all the things he loves about California.
We’ve nearly crossed the upper balcony now, making our way toward an inconspicuous back hallway. The video projections are nearly out of sight when something grips my mind and yanks me back into focus. It’s a terrible realization, one that drags my perception of this mysterious evening even deeper into the bog of absolute dread.
Eddie can drive.
There he is with the wind in his stark white hair and his hands on the wheel, not a care in the world as he rockets toward Malibu, the sunset blooming over his shoulders.
Eddie. Can. Drive.
And if Eddie can drive, then why the fuck am I here?
This new information crackles and sparks within me as the borders of tonight’s puzzle expand a little wider. Up until this point, a whole plethora of things about our mission could’ve been chalked up to random chance, but suddenly random chance is starting to feel like a plan.
There’s no time to dwell on this new information, however. I swiftly tuck my thoughts away in my mental filing cabinet, saving them for later. I can’t let anything get in the way of the present.
What I need to think about right now issurvival, and that means collecting as much information as possible, not obsessing over a single piece.
We enter the hallway, then push into a messy back office. Here, another muscular guy sits behind a large wooden desk. He straightens up, a confused look on his face as halts mid-bite on the sandwich he’s wolfing down.
“You won’t run away or try to escape,” Eddie loudly proclaims. “Don’t yell. Don’t scream. Stay calm.”
The man behind the desk relaxes, leaning back in his chair and continuing his meal. The security guard who followed us in here is equally casual in his demeanor, settling on a nearby couch.
Eddie closes the door behind us, muffling the thunderous music. He locks the door, then turns back to the guards. This room is small. Posters for DJ nights and drag shows hang everywhere, most of them half covered by a new flyer for some even more pressing event. The backwall features various office supplies stacked high on a shelf, then cascading out across a giant desk. There are printers and filing cabinets and paper cutters and cups full of pens and tape and scissors and a computer monitor.
The other half of this room serves as a break area, two ratty old couches facing each other and a small refrigerator tucked into the corner. There’s another door next to the fridge, probably leading even deeper into the building.
“Delete all your security footage from today and turn off the cameras,” Eddie commands, immediately prompting the security guards into action. The one behind the desk turns away from his sandwich and logs on to the desktop computer, swiftly typing in a password then focusing on the screen as he darts his mouse around. The other guard just stands in place behind him, watching intently and double-checking his work.
Eddie strolls casually back and forth as he waits, running his fingers gently along the shelf of office supplies.
Eventually, the security guard stops clicking and typing. He turns his attention back to Eddie.
“You finished?” Eddie asks.
The guards nod in unison.
Eddie pulls out his sheet of paper and opens it up. “Your boss lists this as his residential address. Henry Malton? He has an apartment above the club, yes?”
The security guards nod again.
“Is he in tonight? Maybe right through that door?”
The nodding continues.
Eddie smiles, picking up a pair of scissors from theshelf. “Catch!” he calls out, prompting one of the men to do just that.
The security guard gazes down at the large, sharp blades, confused by the implication.
Unfortunately, I already know where this is headed. “Wait!” I blurt. “Stop!”
“You two,” Eddie says, ignoring me as he lazily twirls a finger at the men. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re gonna have to kill each other. Get creative with it. When I get back, I better find something interesting.”
“No!” I shout, moving to intervene before Eddie cuts me off.
“Stop right there!” he bellows. “I should make you watch every second of this. Maybe then you’ll quit fucking around and get on board.”
The guards begin to wander, opening drawers and pulling out whatever tools they can find. The one with the scissors seems satisfied with his choice, stabbing them through the air like a batter checking his swing at home plate. The other man gets to work deconstructing the paper cutter, struggling to remove its razor-sharp handle from the rest of the device.
