"Or Cher."
"Okay, Mr. Stark…"
"Stark. No 'mister.' Just Stark."
"Okay, Just Stark. Here's the thing - I quit. I can run this place in my sleep, but Mr. Kasabian obviously doesn't trust me enough, so he brings in some, if you'll excuse me, thug buddy to keep an eye on me? No fucking thanks."
"The last thing I'm here to do is keep an eye on you. The truth is, I don't have any place to stay and Kasabian told me I could crash upstairs. The running-the-shop thing is purely honorary. As far as I'm concerned, you're in charge. Run the place any way you like."
"You still look like somebody I probably shouldn't know."
"Yeah, you said that." I take a step toward her, waiting to see if she'll take a step back. She doesn't. Nervous, but brave. I like her already. "Listen, a thug is someone who's out for no one but himself. Me? I take care of my friends." Alice's face flashes in my brain, a reminder of how empty a promise like that can be. Good intentions and a dime won't get you a damned thing in this world. Reluctantly, I push Alice back into the dark. "Stay here and I guarantee that you'll work in the safest video store in L.A."
"Gee, that's not at all terrifying."
"Also, whatever Kasabian has been paying you, I'll give you a fifty percent raise."
Now I have her attention.
"You can do that?"
"There's no one here to tell me I can't. I figure, as long as I'm technically in charge, I can pay people whatever I like."
"When will Mr. Kasabian be back?"
"I have no idea. You know how these family things are. It could be a while."
She nods, looks down, then up at me. "Okay. I'll stay. For now."
Hallelujah. "Thank you, Allegra."
"You're welcome, Just Stark."
I WAIT FOR an hour upstairs, until the store fills with the lunch-hour crowd. When there's enough ambient noise downstairs, I figure that I can check on Kasabian and be covered if he starts screaming again.
He's right where I left him on the shelf. When he sees me, he doesn't scream. He just moans.
"For chrissake, put a bullet in my head or change the goddamn channel!"
On the set, some daytime talk show is playing. An older guy in a suit and a bottle blonde are talking about an actress I never heard of and a pasta maker that's going to change everyone's life.
"Please, turn this shit off."
"I don't know. That sounds like one damn fine pasta maker."
"Fuck you."
"Do you have a car?"
He stares at the TV, ignoring me. I reach over and turn down the sound.
"The keys are in my right hand pocket," he says.
I tilt his comatose body to the side so I can reach into his pocket. Got 'em.
"What kind of car is it?"
"Give me back my body."