Peter comes out the front door, suit immaculate, shoes mirror-polished, nose as brown as you’d expect from the way he shoves it up Chu’s ass. “Mister Carter,” he says, clearly annoyed. This is a side of him I haven’t seen, yet. I wonder how much worse he can get.

I give the door staff my best winning smile. “This is the carpet-shitter I was talking about.”

“Please stop harassing the staff,” Peter says. “They’re specially trained and I would like to continue to use the services of their employers. Did I hear you right that you’ve found something?”

“Yep. Pretty sure it’ll do the trick, too.” He thinks about it, weighs his options. Leave me out here where I can do untold damage to anyone else coming up, or usher me into a side room where I won’t scare the straights, but will be inside along with them. I kind of feel for him. Neither of these are great choices.

He finally comes to a decision and scowls. “All right,” he says. “Come with me. I’m pretty sure he can spare a few minutes for you.”

“You’re kind of an annoying prick, you know that?” I say.

“Yes. That’s why I’ve got this job. Come on. Let’s not make it any easier for David’s guests to see you.”

Oh, we can’t have that. When shit gets heavy I want these people one foot out the door already. The minute we’re inside I veer off and grab a handful of chicken on little toothpicks that a waitress is passing around and a glass of wine from another and start looking for Chu.

The place is balls deep in L.A.’s elite. I recognize faces, but I don’t know most of the names. Politicians, rockers, actors, financiers. This is an industry town, after all, but it’s not always clear what that industry is. I recognize a couple of mages, and apparently they recognize me, throwing wary glances my way as if I’m going to call up Santa Muerte herself. I give them a big smile as I walk by.

I see Chu in deep conversation with someone who looks pretty important. I’ve seen his face, at least, and at this point I don’t think Chu’d be talking to anybody who wasn’t.

“Davey!” I yell, immediately getting everybody’s attention. I nibble at one of the chicken skewers, bite into some gristle and spit it out over the shoulder of a woman standing next to me. All of the color drains out of his face.

That’s right, Davey boy, I’m your worst drunk uncle flappin’ his penis at the party guests at your senior prom nightmare. Best deal with me quickly.