Happy not to be turned into a flesh Popsicle, Jerry very slowly made his way through the crowd of little girls, trying not to turn his back on any of them and, realizing that was impossible, jerking his head from side to side trying to look at them all at once. That cracked the girls up. When he was clear of them, he ran for the escalator.

“Pussy!” shouted one. Fleeing, Jerry knew that he was in no position to argue the point.

Just as he passed a bar, a man and woman came running out. He wondered if they were running from another gang of moppets when he recognized one of them.

“Coop,” he whispered. “Coop.”

He took a few steps back and let the couple pass. They ran down the escalator, and after a moment’s pause, Jerry went down after them. They slowed as they crossed the lobby, and so did Jerry. When they went out one of the side exits, he waited a few seconds and followed them. They were climbing a ladder when he came out. When they were out of sight, he went up after them, pushing open a trapdoor at the top of the ladder, where he was shocked to find himself on Hollywood Boulevard.

Coop and the woman were half a block ahead, heading east. Jerry got as close to them as he safely could and when they crossed Highland Avenue, he darted down the street, jumped into his mother’s yellow Prius, and tore around the corner onto Hollywood Boulevard. Or, rather, gave chase as quickly as a Prius would allow. He followed the two of them, always keeping half a block behind, until they reached a darker section of the Boulevard. When Coop and the woman got into a Honda Civic and drove off, they headed the wrong way. So he held his breath, hoping there were no cops around, and pulled a fast U-turn.

Maybe Dad and the others won’t believe me about Jinx Town, but they’ll have to believe this.

TWENTY-FIVE

LAUREL CANYON PERCHED DIRECTLY ABOVE LOS ANGELES, one of the most expensive collections of winding hills and valleys in the country. Luckily, there were roads that twisted up and down the tortured ridges, or the only things that would have been there were hippies, backpackers, prairie dogs, and the occasional mountain lion dining on the aforementioned hippies, backpackers, and prairie dogs. Unfortunately, because of those roads and the billion-dollar real estate, the most common life-forms were douche bags, plastic surgeons, fading film producers, and labradoodles. Laurel Canyon had a long and colorful history, which is much too complex to go into here, except to say that it’s long and colorful, and that what’s in the history books was almost entirely wrong. The books go on about Indian tribes, the Spanish, the local wildlife, the local fauna, yet somehow leave out the inhabitants of Lemuria completely.