He lived on a sleepy dead-end street in one of those semi-"Mission"-style houses that were built by the blockful at one time in California. When Wyatt pulled up in front, the Doors' "Light My Fire" was blaring out of the house onto the street.

"Is that coming from his house?"

"I think so. But Rainer hates rock and roll music."

Wyatt gestured at the noise. "Guess he changed his mind."

"Rainer never changed his mind about anything. Let's go."

We walked across a browning lawn full of bald patches and healthy weeds. Rainer liked to garden. The last time I'd been to the house, this lawn had looked like a prizewinner. Now it looked like a skin disease.

On the porch the screen door was wide open and a number of black flies buzzed lazily in and out of the house.

"Reminds me of Flakey Foont's house in Zap Comix."

"Or Tobacco Road." I rang the bell. Over the crashing music inside, someone yelled for us to come in.

"Rainer?" I went in slowly.

"Yeah?"

"Rainer, it's Weber Gregston. Where are you?"

"Back here. Just keep coming."

We walked through a house that was not just dirty, it was . . . unclean. Smelling thickly fetid and disturbing, it gave you the feeling something might be dead here. Moving slowly, I felt Finky Linky take hold of one of the belt loops on the back of my jeans. He whispered, "You don't mind, do you?" I smiled and shook my head. "Good, because I wasn't going to let go anyway."

"Rainer, where the hell are you?"

"Back here. Keep coming."

We came upon what I suppose was his bedroom. At least there was a mattress on the floor with Rainer on it.

"Weber, how are you? And Finky Linky!" He was propped against the wall wearing nothing more than a pair of underpants and black socks. His hair was long and stringy, dirty. It was almost like seeing another person, because part of Rainer's Hessian image had always been steel-gray hair cut almost to the skull.

"What're you two doing here?"

"We came to talk about Phil."

"Phil?"

"Phil Strayhorn."

He squinted, trying to remember the name of the man he'd made four films with. "Phil Strayhorn? Oh, yeah, sure. Phil. He's dead. You know that? Phil's dead."

"Yes, we know that. What's the matter, Rainer? You look like hell."

He smiled. "I do? I feel good. Don't know why I look like hell 'cause I feel good."

"Are you high?"

"High? No, Finky, you know I don't do drugs. Don't even drink. Just feel good." He got up slowly, helping himself with a hand hard against the wall behind him. "I'm on vacation for a while. Takin' it easy and listening to some music." His head dropped back and closing his eyes, he began swaying slowly to the Doors' next song.

"Can I turn it down a little while we talk?" Without waiting for an answer, Wyatt walked over to the large stereo unit in a corner and turned it off. "That's better. You want something to eat, Rainer? Or something to drink?"

"No, I'm fine. Sit down, guys. Ask me whatever you want."

The next half hour was a strange experience. The man looked like Rainer, talked like him most of the time, and knew things only he could know, but neither Wyatt nor I could say for sure if it was him. The man we knew wasn't completely there – only parts. Recognizable parts, certainly, but not one hundred percent Rainer Artus. Wyatt agreed when I said later it was like those flies buzzing around the front door – they kept coming and going from the house. Only here, our man kept coming and going from the strange person we were talking with.

I asked him questions about the film we'd made together – small questions, unimportant ones, that only a person who'd been on the set would have remembered. He knew everything and laughed at some of the memories. It was Rainer. No. No, it wasn't.

"Listen, please. This is an important question. Remember when you shot that sequence in Midnight Kills when Bloodstone did his monologue? I guess it was the only time he ever said anything."

"Sure. What do you want to know about it?"

"Do you know where the film is? It seems that section has kind of disappeared."

"You check with the studio?"

"We checked with the studio, the lab, Sasha Makrianes, everyone. The whole piece is gone."

"That's mysterious." He said the word, but his tone of voice said he wasn't interested in this mystery at all.

"You don't know where it is?"

"No."

"Do you remember the scene? What he said?"

"It was a closed set, and when we were through with the shot Phil took my tapes and Alex Karsandi's film and said he would take care of the processing and the lab himself. He'd never done that before but he's the boss, so we gave it to him." It was the most Artus had said at one time since we'd been there and appeared to tire him out. It was plain he didn't have much more in him, and we'd have to get whatever other information we needed fast.

"What did he say, Rainer? What kind of things did he talk about in that scene?"

He rubbed his face with both hands and looked at us vaguely, as if only having just gotten up for the day. "He did it ad lib. None of that scene was in the original script. We all got the feeling he was making things up as he went along. He talked about evil and pain . . . but nothing you haven't heard already. A bad guy telling why he's bad. Nothing special.

"What was bad came at the end of the scene when Bloodstone killed the little girl. Christ, it looked real! None of us knew how he did it. This great-looking kid, maybe eight or nine. He went through this 'Why I'm bad' spiel and then brought her out from the wings, like a magician about to do a trick on someone from the audience.

"None of us knew what he was up to, but Phil was a good ad libber so we just left him alone. Matthew Portland had brought the girl on the set, but she'd been hanging back in the wings so quietly I'd forgotten about her."

"What was her name? Do you remember her name?"

He rubbed a hand over his face again. "Yeah, I remember because it was a funny name: 'Pinslip.' He didn't call her anything else. Brought this little Pinslip out and a moment later, with the camera rolling, Bloodstone cut her throat while she was singing this song he told her to sing." His mouth started moving as if he were chewing gum. "In my town when I was a kid there was this crazy woman we called 'Salad.' I don't know where the name came from. We used to go around scaring her whenever we could." His mouth kept moving. He looked at me, and his eyes cleared for a moment. "Ever since we finished that film I haven't felt so good. I don't want to make another Midnight. The money's good and Phil's a king, but I'm not going to do it again. I've got to call and tell him that. Is he back in town yet?"

"There she is – by the car."

Shading his eyes against the sun, Finky Linky looked toward the street. Pinsleepe was standing by a tree with a bright orange ball in her hands. Seeing us, she waved happily.

"If she's an angel then she can save me, can't she, Weber?"

"I guess so, Wyatt. Maybe she can."

We started off the porch toward her. She moved toward us.

"Hello, Finky Linky. Yes, I can save you."

He looked at me. She looked at me.

"Why didn't you tell me about that scene?"

"I can't tell you everything, Weber. Phil told you that on the tapes, didn't he?"

"Why do you talk like a child sometimes and like a grown-up others?"

"Because I'm both. Today I look like a kid with an orange ball. What did you find out from Rainer?"

"What happened to him? What's the matter?"

"Midnight Kills is the matter. So you know about me being killed in the film?"

"Yes. Did Phil know he was going to do it?"

"I think so. When he asked me onto the set, I thought it was to show how he'd decided to change the scene for the good. But he was too far gone by then. Whatever little good was left in him, he had to kill and show the whole world. No better place to do that than a movie."