When he got over his false astonishment (we knew Sasha had already told him our plan), he asked how much we'd want to do this. Nothing; we were doing it for Phil. Then what kind of line in the credits did we want? None.

The meeting took as long as it did because it ended up with the producer threatening that if we didn't let him put both of our names high on the credits, he wouldn't let us do it. "You know how many more ticket and video sales I can make with your two names up there on the screen? The triumphant return together of Finky Linky and Oscar-winner Weber Gregston, writing the latest installment of Midnight! Jesus Christ, are you kidding? The press'll go crazy with this!"

Neither Wyatt nor I cared about a "triumphant return" to Hollywood, but if using our names was the condition under which things would be done our way, all right. We tentatively agreed and made a date to sign papers and see what was left of the film at the end of the week.

Our other meeting that day was with Dominic Scanlan and a friend of his on the police force. I knew of this other man only through Dominic's stories. His name was Charles something, but no one ever called him that. They called him "Blow Dry." Apparently even his children called him that.

As we were getting out of the car in the garage of the Beverly Center, Finky Linky asked, "Why are we having lunch at this dump with a man named Blow Dry?"

"Because Dominic says he's the most terrifying man he knows."

"Why do we want to meet him?"

"Because I have an idea. Actually, I have two ideas and he's going to help us on both."

"Don't you know enough horrible people?"

"Listen, Scanlan was a SEAL in Vietnam. You know about them? They made Special Forces look like sissies. He's also gotten four commendations for bravery from the police. When he says this guy is something, I want to meet him."

"Why here?"

"Because Blow Dry likes to come here on his lunch hour and shop."

"Please register my dissenting vote."

"I will. Let's go."

We rode the escalators up the side of the building with what seemed like everyone else in Los Angeles. Coincidentally, the first store we saw on entering the place was the pet shop where Phil had bought Flea.

"Where are we meeting Mr. Dry and Company?"

"At a computer store on the second floor."

"Changing the subject, have you thought about how you want to film the scene?"

"Yes. That's why I want to meet this guy."

Wyatt looked at me with his head cocked to one side. "Are you telling me something?"

"Not yet. I want to meet him first. Then I'll let you know what I'm thinking."

Clothes, food, intelligent toys, cutlery . . . you could probably buy everything you needed for the rest of your life at a big shopping mall. All the things for the different stages you'd go through would be included too. Want to be a hippie at fifteen and wear bell-bottom pants, eat whole grains, and listen to Vanilla Fudge? Third floor. Cut your hair at twenty-two, wear only black with rolled-up sleeves, and carry a black aluminum briefcase from Germany, don't forget the Ray Ban glasses? Fourth floor. Et cetera.

"Hey, guys!" We turned and there was Dominic with a big chocolate-chip cookie in his hand. "Don't mind this. I know we're going to eat lunch, but I can't resist these things."

"Where's Blow Dry?"

"Playing a computer game. Come on, I'll introduce you. I brought my T-shirt with me this time, Finky Linky. Will you sign it?"

"No."

"No?" Both Dominic and I looked at him.

"No, because I brought you something better." He handed over a bag he'd been carrying. Inside was a turquoise sweatshirt with a picture of Finky and his whole crew across the front.

"Hey, wow, that's wonderful! Thank you very much! I don't know what to say."

"You already said thank you once, Dom."

"Hey, B.D., there you are. We were just coming for you."

He was plain-looking, nothing more. A little bit over middle size, black hair, very round slightly pockmarked face framed by steel glasses over nothing eyes. He shook hands hard but not a crusher. Suit, white shirt, tie. If I saw him on the street I'd've guessed real estate salesman or insurance. Definitely not a policeman. Definitely not scary.

"What do you like to eat? They have everything here: Chinese, deli, whatever you want."

"I'd love a corned beef sandwich."

"You got it."

Wyatt and Dominic trailed behind us as we walked toward the restaurant.

"Should I call you –"

"Call me B.D., Weber. That's all right."

His voice was calm, uninteresting. I kept wanting to look straight at him but didn't.

"How come you wanted to meet me?"

"Dominic says you're the man I'm looking for."

"Looking for how?"

"I asked him to introduce me to the scariest guy he knew."

Dominic came up from behind. "What he really said was, 'Who's the scariest motherfucker you know?' B.D., I couldn't tell a lie."

Lunch was corned beef and talk about the LA Lakers. The scariest man Dominic knew dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin after every few bites and seemed bored by us.

"B.D., what was the most frightening thing that ever happened to you?"

"I saw some stuff in Vietnam that gave me something to think about. And you work for the police long enough. . . . No, wait a minute! I can tell you exactly what. The most frightening thing that ever happened to me was when I was a little kid. This is going to sound crazy, but I think you'll get what I mean.

"When I was six or seven, my mother took me for the first time to spend the night at my grandma's house over on Wilcox. Nice old woman. Anyway, I was all excited because I'd never slept anywhere but my own bed. This was a big thing, you know? Well, after Mom went away, Grandma and I stayed up late watching The Untouchables and eating these big caramel sundaes she made for us. I was in heaven: watching Untouchables, staying up past nine, ice cream. . . . Finally it was time to hit the sack. I was sleeping in the same bed with her, and about as soon as I got under the covers I was out like a light.

"Now, maybe half an hour later I woke up hearing this giant fucking monster right next to me! You know? I mean, it was right there! Going rrraaawww . . . glllllkkkk . . . rrraaawww. . . . I came out of sleep like a shot, but what could I do, run away or something?"

I started smiling, which turned into chuckling, which I tried to hold back by putting a hand over my mouth. Impossible. The – of them looked at me. Blow Dry smiled.

"You know, huh?"

"I know, and I understand! How old were you?"

"Six. You remember how it was then."

Dominic looked at us. "So what the fuck happened? What's with the monster?"

B.D. looked at me and winked. "The monster was my grandma snoring! That's what the growling was. I'd never heard anyone do that before. Can you imagine what a loud snorer sounds like in the dark to a six-year-old kid?"

"Aw, come on, B.D., get the fuck out of here! You're telling me you were more scared in that bed hearing your grandmother snore than –"

"I was never more scared in my life, Dominic." The way Blow Dry said the sentence was like a guillotine blade coming down. Whatever charm and sweetness the story had had died right there and left us looking at the man who'd told it.

I was with him often after that day but never saw any of the malevolence Dominic attributed to him in story after ghastly story. The only part of his menace I experienced was hearing the feral tone of that one short sentence. It was enough. I'd found our Bloodstone.