Knife Edge

Knife Edge - chapter 17

When Ella stepped out of the cab into the hazy sunshine on Wilshire she felt as though she was, in some kind of time-stopping way, being reborn. The feeling of newness had stayed with her ever since she had seen her new face in the hall of mirrors at Heaven’s Gate.

It was so good to be alive. And she really felt alive; more so than she could ever remember. Even the more esoteric or academic pleasures she used to enjoy, by using her mind and intellect to their maximum capacity, simply did not compare with this. Everything she had ever known or learned told her it was all a cosmetic trick, sleight-of-hand surgery and that people really cared about what you really were and not how you looked.

A little way along the sidewalk a small group had gathered around a TV crew. Some kind of demonstration was taking place and an anchorwoman was pointing a pencil-thin probe microphone into the face of an angry middle aged man.

Ella stood and watched as Thomas Startz paid off the cab and joined her.

‘Well,’ he asked, ‘are you ready?’

‘You bet.’

They started to walk towards the Tropicana Club further on down the street. The anchorwoman turned and froze, clearly recognising Startz but not the woman. Her interest in the apoplectic, red-faced executive waned as she assessed the situation. Who was the woman? Whoever she was, she was sensational. She was a babe of the first order of magnitude and then some. So, was she a replacement for sister Holly?

Startz still had some news value. His famous sister had not been seen in public for some time. Her disappearance from the main stage of the glitterati circuit in LA was still a source of media interest. Heaven’s Gate and, in particular, the charismatic Thomas Startz were still incredibly successful. If anything, Holly Startz’s sudden and mysterious vanishing act had added to his enigmatic reputation. Where was Holly?

Thomas Startz had never commented. All he had ever said on the subject was that Holly had decided to opt out of the limelight and live a simpler and more spiritual life.

The question that had tantalised some journalists was still just as prevalent now as it was when they had been together. Were they really brother and sister?

One thing was certain, the TV news anchorwoman thought to herself. Whoever this lustrous lady was, she was definitely not Startz’s sister. She smelled a scoop coming on. She looked at the video operator with a second sense born of teamwork and turned to pounce as Startz and Ella approached.

As they neared the entrance to the Tropicana, Ella noticed the woman approaching holding her microphone like a rapier. She also felt Startz stiffen by her side and glanced at him. His face had turned a pallid white and he was staring at something a little further on down the street. Ella followed his gaze and saw a small group of mixed race bikers lounging around a newsstand. They were uniformly ugly, heavily scarred and decorated with alienating luminous stripes and tattoos. They wore their hair in the plaited and twisted single tail, multicoloured style of Deadheads, a particularly vicious, anarchic group of sub-cultural youth. One of them, the leader, Ella presumed, was particularly loathsome. He was fat and lily white but large, like a bloated carp with rainbow stripes embellishing his face, scalp and arms. It was this dangerous looking creature that Startz was staring at rigidly, increasing his pace to outflank the TV team at the same time.

Ella was aware that she was being spoken to. She turned to see the point of the probe mike inches from her nose. She opened her mouth to speak but the barrage of questions being thrown at Startz drowned her voice. By now they were entering the club through its mirage-like doors. Startz simply waved his arm at the anchorwoman shouting about privacy.