A Luna Blued

Driving into L.A. around the hour of the wolf, rounding that curve just past the Cesar Chavez exit off the 101, two lanes swoop through an old tunnel, past exiting dreams, then slip on into downtown. Our Lady of the Angels watches over the freeway; so does the L.A. County jail… both hungry for souls that have drowned. I drove by fast, I liked driving free on moonlit streets and tonight the moon was full round.

It cast an eerie glow on the hookers outside the IHOP on Sunset and Cherokee and bathed two lovers in creamy gold as they hurried across the street, sharing a sweet Thai Tea. A few blocks down, at Tang’s near Hyperion, two cops who looked about twelve bit into a couple of plain glazeds stuffed with cream and never saw the blue van roll by.

But I did. And I’d seen it before, stealing away down a Baja road outside Ensenada Joe’s after snatching, I was certain, a little girl begging for one dime more. And I’d done nothing… so far.

So now I jumped into my LeBaron and tailed it down the boulevard, lined with after-hours partiers scarfing Mee Grob and starless air. But I lost him as he rounded the corner by Madame Matisse and Uncle Jer’s.

It’s a big city sure but now that I knew he was here, I’d find him; I’d made a vow… to try and help my sister and other stolen girls, someway, somehow.

And if I didn’t fail, if I untethered their childhood, I’d eat a double shot of C.C. Brown’s and try and remember the good.

Rhea.