5. Chapter 5 Tinsel Town Troubles

Chapter 5: Tinsel Town Troubles

G rum

Despite all the excitement this morning, it’s still fairly early. I’m regretting every life choice that led me here and it’s barely past eleven AM? Joy bounces ahead of me, her ridiculous jingle bell earrings chiming with each step. How can anyone be this cheerful so close to dawn?

“Come on, Grum! We’ve got a solid lead!” she chirps, then quickens her steps.

“You said the rental agent couldn’t find her ass with both hands, how—”

“I said she lacked competence.”

“Right. On your side of Maple Street, it’s ‘lacked competence’. On the Zone side of Maple, it’s ‘can’t find their ass with both hands’,” I grumble, trudging after her.

Joy spins around, her green eyes sparkling with determination. “The rental company got back to me with the license plate number of the truck. With that and the LoJack coordinates, this should be a slam dunk!”

Great. As if this whole situation wasn’t ridiculous enough, now we’re playing detective in the biggest tourist trap in Los Angeles. “You do realize how many trucks rumble through that neighborhood on any given day, right?”

“That’s why we’ve got no time to waste!” Joy insists, heading toward a beat-up car.

The drive to Hollywood is a nightmare of traffic and Joy’s incessant Christmas carol humming—and those damn clanging earrings. By the time we reach Hollywood Boulevard, my patience is hanging by a thread and I’m wondering if Brokka was exaggerating when he said he’d fire me if I didn’t fulfill this community service punishment.

“Um, this is the address she gave me.” Joy’s tone is anxious, because there are no trucks in sight.

For some reason, I want to console her, but there’s nothing reassuring about this.

She pulls into a parking spot, checks her notes, then says, “Give me a minute to think” as she closes her eyes. “Maybe the woman at the rental agency read the information wrong. Perhaps the truck is parked in one of the alleyways or parking structures nearby. I say we do some searching on foot.”

I bite my tongue, stifling my complaint after deciding Joy doesn’t need one more ounce of stress.

For the next hour, we comb the area but see no sign of a fifteen-foot-long, school-bus-yellow rental truck.

“Look!” She points accusingly to her phone’s glowing face. “The link the woman sent me says it should be right here.”

Joy’s shoulders sag and she looks me straight in the eye as though I have the ability to bolster her spirits. And damned if there isn’t some part deep inside me that wishes I could fix this for her, but I’m no detective.

“Maybe…” I’m searching for something that might cheer her up, “we could give the kids… baked goods?” That was awful, but at least I tried.

“These kids, human and Other, won’t get much for Christmas. They’re from low socioeconomic backgrounds.”

I must admit, there’s something nice about her not just labeling them poor.

I spy a piece of electronic equipment at our feet. It’s about the size of a cell phone. As I reach to pick it up, Joy scrolls through her phone, and then hands it to me. On her screen is a picture of what the LoJack device looks like—a carbon copy of what I’m holding in my hand.

“The jerks ripped the LoJack device out of the truck and left it here to mock us,” I grumble.

“Darn.” Joy’s reply might be tame, but the devastated look on her face more accurately tells the tale of how angry and demoralized she is.

“I guess we need to go to Plan B.” I try to sound upbeat. It’s something new to my vocal cords and I don’t think I pulled it off very well.

“What’s Plan B?”

“Baked goods. It wasn’t that bad of an idea—”

“No! I appreciate your help, but we’re not giving cupcakes to a bunch of needy kids.”

I don’t protest, but I was thinking of at least a cupcake and a candy cane.

“Let’s ask around,” she declares, pointing to a group of people in shabby elf costumes. “Maybe they’ve seen something.”

“I hate to break it to you, Joy, but I think we’d see a big, yellow truck if it was here.”

“But what if they’ve offloaded the boxes by now? The presents might be right behind a closed door. We just need to do some sleuthing.”

I don’t say a word, don’t want to burst her bubble. As we take off toward the ragtag group, I make a mental note that this is both the first and last time anyone will use the word “sleuthing” in my presence.

Hollywood Boulevard is a circus of tourists, street performers, and glittering lights. The smell of greasy food and car exhaust mixes with the artificial pine scent wafting from nearby Christmas displays. It’s sensory overload, and my orc senses are in agony, but Joy is too forlorn for me to complain right now. I simply follow her lead on this ridiculous mission of hers.

We approach the group of “elves,” who are aggressively offering to pose for pictures with tourists—for a fee, of course.

“Excuse me,” Joy chirps to the nearest guy, who looks like he’s used a little too much white powder and needs about sixty hours of sleep. The fake pointed ear hanging off his real one isn’t a good look. “Have you seen a yellow rental truck around here recently?”

The elf’s eyes narrow suspiciously as he assesses me. For a quarter of a century, Others weren’t allowed to leave the Zone except to work. We have a few more freedoms now, but we’re still an oddity. He must decide I’m harmless, because he stares at me pointedly, juts his chin, and challenges, “Information ain’t free, lady. How about a donation to the North Pole Renewal Fund?”

Joy’s face falls for a moment, but she quickly rallies, pulling out a few dollars from her wallet as I throw back my shoulders in menace. Doesn’t this na?ve woman know not to flash cash in a seedy area like this? The elf snatches the bills, then leans in conspiratorially.

“Yeah, I seen a truck like that. Maybe… three hours ago? Guy driving it looked nervous. Kept checking his mirrors. He went that way,” he points down a side street. “Toward the old movie theater.”

As we walk away, I can’t help but smirk. “Stellar detective work there, Joy. Bribing panhandlers for info. You really think that guy saw something? My guess is he just cheated you out of a little cash. If you asked if he saw little gray aliens with big eyes, he would have said yes for the wad of money you handed him. And next time, don’t pull money out in front of street people like that. It’s not safe.”

She sticks her tongue out at me. “Now you sound like Scrooge. Some people are just down on their luck. It doesn’t mean they’re bad. At least I’m trying . You could put in a little effort, you know.”

“Fine,” I growl, “I don’t know who Scrooge is, but let’s go check out the theater.” I try to give myself an attitude adjustment, for Joy’s sake. She just seems so… desperate, and it’s for a worthy cause.

As we weave through the crowded streets, I wonder how I got caught up in this ridiculous chase. But beneath the annoyance, there’s something else. A feeling I haven’t experienced in a long time.

It almost feels like… fun. And the fun has nothing to do with the absurd chase we’re on—those toys have probably crossed the state line by now—the fun is because arguing with Joy has become… entertaining.

Shaking my head to clear the traitorous thought, I focus on the road ahead. We’ve still got a long way to go, and knowing Joy, this day is only going to get crazier.