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filing for justice or billing the forces of evil.”
    I shook my head, “Never seemed to be ‘Bring Your Daughter to Work Day’.”  I looked at Killian and shrugged, “Maybe it’s time to see if there is some family business I should be taking over.”

Chapter 12
    Mindy had a phone number.  Evidently, Dad had given it to her in case of emergency.  I figured this qualified.  I did a reverse trace and found an address.
    The roads of downtown LA are a bizarre mash-up of good times gone by and really good times gone by.  Homeless crackheads camp out beneath the art deco marquees of some of the most beautiful theaters ever to be abandoned.  Sure, much of the space had been converted to lofts and fancy living, but the folks in those homes lived like robber barons under siege, locked behind iron worked gates and security codes.  They were posh overlords with a panoramic view of skid row from every floor-to-ceiling window.
    I don’t know if the darkening light was from the shadows of the high rises or something more sinister, but when we turned off Maple into the Toy District, a rundown block of wholesale electronics and piñatas, my Creeped-Out-O-Meter was in the red zone.
    I pulled the car over and parked, inserted something crazy like seven dollars worth of quarters into the meter for a measly hour, and we walked down the alley.
    There were twinkle lights and faint guitar music drifting down the way.  We stopped in front of a small café whose sign read, “El Diablo.”
    I looked over at Killian, “Can you think of any scenario in which this ends well?”
    “No.”
    I sighed, “Let’s go.”
    We climbed the stairs and entered the shop.  It was huge inside with voodoo masks hanging on turquoise walls.  A tattooed man tended the coffee bar while a guy with a scraggly beard strummed the song we had been hearing.
    “Other Siders out back,” said the inked dude.
    “Excuse me?” I said.
    “You heard me.  No elves in the front.”
    Killian and I looked at each other and then walked into the back room.  It was a covered patio with tables and heat lamps.  An empty bar sat to the side beneath the metal roofing.  The tables and chairs were mismatched wood.  They all looked like they had been there for a long time.
    Sitting at one of the tables was a fat man in a shiny grey suit smoking a cigar.  His eyes were locked upon us from the time we walked through the door.
    “Guess the ‘no smoking’ ordinance didn’t hit this side of town, huh?” I said.
    “Does it bother you, little lady?” the fat man leered.
    “I’m good,” I replied.
    “What can I do for you?”
    “I don’t know.  What can you?”
    “You have a smart mouth.”
    Killian placed his hand on my arm, “We are having trouble getting back home.”
    The fat man leaned back in his seat and laughed, “Other Siders in need a portal?  Well, even if I could get you one, it will cost you.  How much money do you have?”
    “Enough.”
    “We heard there was a man named Ulrich...” I said.  From the look on his face, I immediately realized that I had pretty much sent up a flare signal that we were “not cool”.
    “How do you know Ulrich?” the fat man asked sharply.
    “He’s a family friend,” I lied.
    “He seems to have many family friends.”
    I gave a shrug.
    “I know him,” said the fat man.  “Let me see if he is around.”
    He took out his cell phone and typed something quickly before slowly putting it back in his coat pocket.
    The door to the kitchen burst open and four dudes the size of rhinoceroses stormed in.
    Seriously, I had no beef with the fat man and there was no need to go bringing a gun to a knife fight.  But it was his call.
    Killian pulled a collapsible staff out of his sleeve.  At least I hope it was up his sleeve, because in his outfit, there were very few other places it could have come from.  His staff was the kind you could whack people with one moment and flip into nunchuks the next.  He seemed to