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there, Simpkiss also had his own reality TV show on A&E, and everyone wanted their leads to look good.
    “Sorry I missed your house, man. But you’re one lucky bastard, Gary—right after you called me, the phone started going crazy,” Simpkiss said over the intercom.
    “How so?”
    “A lot of people have the same idea you have. Get the hell out of Los Angeles before it goes to hell. After I drop you off, I refuel and head down to Beverly Hills and pick up the president of production from Universal and take him and his wife and dogs to Santa Barbara. Then back for another run, this time for your best buddy, Hugh Clary.”
    Norton snorted. Hugh Clary was an actor on Hollywood’s A list, and also an A list asshole. Norton hated him.
    “You’re taking Clary five miles off the coast and kicking him out, right?”
    “Van Nuys,” Simpkiss said, “but I’ll give him your very best. You ready?”
    “Hell, yes,” Norton said. “Let’s go.”
    “Here we go. Help me check the area, okay?”
    The two men scanned the area for any other traffic that might pose a risk to their liftoff. When Norton advised Simpkiss all was clear to the left, Simpkiss eased the JetRanger into the air, its turboshaft engine wailing as the helicopter backed away from the house. Once they had climbed to a hundred feet above ground level, he turned the helicopter north and accelerated up the coastline for a bit before crossing back over dry land.
    “You might want to get your phone out,” he told Norton. “You’re going to see some freaky stuff you might want to remember for your next disaster movie.”
    Norton dutifully pulled his Samsung smartphone from his front pocket, looking out the Plexiglas canopy as the Malibu countryside rolled past beneath the helicopter’s landing skids.
    “You charge my Amex?” he asked.
    “Hell, yes. Two thousand bucks. The most expensive cab ride to Burbank in history. Sorry I had to do it, but aviation fuel’s going through the roof. You can take it off my pay the next time we work together.”
    “Count on it, you greedy fuck,” Norton said.
    Simpkiss laughed. “I’m kidding you, Gary. No charge, but thanks for the number. I’ll be sure to use it when I go to buy my next Ferrari. You call the FBO? Your plane ready?”
    “Fueled up and ready to go. I just need to load up, preflight, file a flight plan, and then I’m wheels up.”
    “Where you off to?” Simpkiss asked.
    “The desert from whence I came,” Norton said. “My parents are still there—never wanted to leave a one truck-stop town, so I’m going to go to them. Have some property there that’s remote enough that no one would want to try and mess with me if things hit the fan. What about you, you going to stay?” In the distance, Norton saw black smoke rising into the sky, north of Santa Monica. He couldn’t tell what it was at this distance, but he got the impression that an apartment tower was on fire.
    “A couple of years ago, I joined a group of investors, and we built a place in Idaho. We’re all conservative guys, most of us are ex-military, and we’ve all got families we want to protect. I’ll be flying up there tonight. By the way, I hear that Big Army is moving in.”
    “What do you mean?” Norton asked.
    “The Army is taking over Ontario Airport. Seems like people are expecting a fight to happen, and a lot of guys and gals in green suits are going to start showing up over the next couple of days. A friend of mine with the 40th Aviation Regiment clued me in on that. The California National Guard is on state active duty now, too. That kind of freaks me out a bit. If I don’t leave soon, the bastards might find me and put me back to work.”
    Norton didn’t know what to think of that. “Well ... I guess it means things are more serious than what’s playing out on TV.”
    Simpkiss snorted over the intercom. “I hear it’s worse in New York. East Coast is getting hammered by this, man.”
    “Yeah,” Norton said.