No1 - The Psycho Surrealist

Chapter 14 - The Platinum Chamber

"Ms. Susan Salvatore," Doq said. The underdressed man shrugged in his clothing.

"This way." The tuxedo-wearing maître d' directed Doq to an unimposing woman sitting at a red, crushed velvet booth.

While Chambre de Platine had been a viewing home in the past, it has since become a macabre designer restaurant favored by only white, rich people and celebrities of Bel Air. Its main meals consisted of butter-lathered lobster, Kobe beef, and truffle prosciutto, and its toilets ran on Cheval-Blanc. Doq was a man who stood out in this place.

The primly dressed woman jumped up from his seat and extended a hand to Doq.

Doq shrugged past her and sat down.

Susan let out a sigh, taking a seat. "I assume this won't be pleasant?"

"You assumed right."

Susan bypassed warm greetings with Doq, displeased by Doq's salty mood. She insisted Doq take a seat at the booth.

Doq did, reluctantly. Despite the afternoon sun, the space within that morbid restaurant was cold and dark, dreary even. With the lack of windows in that cramped and dark paneled room, the light from candles was bright in comparison. Doq shivered, frozen to the marrow by the deathly chills.

The waiter approached them with a menu and a bread basket. Susan offered to pay for whatever Doq wanted to eat, a treat for him until Doq saw the prices.

"I'll pass," Doq grinned, slapping his menu on the table.

"But I heard the steak here is to die for," Susan joked. "Especially the Kobe beef."

"That's rich coming from a woman who deals with conspiracy theories of the killer kind," Doq said. "Did you leave that drawing on Sandra's body to get this Sergeant Takerian on me?"

"What drawing?"

Doq explained the drawing Takerian handed him the night of Sandra's murder.

"No," Susan said. "Although it doesn't surprise me. Sandra had been talking about you in her last few days."

"Somehow, I doubt that," Doq shot her a nefarious look. "I must say, I was surprised to hear your name attached to Sandra, Ms. Salvatore. Then again, you know how to weasel your way into my life."

Susan just glared at him with those blue, calculating eyes of hers.

"I made my way to UnderGround LA to speak to you, but much to my surprise, you weren't there. So, Ms. Salvatore, if you are a reporter, I've never found any employment records at UnderGround LA?" Doq asked, reluctant to talk about her work.

While the idea was sophisticated, UnderGround LA's slant made everything far-fetched and ridiculous. Doq had the unfortunate opportunity to be interviewed by the magazine, interested in what he knew about SOL Corporation. Seemingly knowing the CEO behind the corporation personally, the great, almighty Pedro Izan-Torres, UnderGround LA had the balls to condemn the group as murderers and equaled them to a pack of wolves, hungry to prey on the weak, the sick, the desperate, and the tech-hungry. A crusader of justice, UnderGround LA was the type of magazine to suggest the justice system was borderline fascist and full of anti-Semitic neo-nazis, and the inequality of man had overrun it all.

Susan Salvatore had become the magazine's renaissance into the mainstream and its driving force. But her direct association with the magazine was unknown.

Susan grabbed from her purse her press badge. She handed it to Doq. "I'm not what you consider a part of the full-time staff. I don't even live full-time in Los Angeles. I'm a freelance writer for the company and live mostly in Albuquerque. I have a small staff here, mainly interns, but they have since left for the day. The holiday weekend is coming up, you know. So, Mr. Roberts, with my credentials in check, why don't we—"