“I’ve heard the name.”
“I bet you have. I hear that you’ve sold property to the Sub Rosa.”
Chanchala puts her hands on the desk.
“How did you know that?”
“I didn’t. I just made it up.”
“Cute. Chris was a century ago. Why are you asking questions now?”
“Because he’s back. A part of him is at least.”
“What does that mean?”
“You were in the party scene with Stein way back when. Tell me about it.”
She picks up a pen and taps it impatiently on the pretty desk.
“If you’re here to insinuate something, you can turn around and leave right now.”
But her pupils have gone wide. I struck a nerve. Time to bear down on it.
“I’m here to ask questions, not call people names. Tell me about Chris and money.”
She shrugs.
“When he needed money I introduced him to people who might be willing to pay for his services. I never made a dime off of him, you understand.”
“Of course. Were Jimmy Summers and Claire Hennessey customers?”
She makes a face.
“God no. They were playmates. He did them for free.”
This isn’t getting me anywhere. Time to circle back to Gentry’s stuff.
“Tell me about the parties. Toward the end. Did anything change?”
She laughs, but it’s a sarcastic stage bark.
“You’re talking about the sex magic angle.”
“Exactly,” I lie.
“I thought it was silly, but it was the seventies. Anton LaVey was all the rage. Black candles, pentagrams, Aleister Crowley, and pretend sacrifices? They gave the parties a new frisson.”
“But you didn’t believe any of it.”
“Not a word.”
“But you were there.”
“Of course.”
“Even after Stein was murdered?”
She looks uncomfortable again.
“Chris wasn’t so much into the parties anymore. He’d changed. Gone a little over the edge. Maybe it was the coke. Still, he was busy being paid for his services. And, of course, he had his regular.”
“The one who paid his rent but kept him on a short leash.”
“That’s the one.”
“And it wasn’t Hennessey or Summers.”
“Definitely not.”
“‘Forever yours, forever mine.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
“Not a thing.”
There’s a tiny Zen garden in a box on her desk. The sand is curved into gentle waves. I pick up the tiny rake, look it over, and toss it back in, ruining the design.
“What did you mean when you said Stein had gone over the edge?”
She shifts her shoulders nervously.
“Chris was always eccentric and a risk taker, but he went a bit mad about it. Breaking and entering. Stealing cars.”
“I heard he could pick locks.”
“Yes. But there were other things too. He’d set fires in abandoned buildings and not run out until the very last minute. He said he belonged to a club. He tried to get some of us to join. No one did, of course.”
Something clicks in my brain. Something bad.
“Did he say ‘club’ or ‘lodge’?”
“I suppose it could have been ‘lodge.’”
“The Zero Lodge?”
“Maybe.”
“Did he ever mention Dan Perkins or Juliette Stray?”
“Ha! Those nuts.” The laugh is genuine this time. “I sold them their house. But no, it couldn’t have been them. They weren’t even in the city back then.”
“And that’s all you know?”
She picks up the rake and begins fixing the sand in her tiny garden.
“That’s everything.”
I crane my head around the expensive-looking office.
“I can see why you didn’t need to make money off Stein. This is a nice setup.”
A thin smile.
“I like it.”
“Who else would know about Stein, hustling, and sex magick and all that?”
“Why should I tell you that?”
“Because a bad word to Abbot about your working as Stein’s pimp is going to cost you money.”
She stops raking and looks at me.
“I told you. I didn’t make any money from Chris. I was a friend.”
“But a good word from me could get you closer to Abbot and steady Sub Rosa customers.”
She thinks things over for a moment. Then she writes something down on company stationery and starts to push it across the desk but grabs it back at the last minute. Once she’s torn her name off the paper, she gives it to me. It’s a name.
“What’s this?”
“A name.”
“Lisa Thivierge. The director?”
“Lisa hasn’t directed anything in forty years. Hollywood has a way of forgetting about women when they have the temerity to grow out of their twenties. She can tell you more, though. But she’s old. Be gentle with her.”
“There’s no address.”
“Lisa went into seclusion. No one has seen her in over ten years. Longer, now that I think about it.”
“Any idea who might know where she is?”
“None.”
“Do you have a phone number?”
“Nope.”
I put the paper in my pocket.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“If you find her, don’t tell her I gave you her name.”
“I’m hearing a lot of that lately.”
I get up and head for the door. Before I get there, she calls to me.
“I expect a good word to Abbot.”
“I’ll give him the word all right.”
I have mixed feelings as I drive the Hog home. I don’t like Chanchala and I’m bothered by Chris’s having to hustle for money. But an ex-actor’s options can be limited in L.A., especially if they aren’t as good-looking as they used to be. Chanchala’s setting him up with clients bothers me because she’s lying when she says she didn’t make any money. Chanchala might not have made cash at the time, but she got connections that would pay off big in her real estate business. But Chris—should I feel bad for him? Maybe he enjoyed the work. We all do what we have to to survive. And if Brigitte taught me anything it’s that sex work is work, every bit as real as selling real estate to the absurdly wealthy.
What troubles me more is Stein’s connection to the Zero Lodge, where, as everyone likes reminding me, you have zero chance of getting out alive. Did he try to break away from them? But even if he did, he died in ’79. Why is he back now? It makes me mad, but on the off chance someone knows something I’ll stick around Dan and Juliette’s playpen a while longer. At least Janet will be happy.
After sunset, I take Flicker to Little Cairo through a shadow.
She grins and looks like she doesn’t even notice that the neighborhood is a war zone.
She says, “I haven’t been here in years.”
“You know the place?”
“We used to play Pharaohs here.”
“What’s Pharaohs?”
“It’s like King of the Hill, but with pyramids.”
“Kids.”
“How much time do we have?”
“They come an hour after sunset, so soon now.”
“That’s plenty of time for what we have to do.”
“Set up an ambush?”
“No,” she says. “Prepare the ground for whatever’s going to happen. You prepare the ground right and it can help you.”
“What does ‘prepare the ground’ mean?”
“I’m a geomancer. A child of the King Below. Just as you’re a child of the Hum. And a Black Lane Walker, too.”
“Can you say that in English?”
Flicker points a finger toward the sky.
“Look up. What do you see?”
“Power lines.”
“And if it was comp
letely dark?”
“Stars?”
“I still think you’d still see the power lines. You’re a child of the Hum. And a powerful one. A lord of the city, electricity, and human creation.”
“I guess that makes sense. What’s a Black Lane Walker?”
She chuckles.
“Your life, Stark. I mean, look at it. You live with one hand in this world and the other one grasping the next. Black Lane Walkers don’t have an easy time of it.”
“I can’t argue with that part. But come on. The King Below. Child of the Hum. That’s not L.A. That’s fairy-tale stuff.”
“Nothing in L.A. is just a tale. It’s just the past remembered differently.”
She touches the pavement.
“Nothing yet.”
“Is that good?”
She shrugs.
“It’s not anything.”
I start to light a Malediction. Flicker takes it from my hand and puts it back in the pack.
“No fire. That will pull them right to you.”
“Thanks. So, who’s the King Below?”
“Someone with whom I have an understanding.”
“Wait. You’re not talking about Lucifer, are you?”
Flicker makes a face.
“Of course not. I mean the king below our feet. Land. Soil. The thousands of miles of stone between here and the center of the Earth. We drive and build and walk on him without giving him a thought. We owe the King offerings as much as any god.”
“Can he stop earthquakes?”
“He is the earthquakes. They’re his restless dreams.”
“Has he tried Benadryl?”
“I thought you of all people would understand.”
Flicker turns and walks away.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that I can barely deal with Mr. Muninn and the mess in Heaven. Now I have to worry about getting the damn earth mad at me?”
“Just give the King Below a thought or an offering every now and then and you’ll be fine.”
“Like what?”
She kneels on a lawn and calls me over. After she digs a shallow hole, she pulls something from her pocket. It’s a churro.
“Flour and cinnamon grown from his soil.”
“You’re fucking kidding. I never pegged you for a pagan.”
She keeps digging.
“I’m as pagan as they come.”
“But not a hippie Wiccan.”
“And you’re not just another dumb punk. We all find our place in the world however we can.”
She buries the churro and pats down the dirt.
I say, “Is that what the ghosts are doing? Finding their way in the world?”
“The ghosts—most Stay Belows—are really pretty simple. They’re like lost children. Instead of fighting them, find out what they want. Boredom can bring the dead back as much as trauma.”
“Trust me. These ghosts aren’t bored. They’re having a grand old time. And the one I’m looking for is definitely traumatized. Not just murdered. Cut in half.”
“A Black Dahlia?”
“Worse, he was famous for about ten minutes.”
She shakes her head.
“That’s a lot of pain to deal with.”
“You think that’s what brought him back?”
“I doubt it. But now that he’s back he’s acting on all that anger and fear.”
We walk side by side down the street. I pick up a hubcap and Frisbee it back onto a lawn with an overturned Miata.
“Do you think it might be deliberate?”
Flicker looks at me.
“The manifestations? I doubt it. But the calling, yes. It’s just that something went wrong.”
“I’m convinced that Chris Stein is the center of this.”
“You’re probably right. As a Black Laner you have good instincts for these things. I think that Stein is probably the magnet. The other Stay Belows simply follow him.”
“Why do they sing?”
“They can’t help it. It’s their offering to the world for intruding. Plus, it calms both them and the land.”
I look around.
“It’s dark and no ghosts yet.”
Flicker gets on her knees and presses her palms to the pavement.
I kneel down beside her.
“What are you doing?”
“Listening for them.”
“With your hands?”
“They’re Stay Belows. You can feel them before you see them. Get down here like me and put your hands on the ground.”
I do what she says.
“Do you feel anything?”
“Nothing.”
“We fed the King. This is your city. You have power. Open yourself up and let it out.”
I kneel there for a minute trying to feel or see or hear something.
“Still nothing.”
“All right. What do you feel?”
“A little shaking. Vibrations from street traffic.”
“Stark, we’re at least two blocks from any main street.”
“Huh. How about that?”
“Yeah,” she says.
“It’s getting stronger.”
“It is. Get ready.”
“Ready how? What am I supposed to be doing?”
“Getting out of their way.”
It’s the same as always. The pinprick of light appears in the air. Melts. Widens.
“The Thurl,” says Flicker.
“What’s that?”
“Thurl. It’s just a hole. But one where you can fall into the Otherworld or it can fall into ours.”
“Can you close it?”
“Not without knowing what opened it.”
I pull Flicker back as the drill continues. The spooks blast from the Thurl like a horror show hurricane. At the end of the mob comes Stein, looking as hangdog and confused as ever.
“There’s the birthday boy.”
She says, “Don’t forget. We’re in their territory now. To them, we’re the ghosts.”
Around us, the Stay Belows who don’t rush Abbot’s barrier get to work smashing the neighborhood into little bite-size pieces. There’s a crash at the head of the block as an entire Sphinx falls onto its side.
It catches me by surprise and I curse, which is dumb. The spooks, who were busy a moment before, now turn and come for me and Flicker.
“Say the word and I’ll take us out of here,” I tell her.
“We’re all right. I told you the King Below is looking out for me.”
She raises her arms and the street seems to soften to quicksand. It rises and hangs in the air like waves waiting to crash on a beach, blocking the approaching spook mob. Then it’s just me, Flicker, and Stein. He’s ten or so yards away, but I know he recognizes me because he runs right at me, all fury and death. I’ve tried being nice, but I’m not putting up with this shit again. I manifest my Gladius and wait for him.
Flicker pushes me out of the way and begins to sing. It’s a strange, old, high melody. Sad. Like a love song to a dead lover.
Stein slows his run.
She keeps singing.
He slows even more.
He barely shuffles the last few feet. Stein stops and sways back and forth to the melody.
When his eyes close Flicker says, “Why does he hate you like that?”
“It’s something I said to him. ‘Forever yours. Forever mine.’ I don’t know what it means.”
“Interesting.”
She takes a couple of steps toward Stein and says, “Forever yours. Forever mine.”
Stein stops his swaying and makes a low animal growl.
Flicker keeps going. I keep my Gladius out.
“Forever yours. Forever mine.”
Stein is shaking, but he doesn’t move.
“Forever yours. Forever mine.”
Stein snarls like a rabid dog.
Instead of running like a sensible person, Flicker opens her arms to him and says, “Forever yours. Forever mine.”
W
hen she’s right in front of him, Stein puts his arms around her. Flicker embraces him.
They just stand there like that for a few minutes, Stein’s head resting on her shoulder. I stay on guard for the slightest sign of anger from dead boy.
Eventually, Flicker steps back. She touches his face and comes back to me. Stein shuffles into the dark looking as sad and lost as ever. I let the Gladius go out.
I frown at her.
“What the hell was that?”
“It’s definitely a woman he’s looking for,” Flicker says.
“That’s something at least.”
“There’s more. He said, ‘Zadkiel.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
I’ve never felt dumber. Of course it was an angel who killed him. Sliced him in half and cauterized the wound by killing him with her Gladius. Was Zadkiel Stein’s secret lover? The one who paid his rent but refused to let him stray too far? Did he know who she was? Did he try to break things off or was it something else?
“Stark? Does ‘Zadkiel’ mean anything?”
I nod.
“Everything.”
In the distance, Stein is shaking again, not like when he leaves the Thurl. More like an animal tensing for a fight.
“I think our boy is getting agitated.”
Flicker says, “We should go and let them get on with what they came to do.”
She raises her hands again, and the pavement flows back to normal, like nothing happened.
“We can’t just leave,” I say. “The wards aren’t holding. They’re going to break out and do this to the whole city.”
Flicker shakes her head.
“All the more reason to get in good with the King Below.”
As she says it she hands me another churro.
I say, “You’ve been waiting to spring this on me all evening, haven’t you?”
She smiles.
“A little bit. Are you going to do it?”
I use the black blade to rip a hole in a nearby lawn. Drop in the churro and cover it over with dirt.
“Am I supposed to say something?”
“‘Thank you’ is always nice.”
“Thanks, King. You’re a pal.”
As I slip the blade back in my boot I think of all the strange hoodoo I’ve seen tonight and it makes me wonder something.
I say, “Do you know anything about angels?”
“Not a thing. Why?”
“I have an angel problem, but I don’t know how to start or even if I should. Considering the source, it could be some kind of game.”
“What do your instincts tell you, Black Lane Walker?”
Ballistic Kiss Page 15