She rubs her hands together nervously.
“Ask your questions.”
“Let’s start with what’s going to happen. The way I heard it, you’re going to nuke L.A.”
That makes her chuckle.
“It’s a cleansing and consecration of the land. But, yes, the Los Angeles you know will be wiped away.”
“And you’ll do it with a ritual.”
She nods wearily.
“Yes.”
“Does it happen Saturday or Sunday?”
With her thumb, she draws a cross in the dust on the table. Wipes it away with her fist.
“You might want to fire whoever is getting you your information.”
“It’s not this weekend? Then when?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Friday?”
Finally, some good news. Wormwood wants me to clean up their mess by Sunday, but I’ll have it done tomorrow. Then Howard does his spook show and I’m home free. I could be talking to Candy by sometime Saturday.
“Where does it happen?”
“The Chapel of St. Alexis.”
“I never heard of it.”
“Most people haven’t. It was condemned about twenty years ago and hasn’t been used since. After it closed there was a split in the congregation, so they were never able to raise enough money to repair it.”
“Then the faction stepped in and promised to foot the bill.”
She draws a smiley face in the dust, then wipes it out too.
“Yes. The ritual will take place in the crypt under the church.”
“When?”
“Vespers.”
“Sunset.”
She cocks her head.
“Are you sure you weren’t an altar boy?”
This is it. I know the what. I know the where and I know the when. I even know the why, but who gives a damn about that?
“Is anyone there now, setting up, maybe?”
“No one will arrive until just before the ritual begins.”
“How are they getting away? Car? Truck?”
“They’re not.”
I look at her.
“What does that mean?”
She draws aimless lines in the dust.
“They’re not leaving,” she says eventually. “The officiants are all volunteers.”
“Martyrs.”
She looks down the alley.
“Yes. And unlike me, they’ll go straight to Heaven.”
“That’s what the preachers told you, but it’s not going to happen. Even if they pulled it off.”
She stops doodling.
“What do you mean?”
“Whoever’s been running your crew is a liar or woefully uninformed. No one gets into Heaven anymore.”
She narrows her eyes.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does to the angels determined to keep human souls out.”
“That’s not possible.”
“And you think we should fire whoever’s giving us information? Where have you guys been? There’s a new war in Heaven, Marcella. God tried to open Heaven to all souls, saved or damned. A handful of winged pricks disagreed and Heaven has been sealed shut ever since.”
She crosses her arms.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care, but think about this: Why would I lie to you now? What would it get me? You’ve already told me everything I want to know.”
She shakes her head. Keeps shaking it.
“That can’t be right. It’s not true.”
“Believe what you want. I have things to do, like changing out of this suit.” Shifting my weight, I can feel the blood squelch in my shoes.
She looks at me.
“What happens to me now? Are you going to kill me?”
“No. I might have more questions for you later.”
I leave her and go to the door.
“I’ll have them bring a mattress and some food down for you. There’s a bathroom through that door over there.”
She looks around.
“It’s a funny place for a slumber party.”
“Be good and we’ll play Twister later.”
When I start out she says, “You know that if you don’t kill me, the others will.”
I stop.
“No one is going to bother you.”
“You’re so sure I’ll make it through the night?”
“You’ll be fine. But don’t try to leave. I’m putting some wards on the door. The idiots upstairs will be able to bring you food and things, but if you try to go …”
“Then I’ll die.”
I carve some runes in the door frame with her punch dagger.
“No. But you’ll get knocked out by a jolt like a cattle prod up your ass.”
“No fair. I didn’t get anywhere near your ass.”
“I never play fair. That’s how I got out of Hell.”
“Good night, Sandman Slim.”
“Good night, Marcella.”
I finish carving the wards and go upstairs. I tell the roaches what to bring her. None of them will get near me in my bloody butcher suit, so I’m reasonably sure they’re listening to my orders.
When I’m in my room, I lock the door and strip off every piece of clothing. Some of the blood has dried. Bits of it flake off and land in the carpet. Somehow, I don’t think anyone is going to be using this room for a while after I leave.
I toss the clothes on the floor and get in the shower. I stay in there a long time, letting the steam burn the stink of Hell and that van off me.
WHEN I GET out of the shower, I check my side and right wrist. There’s still a deep red slash where the bullet grazed me. My wrist aches and blood still trickles from the edges of the cuts where the plastic cuffs bit into me. My arms and back are covered in bruises. This isn’t right. I should be more healed by now. This half-alive skin suit is second-rate stuff. Until Howard puts me back together again, I’m going to have to be more careful in fights. Though with any luck, tomorrow night is the last time I’ll have to worry about that.
It’s only a little after five, but I’m suddenly very tired. I decide to lie down for an hour and then go check on Marcella.
When I wake up, it’s after dark. I’ve slept three hours. There are streaks of blood on the sheets where my wrist rested. Now when I check it, it’s healed. It’s the same with my side. The red has gone out of the bullet wound and the skin has almost closed. This is good to know. My body takes longer to pull itself together and it uses more energy, so I’ll get tired faster. I need to remember that in case things get hot at the chapel tomorrow.
I get dressed and go down to the bowling alley. I can hear Marcella in the bathroom when I stick my head in. There’s a rollaway bed near the wall and a tray of uneaten food on the seats by the ball return. No problems here. I leave and go back upstairs before she sees me.
When I go into Sandoval’s office it’s just her, Sinclair, and Howard inside. They’re deep in discussion when I come in but quiet right down when they see me.
“Am I interrupting anything?”
Sandoval goes to the bar and pours herself a drink.
“Did you have a nice nap? I hope no one disturbed your beauty sleep.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that. I didn’t think I was going to sleep that long. It’s this body. It runs down fast.”
She looks at Howard.
“Is he telling the truth, Jonathan? Is there something wrong with his body?”
“There’s nothing wrong,” says Howard. “He’s simply in a liminal state between life and death. Consequently, his system runs a bit slower than normal. But aside from occasional bouts of fatigue, there should be no other impairments.”
“You’re sure? Our lives and holdings are riding on this man,” says Sinclair.
Howard looks at me like I’m a bug under a microscope.
“I understand that you were tortured and overpowered several people today. How did you feel while doing it? Any ment
al or physical problems?”
I hold up my wrist so that the others can get a good look. It’s healed but scarred and bruised, covered in patches of livid reds and purples. Sandoval and Sinclair frown at the sight.
“No problems at all. It wasn’t until I got back that I turned to jelly.”
He waves a hand at me.
“You see? No problems. He was able to perform his job, return, and is now awake, refreshed, and completely coherent.” He looks at Sandoval. “I know you’re not used to dealing with creatures such as this but trust me, Eva. He is functioning perfectly normally.”
Speaking of normal, I pour myself a drink at Eva’s bar.
“Thanks, Howard. And if you ever call me ‘creature’ again, I’m going to cut off your tongue with bolt cutters.”
Sandoval pats me on the arm.
“Careful, Stark. You want Howard to be your friend on your trip back to the world of the living.”
“Just tell Dr. Frankenstein to watch his language.”
“Of course. I’m sure he understands what a sensitive snowflake you are,” she says.
“What were you and Sinclair gossiping about when I came in?”
She looks over at him.
Sinclair says, “There were two more assassinations. Jared Glanton and Tetsuya Shin.”
“Here in L.A.?”
“No,” says Sandoval. “Jared was in our New York office, Tetsuya in Buenos Aires.”
“And they were the heads of their branches?”
“Yes.”
“Good. At least the pattern is confirmed. Which one of you runs L.A.?”
“That would be me,” says Sandoval.
“Then you’re not going to get a bullet in the head.”
“What makes you say that?” say Sinclair.
“Because they’re going to blow us up, Barron,” Sandoval says.
“Ah. Right.”
She looks at me. “That’s enough of you questioning us. What did you learn from that horrid woman in the basement?”
I glance at Howard, but he’s staring at a painting on the wall and won’t look at me.
“I’ve got good news. The ritual is tomorrow. And I know where and when.”
Eva goes over to Sinclair. They whisper to each other for a minute.
“Are you sure?” he says. “We were told it was the weekend.”
“She might be lying,” Sandoval says.
“She wasn’t. I made sure she knew it wasn’t in her best interest.”
Sandoval holds up a hand.
“Don’t tell me what you did. I don’t want to know.”
“Don’t worry. There were no bolt cutters involved.”
“Not another word.”
Sinclair says, “Where will the ritual take place?”
“At the Chapel of St. Alexis. Exactly at sunset.”
He looks at Sandoval.
“That’s right downtown. We could have a hundred armed associates there by then.”
“That’s a great idea,” I say. “Scare them off so they disappear and reschedule the ritual without us knowing when or where.”
“How do you want to handle it, then?” says Sandoval.
“I’ll take care of it myself. I don’t think there will be many faction people there because the ones who show up are committing suicide.”
“How will you do it?” says Sinclair.
“I’ll know when I see the setup, but I imagine I’ll basically just kill them all and take their stuff. Is that okay with everyone?”
Sandoval says, “It’s fine with me.”
“Me too,” says Sinclair.
Howard just grunts.
“Will you need anything from us?” says Sandoval.
“Body armor would be nice. Until I’m a hundred percent back, I’d like to keep bullets at a pleasant distance. I also need a couple of boxes of nine-millimeter ammo, plus three extended round clips. And bullets for the rifle I took from Marcella’s boys. A hundred rounds of 5.56 × 45 millimeter.”
“I don’t understand,” says Sandoval. “Can’t you simply use magic to kill them all?”
I shake my head.
“I won’t know that until I get there. There could be wards, charms, enchantments. A million little tricks that could slow down my hoodoo. I want to keep my body in one piece and that means being prepared for anything. Besides, sometimes a gun is just quicker.”
Sinclair has been scribbling notes on a piece of paper. When he’s done he looks over at me.
“Aside from the armor and the guns, is there anything else you need?”
I finish my drink.
“Yes. Before I have another one of these, I want a goddamn cigarette.”
Sandoval goes to her desk and pulls out a box of Nat Sherman Classics. Tosses it to me along with a gold lighter.
I sniff the box.
“Thanks, Santa.”
She nods at me.
“Eat something before you have more liquor. We want you in decent shape for tomorrow.”
I nod and head back to my room with my presents.
“I’ll get something when I’m out.”
“Where are you going?” says Sandoval.
“I’m taking a walk. Personal stuff.”
“What I mean is, will it be dangerous?”
“My ego might get bruised, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Howard says, “Remember to take care of your body. The healthier it is, the easier your transition will be. Damage it too much and I might not be able to bring you back fully.”
“You just be ready tomorrow night, Dr. Frankenstein. This monster wants to be able to eat donuts again.”
“What the hell does that mean?” says Sinclair.
“Don’t worry about it. Just be ready.”
I STILL HAVE some of Sinclair’s cash burning a hole in my pocket. Bamboo House of Dolls has good drinks and good food, so that’s destination two. Before that, though, I need to make one other stop.
It’s closing time at Max Overdrive and Kasabian is hustling the last customers out the door. It’s Friday night so I know what happens next. I light a Sherman and wait for it. Sure enough, in a few minutes, the door opens again and more people file out. Allegra is in the lead, followed by Brigitte Bardo. Candy and Alessa are last. They’re laughing, holding hands as they head out for a night of drinking, and my heart stutters for a minute. It’s one thing to wish them happiness in the abstract, but it’s another to see Candy laughing and in love without me. It hurts, but I’m a big boy, so I stay in the dark across the street and finish my cigarette.
Kasabian is still in the store putting money and discs away before heading out to join them. I wait until Candy and the others are out of sight before stepping into a shadow.
And step out again in the back of Max Overdrive. I watch Kasabian for a minute. He looks good. The mechanical body Manimal Mike made for him moves smoothly and naturally. He even has a few upgrades. His hands look human, not like the metal claws I remember. He’s wearing a bulky track suit zipped up to his neck to hide his stainless steel torso and legs. The suit hangs loose on him like someone deflated him. Still, he looks happy and healthy enough. Time to ruin all that.
I walk into the light.
“Evening, Kas. Long time no see.”
I should have waited a little longer. He was going through the day’s mail and the moment I speak it all goes up in the air and floats down like New Year’s confetti. He stumbles back and slams into the wall, stays there like a butterfly pinned to a board.
I hold up my hands and say, “Before you reach for the gun under the counter, I’m just here to see how you’re doing.”
He points at me and doesn’t say anything. Finally, he sputters, “Fuck you.”
I approach him slowly because I really don’t want to get shot tonight.
“Everything’s fine, man. Calm down.”
He relaxes a little and put his hands to his head.
“Fuck you, man. Why won’t you stay dead?�
��
“Nice to see you too, Kas.”
He leans heavily on the front counter and stares at me.
“Shit. It really is you.”
“It really is.”
“And you’re not here to kill me?”
“When I crawled out of Hell last time I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be back. This time I am.”
He stares a little more.
“How did you do it?”
“Get back?”
I make it to the counter and offer him a cigarette. He takes it with trembling fingers. I light it for him and look the store over.
“I didn’t do it,” I tell him. “Truth is, I didn’t know if I’d ever make it back. It was some other people who brought me back.”
He frowns.
“I don’t mean to sound harsh, but why? It’s been a year, man. Things …”
“Things have changed. You’ve all moved on. I get it and I’m not going to barge back in and expect you to throw me a party. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you assholes. I need to know how things are.”
He puffs his cigarette.
“You mean how Candy is.”
“That’s a good place to start.”
“How she is is there’s a big box of your shit in the closet where you used to lock me up. No one goes in there. No one looks at it. You’ve been cleared out and put away. Get it?”
I light my own cigarette.
“I take it that means Alessa has moved into our place upstairs.”
“Their place,” he says. “Not yours. Theirs. I told you. Things have changed.”
There it is. Things have changed. I’m not surprised, but it’s still a kick in the teeth.
“Are they happy?”
“Like a basket of kittens. And it gets a little aggravating sometimes for those of us, you know.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
“What ever happened to Fairuza?”
Fairuza is a Lurker, a Ludere. Blue skinned and very sweet. She and Kasabian were an item last time I saw them.
He taps some ash on the counter.
“She’s long gone. Remember that night Allegra killed the French chick who poisoned Vidocq?”
“I ditched the body, so yeah.”
He shakes his head.
“She never got over it. Had a nervous breakdown and everything. Doesn’t want to have anything to do with any of us.”
Hollywood Dead Page 6