Before I know it, Sandoval is next to me in the window.
“What are you waiting for?” she shouts. “Go after them!”
“On foot?”
“Their wheels are on fire. They won’t get far.”
“They aren’t stupid. Those are going to be tactical tires. There are metal inserts inside the wheels. When a tire goes flat, they can still drive on the insert.”
Sandoval looks at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m making it up. Finally, she throws up her hands and walks to Sinclair. He’s still on the floor. She has to pull him to his feet.
“Don’t help or anything,” she says.
I go over and haul Sinclair upright, walk him to one of the few chairs not shot to shit.
“Thank you,” he says.
With shaking hands, he takes a couple of pills out of his jacket pocket and dry-swallows them. If I didn’t know what monsters he and Sandoval were, I’d almost feel sorry for them.
Across the foyer, Sandoval kicks enough debris out of the way that she can force the front door closed. Her face is red with anger when she looks at me.
“This is all your fault.”
“How do you figure that? You didn’t see this coming? I stopped their tea party. Of course they were going to retaliate.”
She takes a long breath.
“You should have said something.”
“Calm down. Those gunmen? They’re good news.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“They were a tantrum. If the faction was in a position to do worse they would have. But I took out some of their key magicians.”
“You mean that I should be grateful that they nearly destroyed my house and killed me and Barron?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. Now, where the hell is Howard? I’m tired of waiting.”
Sandoval looks me up and down, staring at my scars and bruises.
“Put a shirt on for god’s sake. You’re hideous.”
“I’d rather see Howard.”
She pulls Sinclair from his chair and walks away with him.
“Dress and meet us in my office.”
“Howard better be there.”
Sandoval doesn’t say anything.
I go to my room. Get a shirt and the Glock.
THE ARTIFACTS ARE still piled on the desk when I come back to the office. Sinclair is slumped in his chair near the pill bottles. Sandoval is hunched in her desk chair like a cranky gargoyle.
I say, “Where’s Howard?”
“He’s not coming,” she says. “We have other things to talk about.”
“Like what?”
“The assassination attempt on me tonight. I’m not going to sit by and let them kill me like the others.”
“Great. Good luck with that. What does it have to do with me?”
She points a perfectly manicured finger at me.
“You’re going to get the people that did this tonight.”
I walk to the desk.
“That’s not my job. I did my job. I’m not expecting flowers for it, but I do expect you to honor our deal.”
She picks up a necklace made of finger bones. The chain holding them together is broken, so they all fall off. She pushes the bones into a pile with the other artifacts.
“I’m going to honor it, but circumstances have changed.”
“Changed how? Did something happen to Howard?”
“He’s fine. What’s changed is that, while you might have saved the city from obliteration, you’ve made me the faction’s target.”
“Lady, you’ve been their target since day one. Tonight would have happened with or without me.”
“Not like this,” she says. “You have to pay for what happened.”
“Pay how? And bear in mind that you’re talking to a man who killed fifteen people earlier and a few more just now. Let’s call it an even twenty.”
“Calm down, Stark,” says Sinclair. “There’s no need for threats. Just listen to her.”
I pull the Glock and shoot the water bottle on the table with his pills.
“Keep quiet. This is between Eva and me.”
Sandoval looks at Sinclair, then up at me.
“Our original understanding was that you were to stop the destruction of Los Angeles before Sunday. You’ve done that. And bully for you. However, it’s still Friday night, which gives you plenty of time to find the faction’s leaders and— since you’re so fond of doing it—kill them all.”
“That wasn’t our deal.”
“This is a new deal.”
I go around the desk and pull Sandoval to her feet.
“Even if I was interested, how do I know you’ll stick to this new deal?”
She says, “Because I want you gone as much as you want to be gone.”
I put the Glock to her head.
“Hurry, Eva. Convince me.”
Her heartbeat just jumped about 200 percent.
“I’ll give you one million dollars.”
“Why don’t you make it a gajillion and throw in a pony?”
“Two million.”
“Still not interested.”
She puts a hand on my gun arm and gets closer.
“I mean it. You can have the money right now. I’ll transfer it to any account you want.”
I press the gun harder into her head and force her back into her desk chair.
“Look at me. Do I look like I have bank accounts?”
“I’ll open one for you.”
“Forget it.”
She puts her hands on the desk, lacing her fingers together.
“You don’t seem to understand what I’m getting at. I’m offering you two million dollars, plus Howard’s services. These two things are a package deal. You’re either going to be a rich live man or a penniless dead one. What’s your choice?”
I look back at Sinclair. He’s paler than ever. “Did you come up with this together?”
Before he answers Sandoval says, “No one tried to kill Barron tonight. This new proposition is mine.”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you both right now.”
She moves her laced fingers from the desk to her lap.
“Because then you’ll end up unmourned in a pauper’s grave. And just think of it. You were this close to being with your lady love, but you were too stubborn to go all the way.”
One trick I don’t know how to do is to stop time. I know people who can do it. Not for long, but it’s still a pretty impressive trick. I wish I could do it right now just to have a little time to think over the situation. I trust Sandoval and Sinclair even less now. But I can’t see any way around this if I’m getting back to Candy. I need Howard more than any of these pricks need me. And I wouldn’t mind having two million dollars to start a new life with.
I look down at her.
“I guess I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you have a choice,” she says. “They’re just not very good choices.”
I let my gun hand drop to my side.
“Okay. I’ll do it. But no tricks, no renegotiations or technicalities. Fuck with me one more time and we all die together. And you’ll go a lot messier than I will.”
“It’s agreed then.”
“Not yet. Get Howard in here. I want to see that he’s all right.”
Sandoval takes her phone from a pocket and punches in a number.
“Howard, will you come in here, please?”
“Excuse me,” says Sinclair.
I look at the wheezing creep.
“My heart,” he says. “May I take my pills?”
“Go ahead.”
Eva goes to the bar and pours some tonic water into a glass. Gives it to Sinclair. He gulps it down with the pills.
“Thank you,” he says.
Sandoval pats him on the shoulder and goes back to the bar. She pours herself a whiskey.
“Would you like one?”
“I want Howard.”
“Patience.”
>
“Never say that to an angry man with a gun. They could go off.”
She laughs a little. I don’t like it, but I let it go for now.
A minute later, a door opens and Howard comes in. He stops abruptly when he sees Sandoval grave, Sinclair next to a bullet hole, and me clearly wanting to shoot everyone in the room.
“You wanted to see me, Eva?”
“No,” she says. “He did.”
She points at me with her glass.
Howard gives me a timid look. Through the big wire-frame glasses he looks like a myopic mouse.
“How can I help you?” he says.
I go over to him.
“When we start the process, how long will it take to finish?”
“An hour on the outside.”
“Side effects?”
“Nothing serious,” he says. “A little dizziness. Some nausea. Fatigue. But they’ll pass quickly.”
“What I mean is, will I be able to leave immediately after we’re done?”
He bobs his head.
“I don’t see why not. Of course, you’ll want to take some meclizine before you go.”
“What’s that?”
“A seasickness drug,” says Sandoval. “So you can say bon voyage to the captain without puking all over his yacht.”
“Yeah. I want some of that.”
Howard looks at Sandoval.
“I take it we’re not proceeding tonight?”
She stares into her whiskey.
“Change of plans, Howard. We’ll do it tomorrow evening.”
“That’s fine,” he says. “I’m all set up and ready to go.”
I say, “Keep it that way. I don’t want any waiting around tomorrow.”
“I understand entirely.”
“No you don’t. Playing with dead things and being one are different.”
“Of course,” he says. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
Sandoval waves him off.
“Thank you, Howard. You can go now. We’re just about done with Mr. Stark.”
“Thank you. Good evening, everyone.”
Sandoval and Sinclair wish him a good night. I’m a bit more conflicted. Tomorrow, I’m going to either buy him all the drinks in L.A. or squeeze his head until it pops. I hope it’s the first thing. Sandoval was right. I’d rather be a rich live man than a broke pile of bones.
I say, “Now the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Do either of you know where to start looking for the heads of the faction?”
“Not a one,” says Sandoval.
I look at Sinclair.
“I can give you names,” he says. “But I don’t know where they are.”
I sit on the edge of Sandoval’s desk.
“Great. I guess we can rule out the courier trick. Odds are they’ve figured that one out.”
“I would say so,” she says.
“You want this done by tomorrow night, but you have zero information that can help me?”
“Well, there’s Barron’s list.”
“Yes,” he says. “There’s Jonas Cornetto …”
I toss him a pad and pen from the desk.
“Write it down. I can barely remember my own name right now.”
“Poor dear,” says Sandoval.
“Don’t be smug. This is your ass on the line, too.”
“What I mean is that you already have what you need to find the faction.”
“You mean Marcella.”
“Whatever her name is. Ask her. You’re very convincing with a gun in your hand.”
Sinclair hands me a list with six names. “You’re sure of all of these?”
“Absolutely,” he says.
He reaches for his pills again. His skin has gone from larval white to dead-frog green.
I look at Sandoval.
“Keep Kermit alive until tomorrow. I want to be able to kill both of you if things go wrong.”
“Naturally.”
“And get started on the bank account thing and the money. I want it set up when I get back.”
“It will be ready for you.”
I head downstairs with my list while Sandoval pours pills down Sinclair’s gullet.
I knock on the bowling alley door before going in.
I open it a few inches and say, “It’s me. Don’t stab me or anything.”
“Are you alone?” says Marcella.
“No. I’m with Eleanor Roosevelt. She wants to talk about war bonds.”
“Come in.”
I go in and close the door. Marcella sits at one of the scoring tables. Her face looks better than yesterday. Still bruised, but some of the swelling has gone down. With her shirt gone, she’s just wearing a bra and pants.
On the way down I stopped by my room and took a shirt from the closet. I hold it out to her.
“Trade you. A shirt for a knife.”
She sets the knife on the table and I bring her the shirt. She snatches it out of my hand. Turns around and buttons it. I grab the knife before she changes her mind.
“You could have brought me this yesterday,” she says. “Or were you hoping for a look at my tits?”
“I was a little distracted hoping I wasn’t going to get shot to kitty litter by a bunch of your people.”
She turns to me, still tucking the shirt in.
“You look like you came through it all right. You want to know about my night?”
“Not really. I mean, you did torture me.”
She blows a little air between her lips.
“That wasn’t torture. That was a motivated discussion. What they did to me with cigarettes? That was torture.”
I’m not going to argue about the relative merits of cigarettes versus cattle prods. I look at her.
“Did anyone bother you again?”
“No. But I didn’t get much sleep, if you know what I mean.”
I hold the list out to her.
“With luck, neither of us will be here much longer. Just answer some questions.”
She looks at the paper but doesn’t move to take it.
“What happens to me when I tell you everything you want to know? Who’s going to kill me? You or them?”
“No one is going to kill you.”
She puts her hands in her pockets.
“You’re going to send me back to Hell then.”
“Nope. Worse. I’m going to let you go.”
Marcella frowns and half turns away.
She whispers, “I don’t think they’d like that upstairs.”
“Fuck upstairs. Once I get my treatment, you Wormwood people can kill each other off however you want.”
She nods at the paper.
“That’s my ticket out of here?”
“First class and all the cocktails you can drink.”
She puts her hand out. Looks at the list, wads it up, and throws it away.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she says.
“I just want to know where they are.”
“Forget it. Kill me now. It’s better than what they’ll do to me.”
“Listen—”
“Besides, that list is a joke. Those idiots were big-time in Wormwood one point oh. They’re not the ones who run the new Wormwood.”
I sit down at the scoring table, hoping that will relax her. She sits down across from me.
“Fine—who does run it? One name. And a location.”
“No,” she says. “You don’t know what they’re like. They might kill me just for losing you. At least right now they’ll do it fast.”
I look at her eyes and listen to her heart. Check the microtremors around her mouth. She isn’t playing. She’s genuinely scared.
“One name,” I say. “One name and not only will I let you go, I’ll do it anywhere in the world. The way I pulled you through a shadow yesterday? I can take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Unless you can get me to Mars, forget it.”
I sit back and look at her. Without torturing her for real, she’s not go
ing to give me anything. She’s Wormwood scum, but torture is something those creeps upstairs would do and I’m not going to become them. Instead, I reach into my back pocket and take out the scroll. Set it on the scoring table.
I say, “What’s that?”
“Fuck!” she says, and jumps up from the table.
I hold up the scroll.
“What’s on here? Your credit rating? It can’t be any worse than mine.”
“Have you touched it? Do you know what it’s written on?”
“Yeah. Vellum.”
“Human vellum, you moron. And guess what? It’s not that old.”
I unroll the scroll on the table.
“Is that what you’re afraid of? If you talk you might end up someone’s grocery list?”
“Don’t joke about it,” she says. “They peel that off you while you’re alive.”
“You’ve seen it?”
Marcella wraps her arms around herself and shakes her head.
“No, but I’ve heard it being done.”
I point to the symbols.
“What do they say?”
She glances at it, then moves away again.
“That mystical shit isn’t my department. I just gather information.”
“You kidnap and torture people. Is that where the vellum comes from? Is it part of the torture?”
She takes a breath and sits down on one of the benches.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You think they’ll do this to you if you talk.”
She looks at the floor but doesn’t say anything.
“My offer still stands. I’ll take you out of here.”
“They’ll find me. You can’t run from them.”
“Then help me wipe them out. That way, we’re both free.”
“No,” she says, and I can tell she means it.
I roll up the scroll and get up.
“That’s it?” she says.
“That’s it.”
“You really are a Boy Scout. I’d have a cattle prod on your balls and be waterboarding you in hot tar by now.”
“In Hell they do the same thing, only with boiling shit. I can still taste it in my dreams.”
Hollywood Dead Page 10