“So, how are you going to help me?”
“We’re sending a representative with you.”
“You just said the Dark Eternal can’t go inside.”
“He isn’t one of the Aeternus. He’s mortal.”
She looks past my shoulder to a flunky lurking somewhere in the dark.
She says, “Send over Paul.”
He comes from another table across the dance floor. He gives me a friendly smile and puts out his hand. I shake it. I’m not surprised by him one bit. Okay. Maybe a little, but it makes perfect sense when I get a good look.
“Stark, this is Paul Delon.”
It’s another Trevor. An exact copy of a young Norris Quay.
“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Stark. Tykho has told me a lot about you.”
“Paul, is it? How do you know Tykho?”
“We know some of the same people.”
I bet you do. But I don’t get the feeling that Paul knows me. Probably all of Quay’s automata are drones gathering information until their master calls them home. That’s good luck for me. It means he’s on his own until this is over.
“Have you ever been inside Kill City?” I say.
“No.”
“Ever been anywhere, you know, strange? Maybe incredibly dangerous?”
He sits down across the table from me.
“Is that what you expect?”
“From what I hear, Kill City is the last stop for the lowest of the low-life Sub Rosa families and Lurker clans that can’t make it out in the world. It’s a whole society of losers and they’re just looking to take it out on everybody else in the world.”
Paul nods. A waiter comes over.
“White wine, please,” he says. Then to me, “I’m up to speed on that. I’ve also memorized a map of the complex and their clan territories. I’ve never been anywhere like Kill City, but I’m not afraid.”
“You should be. If the thing the ghost is guarding is the 8 Ball, that makes Kill City the most dangerous place in L.A.”
Delon frowns. I can’t get a read on him. If he’s like the other windup clones at Rose’s studio, he’s a mix of meat and machine. He has a heartbeat that’s steady and mechanical. Same with his breathing. Rose’s Trevors bled, so I’m betting this Paul does too. Still, to fool a mob of blood freaks is a pretty neat trick. Atticus is worth whatever Quay is paying him.
I say, “Why don’t you just give me the map and you don’t have to go at all? The fewer people, the faster I can move.”
“No,” says Tykho. “Paul is our representative. He goes with you or you can go in alone. They don’t call it Kill City for nothing. You add up the acreage aboveground and what’s below, without a guide it will be like wandering the Amazon jungle blind.”
“She’s right,” says Paul. “You’ll never find what you’re looking for. That’s assuming the families and the Lurkers don’t kill you. I know what families are there. I’ve studied the Lurker federacies and how to pay them off for safe passage.”
“It’s the Wild West in there,” says Tykho. “You’ll love it. What do you say?”
Tykho might not breathe or have a beating heart, but her type I can read.
“I get it. The boy is our guide but he’s your man on the inside. You’re afraid I might run off with the 8 Ball and take over all of Never Never Land.”
Tykho leans her elbows on the table.
“Like you people say. Trust but verify.”
I turn to Paul.
“I’ll meet you at Bamboo House of Dolls at eight P.M. tomorrow. Don’t wear those stupid loafers. Go get yourself some heavy boots. Maybe some climbing gloves.”
For the first time he looks a little concerned.
“Thank you.”
I stand and nod to Tykho.
“Thanks. With any luck we’ll send Chuck here back with good news.”
“Paul,” he says. I ignore him.
“How many people know about the Kill City situation?”
Tykho shakes her head.
“Only a few among the Aeternus. Why?”
“If too many people know, it might leak back to Aelita and she’ll move the 8 Ball. Don’t mention this to anyone else.”
“Of course.”
I start to leave, when she says, “When are you reopening Max Overdrive?”
“There’s not much point reopening if the world is going to end. You better hope your boy knows his stuff or the Dark Eternal is going to be another bunch of suckers streaming whatever movies the corporate big boys want you to watch.”
Tykho looks up at Yul breaking windows and generally busting up the tinhorn town that hired him.
She says, “Save the world and we might find another suitcase of money so you can reopen.”
“Do that and it’s free rentals for as long as we’re around.”
“Done. Try not to die.”
I take one last sip of her good whiskey.
“By the way, do you know a guy named Declan Garrett?”
“He comes in sometimes. He’s always trying to sell the Crown Jewels or some such nonsense.”
“If he comes in tonight tell him I’m waiting for him at Bamboo House of Dolls. We have something to settle.”
“Is he selling you the Brooklyn Bridge?”
“Yeah, but I’m paying in pennies. Think he’ll mind?”
Someone starts this way, sees me, and heads in the other direction. I take off after him and, when I’m close enough, grab his shirt collar and pull him back.
“Mike. What are you doing here?”
Manimal Mike looks like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. He has a fluffy tortoiseshell kitten in a pet carrier.
Mike holds up the cat.
“Trying to earn a living. Someone’s kitten’s on the fritz. What, you think I only work for live people? That’s racist, man.”
“Calm down, Mike. I was just surprised to see you.”
“Me too.”
His heart is going a million beats a minute. The smell of fear sweat pours off him.
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Mike? Another reason you’re here?”
I let go of his shirt and he shrugs his shoulder back into place.
“Okay. Sure. You still haven’t come across with my soul. These guys. They’re my backup plan. I buy my way in, let one of them bite me, and I don’t die and I don’t go to Hell. And if I’m dead like them, I can still work.”
It actually makes sense, which is more than I expect from Mike.
“I understand. It’s smart to have a Plan B. Just don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. Don’t let any of these guys put the fangs to you.”
Mike takes the kitten and walks away.
“Give me a reason.”
SOMETIMES YOU GET lucky. Or maybe the angel in my head is a little psychic. Though not nearly psychic enough. If it was, I’d see the shitstorms coming down the road and have a chance to jump in a ditch or hide in a little country church. Let the hellfire-and-brimstone preacher cleanse me of my sins. With a little luck maybe it would be near a roadhouse with local swill on tap and watered-down whiskey behind the bar. The kind of place that would at least let me smoke a goddamn cigarette while I have my drink. But with my normal run of luck, I’ll shelter from the storm in a dry county where the only good times are judging the pigs at a 4-H show or chicken-fried steak at a Cracker Barrel. Like I said, my angel might be a little psychic but he’s not psychic enough to do me a damned bit of good. Probably there’s nothing psychic about him at all. Probably it’s as simple as he talked to Tykho, but an hour after I get to Bamboo House of Dolls, Declan Garrett walks in. Candy sees him first. She elbows me.
“Salesman of the year twelve o’clock high.”
He comes right over and starts in. Not even a “Hi. Sorry about interrupting your donut with gunfire.” I wonder if he knows his gunman was a windup toy.
“I heard you wanted to see me.”
“I’m fine, Declan. How are you?”
He’s agitated
. This isn’t his turf. It’s mine and he doesn’t like it. Carlos is looking at him. I raise a hand to let him know that everything is all right and he goes back to serving other customers.
“Listen, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot the other day. You’re right: I do have the 8 Ball, and you can have it for the million you promised plus one more thing.”
“What?”
“Who’s the buyer?”
His lip curls at one corner of his mouth.
“What do you care?”
“Indulge me.”
“No,” he says. “You indulge me.”
He sidesteps behind Candy while pulling something from under his jacket. I don’t have to see the pistol to know it’s there.
“Be cool, Declan. Let’s all just be cool.”
“I am cool, motherfucker. I’m a snowman eating an Eskimo Pie. You think you can call me here and cheat me out of my sale?”
“That’s not it at all.”
“Then what is it? . . . Oh, wait. I don’t care. I want the fucking Qomrama or I’m going to shoot the pretty lady. Yeah, you’ll get me, but your Charles Bronson act won’t keep lead out of her spine.”
Candy opens her eyes wide at me. It’s not fear. She’s asking me to let her go Jade on this creep and eat his face. I shake my head ever so slightly. She’s mad but she listens.
“Okay, man. You’ve got me over a barrel. I’ll take you to the 8 Ball.”
“Right now, cocksucker. I mean right now.”
“Sure. It’s close by.”
“Then let’s go.”
We go out to a BMW coupe parked down the block. He and Candy get in the back. He makes me drive. I take us straight down Sunset to the Chateau, obeying the speed limit and stopping for every red light. I don’t know who Candy hates more right now, him or me. Given the chance, she’d probably eat us both just on principle. Him for pulling the gun, and me for not taking it from him. I’m going to have a lot of making up to do, assuming we don’t end up all bullet-riddled.
Declan doesn’t like it when I give his keys to the valet at the Chateau, but what’s he going to do about it? We go through the lobby not looking the slightest bit suspicious. Me a few feet in front while a nervous guy is pressed so close to Mr. Macheath’s squeeze that he might be giving her a high colonic.
We take the elevator to the penthouse. Declan gets extra twitchy when we arrive upstairs and he doesn’t see a room right away.
“Ready to go down the rabbit hole?” I ask.
“Don’t try anything cute.”
I open the grandfather clock and step halfway through.
“The 8 Ball is in here, safe and sound.”
He leans over and squints, trying to see past me.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
“No tricks. I’m not going to leave something as important as the 8 Ball in the hotel safe, am I? No. I’ll keep it where no one even knows about it.”
I step through the clock. A second later Candy follows, Declan holding on to her like a leech. I take a quick look around. Kasabian’s laptop is open but he’s nowhere in sight. Good. He’s the last thing I want to have to explain to the shakiest gun in the West.
“What is this place?”
“My Batcave, where I keep all my secrets.”
“You people are even weirder than I heard.”
Candy cracks up and Declan tightens his grip on her arm. He doesn’t appreciate her extreme lack of terror. She should probably be a little more concerned. This guy is armed and unstable, and as far as I know, Jades don’t deal with bullets any better than civilians.
“You can put that gun down now. We’re here and I’m going to get the 8 Ball.”
“Qomrama. Show a little respect, asshole. It’s a holy thing and it’s going to get me a holy lot of money.”
“That’s clever. You wait here and I’ll go get it. You okay, Candy?”
She’s stopped laughing.
“Hurry up. I’m hungry. I want to order a lobster.”
I give her another don’t-do-anything look. She narrows her eyes at me. When this is over I’m going to need a thesaurus to show me how many ways you can say “Sorry.”
The fake 8 Ball isn’t in any safe. It’s in the one place no one is going to go pawing around. Under a pile of my dirty clothes, the bloody ones piled on top.
I bring the 8 Ball into the living room, bouncing it in one hand. Declan tenses but doesn’t let go of Candy.
“Good. Now put it on the table.”
“No. Who’s it for?”
“I’ll shoot the bitch.”
“No.”
Candy looks at me.
“The bitch doesn’t want to get shot,” she says.
I look at Declan.
“You could have shot her before and the 8 Ball is right here, so why would you shoot her now?”
Declan’s eyes flicker microscopically. He knows what will happen if he pulls the trigger and he doesn’t want to die. But he also knows that I don’t want Candy shot.
“Heads up,” I say, and toss him the 8 Ball.
He lets go of Candy and lunges for the Qomrama. Catches it with his arms, close to his chest like a football. Candy steps away from him. Declan now has the gun leveled at both of us.
I say, “Who’s it for?”
Declan looks at his bouncing baby 8 Ball and smiles.
“No one. Last time I was buying for a bunch of bankers with their own Angra group, Der Zorn Gottes. The Angra they worship is a fucking flower. Can you believe that shit? ‘Zhuyigdanatha.’ A real mouthful, huh? But his friends call him the Flayed Heart, so it’s okay.”
“But you’re not selling it to them now.”
“Damn right,” says Declan. “Your little blitzkrieg drove the price way up. Now it goes to the highest bidder.”
“That sounds dangerous,” says Candy.
“Nothing ventured nothing etcetera, sweetheart. I saw the light after he killed Moseley.”
“I didn’t kill him. He jumped in front of a bus.”
“Same thing, you fuck. He was a true believer and happy to die for the Angra cause. I’m not. Whoever ponies up can have it. That includes you, you know. You find a buyer and we can do some real business.”
“You suppose your Flayed Heart buddies know how the 8 Ball works?”
“What the fuck do I care? They can give it to their kids at Christmas instead of an Elmo doll.”
I don’t know any other actual Angra freaks. This might be my only chance to meet some real ones.
“I know someone who wants the 8 Ball. You sell it to your people, then put me in touch so I can make a bid on it.”
Declan considers this.
“I don’t know that I’m going to sell to Der Zorn Gottes. Why don’t you tell me your buyer and I’ll sell to him? I’ll give you a ten percent finder’s fee.”
“No. I want to meet your people.”
“I have the Qomrama and the gun. What you want isn’t really relevant to the discussion.”
This is starting to piss me off. Ten more seconds I’ll be chewing his face off myself. I could throw some hoodoo at him, but he still might get a shot off and hit Candy. I’ve got to find another angle.
“I have to make a tiny confession.”
Declan is already edging for the door.
“What?”
“That 8 Ball is a fake.”
He stops and looks at it like maybe he can tell the difference.
“It better goddamn well not be,” he says, and shoots a glass vase holding some long-stemmed lilies. Thank God. I was planning on knocking the ugly thing over myself. Declan shakes the 8 Ball. Uses his gun hand to try to make it do something.
A whirring, clicking noise starts behind me.
“What are you two doing out here? Fucking each other with cannonballs?” says Kasabian, bleary-eyed, creaking out of his room on all fours. He sees Declan with the gun and jerks upright, which, if you aren’t used to it, looks even worse.
“Shit!” ye
lls Declan. He shoots at Kasabian, hitting him in the leg. I pull the Peacemaker from the waistband behind my back and, before he can turn the gun on me, put a hole in the side of Declan’s thick skull. He drops the 8 Ball, but Candy’s Jade reflexes are quick-like-a-bunny fast and she catches it before it hits the ground.
“What the fuck?” yells Kasabian, grabbing his injured leg. “Your fucking hit man crippled me,” he says. He hobbles over to Declan’s body. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about. You don’t kill me, so you bring in someone to do it for you.”
“Calm down. I didn’t know he was going to shoot you. I wanted to see if he knew how to use the damned 8 Ball. Someone besides Aelita must.”
Candy sets the Qomrama on the coffee table and looks at dead Declan like she still wants to eat him.
“Fumbling with the 8 Ball, he looked like a junior high kid trying to take a girl’s bra off for the first time.”
I put the pistol back in my waistband.
“Hey, the first time can be confusing. And then some girl fools you with the kind that closes in the front and you start getting worried about how many other ways bras can open.”
“That’s the girl IQ test,” says Candy. “Can the rat run the maze and find the cheese?”
“I knew it was a conspiracy.”
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
Kasabian drops down into his desk chair. He tries to straighten his bum leg, but can only manage to get it about two thirds out.
“I’m fine over here, Nick and Nora. Thanks for asking.”
Declan has a pretty big hole in his head and it’s bleeding all over the Chateau’s pricey carpet.
I say, “I’m going to dump the body. Why don’t you two clean up the blood as best as you can and cover what you don’t get with a throw rug or the sofa?”
Kasabian shakes his head.
“Forget it. I’m not cleaning up your mess.”
“I kept this asshole from killing you.”
“You brought him here.”
Kasabian and I have ended up here before, but this is the last time.
“You’re right,” I say. “I put you in danger. Maybe it’s time for you to take all that money you have stashed away and find your own place.”
He frowns.
“What?”
I point to Declan’s corpse.
“This isn’t the last time this shit is going to happen. If anything, things are going to get worse as the Angra get closer and people start scrambling for whatever they can grab.”
Kill City Blues: A Sandman Slim Novel Page 14