The Getaway God

by Richard Kadrey

  Wells says, “If you know something, Stark, speak up.”

  “It’s not anyone here. Some Hellions I know are awfully anxious for the Angra to come home. I was wondering if you could do something like what we saw in there to fallen angels.”

  Wells shakes his head and checks his own shoes for blood. He doesn’t care about Hell’s problems. I can’t say I blame him.

  “It’s an interesting question,” says the Shonin. “If you find the answer let me know.”

  “What about Der Zorn Götter?” says Wells. “Your dead friend Hobaica said they were involved with the scene in the meat locker. This could be their work too.”

  Julie Sola comes around a corner holding a computer tablet. She stops for a second and without thinking puts her hand to her face. Even though she’s wearing a respirator, this close to the chapel the smell is getting through.

  “Yes? You have something?” says Wells.

  She hands him the tablet. Then reluctantly slides off her respirator.

  “We’ve found footprints and dirt throughout the facility. We need to get in there,” she says, nodding at the chapel, “but it’s pervasive. My guess is that we’ll find the same results.”

  Wells touches the screen and the tablet lights up.

  “What am I looking at here?”

  “A chemical analysis of the soil samples. Indications of methane and hydrogen sulfide gases. Sand. Clay. Igneous rock and traces of crude oil.”

  “And what does that tell us?”

  “It’s the basic soil structure of Los Angeles. Not at street level. Underground.”

  Wells hands Sola back the tablet.

  “Thank you. Carry on,” he says. She turns away and slips her respirator back on. She opens the chapel doors and closes them again.

  “I’m going to need help in there,” she says, and heads back down the hall the way she came.

  Wells looks at the Shonin.

  “Did you ask him any more about the caverns?”

  “I was getting around to it,” the Shonin says. “You said you saw caves within the fire when you were in Hobaica’s mind. Do you remember anything more about them?”

  I shake my head.

  “Nothing more than I already said. I didn’t get a good look.”

  Wells says, “There are old mines around the city. Tunnels where oil pipelines run. We’re thinking of doing a search of the whole shebang. What do you think of that?”

  I nod, not happy with where this is going.

  “Sounds good. Sounds smart.”

  The Shonin says, “What happened in the chapel, this isn’t the first time there’s been a killing on a large scale. It’s just the first time Saint Nick has been bold enough to do it in public. In the past he would have hidden it as bodies mutilated in bus or train accidents. Saint Nick needs a place where he can do more of these experiments in private. What better than somewhere underground that no one even knows exists?”

  “When do you want to start?”

  “In a day or two,” says Wells. “We’ll need to bring in some equipment from back east.”

  That’s it then. I have a day to do something about the cavern. Back when zombies were running wild, I found tunnels under L.A. full of the city’s dead. What’s worse, they opened onto Mr. Muninn’s private hidey-­hole from when he lived here. He’d been under the city collecting bits and pieces of every human civilization since probably the beginning of time. He had trinkets from the heyday of Hollywood all the way back to kingdoms as big as Rome that existed ice ages ago. And a lot of what’s in the cavern is magic and I don’t want anyone, especially not the Vigil, getting their hands on it. I need to know what to do about it, but I can’t figure it out on my own.

  It’s settled then.

  I’m heading back to Hell. Candy will be so pleased.

  AND SHE IS.

  Back at home she says, “I’m coming with you.”

  “Yeah. When you’re sick. What a great time to skip off to Hell.”

  “Fuck you. Why do you always want to leave me behind?”

  We’re in the little living room upstairs. I’m on the sofa and Candy is standing over me, arms crossed. Her face is red.

  “What are you talking about?” I say. “I already took you to Hell once and you come with me all the time when I’m doing jobs for the Vigil.”

  She uncrosses her arms and rubs her temples.

  “It feels wrong. Like you’re not coming back. Like you’re trying to ditch me again.”

  “I never tried to ditch you. I got stuck in Hell that one time. Mr. Muninn is in charge now. It won’t happen again.”

  Candy goes into the bathroom. I think it’s to keep me from seeing her cry, but a second later I hear her throwing up. She gargles and comes back out wiping her mouth on a hand towel.

  I say, “Go see Allegra while I’m gone. Has she used those big chunks of divine glass on you yet? They helped heal me when I got shot.”

  Candy blows her nose into the towel and sits on the edge of the sofa just out of reach.

  “Did you know that Kasabian has a date with my drummer?”

  “Yeah, I heard. Hell of a thing, isn’t it?”

  “Okay,” she says. “Maybe I’ll go back to the clinic and volunteer with Allegra for a few days. At least until this clears up. I have to see her for my Jade methadone anyway. Maybe that’s smarter than playing Dante with you right now.”

  I slide down the sofa a little and rub her back. She leans over and lets me.

  “Tell Allegra I want a fucking diagnosis when I get back. Not just more drugs that make you feel better for maybe a day.”

  Candy sits up and slides back so she’s leaning against the sofa. But she doesn’t get any closer to me.

  “Fine, asshole. Go play Dirty Harry. Just don’t die without me. Okay?”

  “Deal.”

  She rubs her temples. Her face is red, but I think this time it’s just her trying not to cry.

  I FEEL LIKE a heel for leaving her alone, but I do it anyway. I make sure she heads out for Allegra’s before I take off.

  Kasabian is downstairs working on his swami site while The Devil’s Rain plays on his big screen.

  “You heading back down to Dixie?” he says.

  “It looks that way.”

  “You going to help me out with a client?”

  “I can’t this trip. Maybe some other time.”

  “Too bad. I already did a favor for you, so you’re going to owe me one.”

  I already owe Muninn a favor. I don’t like carrying debt around.

  “What kind of favor?”

  “I think I found your green-­haired girl. What’s her name?”

  “Cindil Ashley.”

  “She used to work at Donut Universe?”

  “That’s her.”

  He swings his chair around to face me.

  “Then it’s her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Guess.”

  “The world’s ending. Remember? I don’t have time for this shit.”

  “A donut shop.”

  He leans back on his chair, lacing his fingers together over his stomach like the cat that ate the canary and a Buick for dessert.

  “There’s a donut shop in Hell?”

  “Just one. The donuts don’t look too good. I guess it’s like gas station food. If you need tuna salad at four A.M. on the I-­10 on your way to El Paso, you’re only going to find it where you fill up.”

  “Where’s the shop?”

  “On the big boulevard about a block north of the palace. She was within a hundred yards of you the whole time you were Lucifer.”

  I check my pockets for weapons. Colt. My black blade. Na’at.

  “I didn’t get out much. Lucifer isn’t a mingler.”

 
“If you stop in on her, bring me back a Bavarian cream. I’ll auction it off on eBay. Authentic Hellion snack food—­the Satanists will love it.”

  “I don’t think you can sell food on eBay.”

  “Then bring me back a baseball cap with a logo. Something.”

  “Sure.”

  I head for a shadow by the front door.

  Kasabian says, “What’s the magic word?”

  “What?”

  “ ‘Thank you.’ That’s what we say when someone does us a favor.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  “ ‘Thank you’ is the proper way to say it.”

  “I’ve still got pieces of ­people’s guts on my boots. Thanks is as good as it gets.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He swings back around to watch his movie. Ernest Borgnine is turning into a goat.

  I pull up the hoodie I put on under my coat and step into the shadow.

  I SPENT ELEVEN years trapped Downtown and have been back plenty of times since, but it gets harder each time. I was only Lucifer for three months, but it left me wary of Hell in ways that even being a slave there didn’t. I used to kill Hellions because I didn’t have a choice. When I was Lucifer I killed them to stay alive and sometimes just to make a point. Part of the job description for Lucifer is “ruthless bastard,” and even if I was a joke when it came to running Downtown, I was employee of the month when it came to saving my own skin. Sometimes in rotten ways. Like dragging a Hellion to death behind my motorcycle. I can’t see Mr. Muninn playing Lucifer the half-­assed way I did. He’s smarter than me, and for good or bad, he’s nicer, even if he is part of the God that I swore I’d never trust again.

  The inside of the Room of Thirteen Doors isn’t much to look at. Just a circular chamber with a series of closed doors. To one side are a few books I brought to Father Traven while he was hiding here. I busted him out of Hell and it took a ­couple of days to get him to Blue Heaven, where he could hide from prying eyes. Across from the books are the Mithras and the Singularity.

  The Mithras is the first fire in the universe. A tiny flickering flame in a glass jar right now. But if I ever let it out, it would burn all of creation to cinders.

  The Singularity is sort of the opposite of the Mithras. If he made universes instead of orchards, it’s what Johnny Appleseed would carry. Crack it open and you get a new Big Bang, followed by a brand-­new spit-­and-­polish universe, ready to move into and suitable for children and pets. Of course, if I set it off outside the Room it would eat our universe and everyone in it to make way for the new one.

  As long as the Mithras and Singularity are here, I feel safe. I’m the only one with a key to the Room and no one, not even God or Lucifer can get in here without me bringing them. And I’m not about to do that. They’re exactly who I want to keep the Mithras and Singularity away from. Especially Ruach. He’s crazier and a lot more dangerous than Aelita ever was.

  Pandemonium, Hell’s capital, is laid out like Hollywood, which puts Lucifer’s palace in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel near Rodeo Drive. I could come out nearer, but I like to get the feel of the city when I go down. Big mistake this time.

  Like Kasabian said, it’s raining in Hell. Being Hell, it’s raining blood. Good thing I put on the coat Candy Scotchgarded for me. Too bad I didn’t put any of the stuff on my pants. The blood soaks into them, weighing down the leather. It drips through my hood too and runs into my eyes. I step into a doorway before I look like one of those poor slobs back at the chapel.

  I’m on Hell’s equivalent of Hollywood Boulevard. It looks about the same as the Hollywood back home. Pretty much deserted. But I can see lights on in some of the stores and bars, so someone is around. They’re just smart enough to get in out of the blood. No way I’m walking to Beverly Hills from here. I find a shadow under the streetlight and step through. I do something I’ve never done before. I come out right in Mr. Muninn’s—­Lucifer’s—­penthouse at the hotel. He once said I could. Let’s see if he’s a devil of his word.

  I come out by his private elevator. I lean into his living room, ready to duck out if he gets all wrathful.

  “Mr. Muninn? Hello. It’s Stark.”

  I take a tentative step into the room.

  Muninn comes in from another room in a long crimson robe, a little shocked anyone would just walk into Lucifer’s apartment. The room is dark. He squints until he can make me out.

  “James. It’s you,” he says, and turns on a desk lamp. “And you’ve tracked blood all over my carpet.”

  I look down. He’s exaggerating a little. I only have one foot on the carpet, but the blood dripping off my clothes has made a nice red stain there and on the tile floor by the elevator.

  “Please step off the carpet and wait there,” he says.

  He walks out of the room and comes back a ­couple of minutes later with a bundle in his hands. There’s a towel on top.

  “You left some clothes here before you departed so quickly. Please clean up, change clothes, and meet me in the kitchen.”

  I just nod. Getting God and Lucifer pissed at you at the same time isn’t a good way to start a visit.

  I clean up and pile my dirty clothes on the tile floor. The clothes Muninn gave me were some of my better Lucifer gear. Gray creased linen pants with a pressed black shirt. I see myself reflected in one of Muninn’s windows. My hair looks like it was combed by a five-­year-­old, but the rest of me is completely Playboy After Dark. I go down the hall to where I remember the kitchen is. Mr. Muninn is inside making coffee.

  Making such a great entrance, I’m feeling a little tongue-­tied.

  “It’s raining,” I say.

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “It’s raining in L.A. too.”

  “It will be raining everywhere soon,” he says.

  “But why blood down here?”

  He points a finger upward.

  “We can thank Ruach for that. Don’t worry about the blood being contaminated with any of Hell’s ills. It doesn’t come from here. It’s falling from Heaven.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It isn’t. From what I gather, there’s a new war brewing up there. Ruach’s followers versus, well, I suppose mine and my brothers.”

  “I’m covered in angel blood?”

  “I’m sure it’s quite benign for you. It’s just hell on my carpet.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  He looks back in the direction of the living room.

  “The cleaners will be thrilled to have something to do. And in any case, it’s good to see a friendly face.”

  He brings two cups of coffee to a marble-­topped island in the middle of the kitchen. We sit down across from each other. He slides a cup to me. Hell might have the worst food in the universe, but the coffee, at least Lucifer’s, isn’t that bad. Still, I take a small first sip. Lucky me. I can still stomach the stuff.

  “To what do I owe the honor of this very surprising visit? I have a feeling you didn’t just appear here out of the blue to bring me good news from Earth.”

  “Not exactly. Angra sects are getting pretty hot and bothered back home. They’re turning churches into meat markets and it looks like they might be storing their extra bodies in the underground tunnels where you used to look after the dead.”

  “And they open into my storeroom.”

  “Yeah.”

  Mr. Muninn nods and sips his coffee. He looks a lot older than when I saw him just a few weeks ago.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like shit, Mr. Muninn.”

  He smiles. No one down here normally talks to Lucifer like that.

  “I suppose I don’t. Things were going badly here, and with a new war in Heaven, we don’t even need a threat from the Angra to feel a bit grim.”

  “It must feel funny to be o
n the side of the rebel angels this time.”

  “Don’t think that hasn’t occurred to me. But time and circumstances change.”

  “Do you think the rebels are going to win?”

  “I honestly don’t know. There isn’t the great desire for suicide among Heaven angels as there is here, but there’s plenty of bloodlust.”

  “I don’t understand. If they’re not part of Merihim and Deumos’s suicide pact, what’s the war about?”

  “Us,” he says. “The four remaining brothers. Brother Ruach wants the three of us dead and so do his followers. The rebel angels refuse to take part in our murder and so a war begins.”

  “Is there anything you can do to help?”

  “Oh my. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Sorry. It’s just, even though you’re kind of broken, you’re still a piece of God. You still have powers.”

  “Not like Ruach’s. He’s the part that broke away from the rest of us first, taking most of our power with him.”

  “Do you know where your missing brother is?”

  Muninn fiddles with a spoon on the table.

  “Chaya. He’s right here. Asleep not fifty feet from us. Ruach was keeping him in Heaven hoping to draw the rest of us into a confrontation. Samael helped Chaya to escape and brought him here.”

  “Great. That’s three of you. Can you do some kind of Voltron thing, put yourselves back together and kick Ruach’s ass?”

  “We tried to reunite and failed. If our brother Neshamah wasn’t dead, maybe the four of us could combine our strength and fight Ruach, but with just the three of us, it’s doubtful. I don’t know if the others want to try again.”

  I’ve never seen Mr. Muninn so down. And I’m the bastard who guilted him into becoming Lucifer.

  “I’m guessing you’re not working on repairing the city anymore.”

  “No one is left to do the work. Every sensible Hellion is at home hiding.”

  “Same thing in L.A. Some are running for the hills.”

  “I’m afraid there isn’t anywhere for us to run.”

  “There won’t be anywhere to run on Earth if the Angra keep making new little baby Angras.”

  He frowns every time I say their name.

  I say, “You don’t like talking about them, do you?”