The Getaway God

by Richard Kadrey

  I look over her stone-­faced Pinkertons.

  “You’re fucking kidding me. I do your job for you, clear out the chop shops myself and stop the goddamn Angra, and you pull this?”

  “She’s an escaped prisoner. There are rules.”

  “The Shonin wouldn’t be happy with any of you right now. And he was a fucking monk. A holy man.”

  “Stop stalling.”

  “I asked him once if he worked for the Vigil or the world. He gave me the right answer. You loafer-­wearing shitbirds don’t have a clue what the right answer is.”

  Julie unbuttons her jacket. Puts a hand on her Glock.

  “Now, Stark.”

  The video-­shop door slams open. Candy comes running out in one of my coats. It’s too big and she looks ridiculous. She has my Colt in her hand.

  She yells, “Fuck,” but before she gets “you” out, Julie pulls her gun and puts six shots into her.

  Candy drops the Colt and doesn’t move. Blood pools under her. A lot of it. It drips over the curb and into the street. Flows away with the rainwater down into the sewer. Julie takes a ­couple of steps toward the body. I get in front and stick a finger in her face.

  “Not if you want to live,” I shout. “Don’t touch her. None of you.”

  For thirty seconds it’s a High Noon standoff. The Vigil punks try to stare me down, but none of them make a move.

  Finally, Julie puts her pistol back in its holster and says to one of the agents, “You have video?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” says the Pinkerton with the camera.

  Julie waves to her posse.

  “Back on the trucks. The tape will do. Washington doesn’t need any more pixie corpses contaminating the facilities.”

  Julie leads her agents to an ASV parked down the street. The asshole with the camera lingers for a few seconds. Gets some good footage of me crouched over Candy’s body like a dumb animal.

  When they’re gone, I call Allegra. She says she and Vidocq will be right over.

  Kasabian is back hiding in his room again.

  AND THEN IT’S Christmas. I’m at Bamboo House of Dolls and I’m drunk. The bar is as close to crowded as it’s been in weeks. Vigilantes burned a lot of the other Lurker bars in town, or they flooded, so Carlos has a whole new clientele.

  How many days has it been since the scene outside the store? I’m a little blurry on the matter. Anyway, it’s the jolly time of year, right? And in a ­couple of days it will be exactly a year since I escaped from Hell, a place that, by now, might not exist anymore.

  I’m back drinking Jack Daniel’s. It’s not bad, but it’s not Aqua Regia and I can’t go Downtown to get more. I’m down to my last carton of Maledictions. The world is closing in fast and I don’t like it one bit.

  People tried talking to me earlier, but I’m not in the mood, so now they’re mostly leaving me alone. Except for Carlos. For once he’s not tending bar. He hired Fairuza for the holidays. Turns out she can pour beer and whiskey in glasses as well as anyone, and she even knows how to make a ­couple of cocktails. Kasabian hangs around the end of the bar chatting her up at every opportunity. She even smiles back at him. I guess she’s gotten over the Mason-­is-­coming-­to-­swallow-­our-­souls thing. Carlos is still pouring drinks, but I’m his only customer at the moment. I’m happy that the Sub Rosa stepped in and got the Lurkers released, but I don’t want drinks from Fairuza because it makes me think about Candy’s band and I don’t want to go there right now.

  Carlos and I are hunkered down at a table in the back corner of the bar, a bottle of Jack between us and two shot glasses. On the jukebox, Martin Denny is playing a tiki version of “White Christmas.”

  “You are one morose fuck, you know that?” says Carlos. “You’re literally sucking the entire concept of happiness from my body.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “I know. I’m just saying that you’re a holly jolly black hole and I thought you ought to know that.”

  “Your advice is much appreciated.”

  “That wasn’t advice. That was an observation. If you want advice, it’s to have another drink.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I concur.”

  Carlos pours us both shots.

  Vidocq and Allegra are at a table by the door. Cindil is with them. She doesn’t look like Cindil anymore, but she doesn’t look like the chop-­shop train wreck I put her in. Allegra has been using the divine light stones and other medical hoodoo to fix up Cindil’s face and erase the scars. She’s dyed her hair magenta. It looks good on her.

  Manimal Mike, the Tick Tock Man, is at the end of the bar deep in discussion with Tykho, the head of the Dark Eternal vampire gang. Most vampires don’t do Christmas, but here she is. I guess we all need our secret vices.

  I packed up the last of Candy’s things and put them in the storage room this morning. I put her guitar in last.

  It’s a good thing Carlos is having this sort of reopening party. Kasabian and I don’t have enough cash to throw our own party. Even after saving this sorry rock one more time, the government welshed on paying me because I never did turn in those psych evaluation forms. A technicality, but isn’t that what bureaucrats exist for? Max Overdrive needs money and I’ve lined up work. It might be a huge mistake, but it’s one more favor I owe.

  Carlos pours us another round and goes off to make sure that in all the merriment Fairuza is remembering to charge ­people for drinks.

  I wonder if I should get rid of all the sheets and pillowcases too. Candy brought them with her when she moved in.

  Word is that the Vigil is cleaning up the last Der Zorn Götter cells around L.A. What do you charge ­people with for trying to murder the world? I’m sure the Vigil will come up with something suitably creative and vindictive. I hope so.

  I’m learning to use the coffeemaker. Turns out there are manuals for that kind of thing. I hope the wash-­and-­fold place opens again soon. I need to clean the blood out of a few delicates.

  The Sub Rosa is doing double shifts this holiday season, springing Lurkers like Fairuza from federal pens and covering up for dying Gods, walking buildings, and all the other catastrophic hoodoo that’s been going down in L.A. The Augur might be gone, but the Sub Rosa still have friends in high-­and-­mighty places. Tuatha is running things temporarily while the board of directors searches for a new scryer. Lots of luck. If any Sub Rosas come around looking for trouble, I won’t hit them. I’ll tell them the one thing that they won’t want to hear. That they’re Qliphoth. Just Eaters, Diggers, and Gluttons in designer shoes.

  Brigitte comes in with a blonde. She waves to me. The blonde raises her hand to wave, but Brigitte gets between us and steers her to the bar.

  On the plus side of things, Audsley Ishii has disappeared. I’ll probably have to kill him sometime, but not tonight. Tonight is eggnog and reindeer games. Ho ho ho.

  I pour another shot.

  When I look up, Julie is standing by the table.

  “Can I sit down?”

  “You own me. Why not?”

  “Don’t complain to me. You’re the one who wanted a favor.”

  “According to Carlos, I’m the Krampus. A total Christmas sinkhole.”

  “Is it because of Candy or because of me?”

  “I lost a girlfriend and gained a boss. You tell me.”

  “You didn’t lose her. You just lost a version of her. I bet she’s here right now. Isn’t she?”

  “You tell me.”

  I owe Julie a lot. So does Candy. More than either of us can ever repay, but I guess I’ll try playing second fiddle now that she’s reopened her detective agency.

  “I don’t see her.”

  “Good. That’s the idea.”

  She pours herself a drink in Carlos’s glass.

  “I hear through the grapevine that Wells mi
ght not go to prison after all. I put in my report about possession and mind control and someone back east believed me. They’ll want your report too. To corroborate mine.”

  “To help Wells?”

  “You said you would.”

  “I say a lot of stupid things.”

  She holds up her glass. I clink mine against hers.

  “I’ll do it this week.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  The best-­dressed man in L.A. bellies up to the bar and asks Fairuza a question. She points to where I’m sitting and he heads in our direction.

  I lean over to Julie.

  “You can stay for this or you can leave. If you stay, it’ll be weird. If you go, you’ll be sorry.”

  Julie squints at me.

  “I hope you aren’t going to write your reports in riddles like that.”

  Samael reaches our table.

  “Too late now,” I say.

  “Too late for what?” says Samael.

  “For her to avoid you. Now that you’re here, please be nice.”

  He beams down at Julie and puts out his hand.

  “Hello. I’m Samael.”

  “Another one-­name guy. Like Stark.”

  He pulls up a chair and sits down.

  “We do share that affectation, I’m afraid.”

  I point at him.

  “For me it’s an affectation. For him it’s just his name. He doesn’t have a last name.”

  “Everyone has a last name,” says Julie.

  “Not angels.”

  She looks at me, then Samael.

  “Is this another one of your tall tales? Going to Hell? Hanging around with God?”

  “This is your new employer?” says Samael. “She doesn’t seems to have a lot of faith in you.”

  “What we are and what we do is hard for sane ­people to accept.”

  “You’re serious,” says Julie. “This man is an angel.”

  “Why is that so surprising?” he says. “It’s Christmas. L.A. must be full of angels.”

  Samael reaches into his coat and pulls out a bottle of Aqua Regia and sets it on the table.

  “You are a God,” I say.

  “No. But I’ll do in his stead.”

  Julie looks at us.

  “You two are so full of shit.”

  Samael says, “This man fights monsters for you. He fought a serial killer who couldn’t possibly be a mere human. He killed ancient evils and is sitting here right now with bullets in his chest, and you can’t take his word for it that I’m an angel?”

  Julie blinks.

  “No one’s ever asked me a question like that before.”

  Samael gives her his ten-­thousand-­watt smile.

  “Of course we’re joking, my dear. There’s no such thing as angels. They’re an old folktale, like leprechauns and virgins.”

  He gets up from the table. Puts his finger on top of the Aqua Regia bottle.

  “I’ve left a case of this and some Maledictions at home for you.”

  “Merry Christmas, Samael.”

  “And to you. Nice meeting you, Julie.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “It’s just a trick I can do.”

  “Stark said that to me when we first met.”

  “I guess all us angelic frauds know the same jokes.”

  He turns, weaves his way through the crowd, and heads out, slowing for just a second to look at the blonde with Brigitte.

  “Will Samael be coming around the office when we’re working together?” says Julie. “He’s kind of cute, in a vaguely sinister way.”

  “And that’s your type?”

  She looks at me.

  “Unfortunately, it is.”

  I start to get up and walk to the bathroom when I notice Brigitte heading our way. She comes over and hugs me.

  “Merry Christmas, James.”

  “Merry Christmas to you.”

  She points to the blonde. She’s Japanese. Young, in a shaggy pink fake-­fur coat.

  “Have you two met?”

  “Hi,” she says. “I’m Chihiro.”

  She puts out her hand and I shake it.

  “Like the girl in Spirited Away.”

  “What’s that?” she says.

  “It’s a movie.”

  She smiles crookedly.

  “I’ll have to watch it sometime.”

  “I think you’d like it.”

  “May we join you?” says Brigitte.

  “Of course.”

  Brigitte brings over a chair. She sits next to Julie and Chihiro sits where Samael was, next to me.

  Julie does a small wave.

  “Hi. I’m Julie.”

  I can’t take my eyes off Chihiro.

  “Sorry. This is Julie. My new boss.”

  “New boss? What kind of work do you do?” says Chihiro.

  “I used to work for the government. But now I run a detective agency.”

  Chihiro nods.

  “This is a good town for it. Things go missing all the time.”

  “It’s our job to bring them back home again,” I say.

  “You any good at it?” says Chihiro.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Don’t wait too long. It might get away.”

  “Then I wasn’t supposed to find it in the first place.”

  Chihiro raises her eyebrows.

  “You’re a philosopher.”

  “No. Just drunk.”

  “That sounds like a very good idea,” says Brigitte. “Let’s all have too many drinks. I’ll get us more glasses.”

  Chihiro presses her leg against mine under the table. I want to kiss her and I know she wants to kiss me too, but we’ll have to take it slow. Let the idea of Candy being dead settle into everyone’s mind.

  She has a new name and she’s blonde now. To the ones who can’t see past the glamour. Having Julie here was a good test. She didn’t spot Candy at all. It took my hoodoo, Vidocq’s alchemy, and Allegra’s herbs and potions to come up with a glamour strong enough to fool even most Sub Rosa. I don’t know how long it will last, but we have the formula now, so we can reapply it when we have to. Too bad we’re the only ones who can ever know about the stuff. We could make a fortune selling it.

  “What do you do for a living, Chihiro?” says Julie.

  “I’m a guitarist.”

  “Are you in a band? Would I have heard of you?”

  “We broke up, unfortunately. But I’m putting a new one together.”

  “Good luck,” says Julie.

  “Thanks.”

  Chihiro looks at me.

  “Aren’t you going to say good luck?”

  “I don’t think I have to. By the way, I have a guitar at home that no one is using. It’s red . . .”

  “Sold,” she says. “When can I come by and see it?”

  “Tomorrow. Around one?”

  “A late riser? Me too. I’ll be there on the dot.”

  Brigitte comes back with glasses and a bottle of vodka.

  “I know the whiskey and I’ve heard of the vodka,” says Julie.

  She picks up the Aqua Regia.

  “But what’s this?”

  “It’s not from around here. And it’s kind of strong. You wouldn’t like it.”

  She sits back in her chair.

  “That sounds like a challenge.”

  “It isn’t. Trust me. Only very bad ­people drink this swill.”

  “You talked me into it.”

  Julie downs her Jack Daniel’s and points to the empty glass.

  “Hit me.”

  “Okay. But first I have to piss. Don’t touch the stu
ff until I get back.”

  I give the bottle to Chihiro.

  “You’re in charge. Keep this away from her. If she’s going to taste it, I want to be here to see.”

  She salutes me.

  “I’m on it, sir,” she says. “None shall pass.”

  I head to the bathroom in the back of the bar.

  Okay. We met. But that’s it for now. It will take awhile to get used to calling her a new name, but I should have guessed that if she had to pick a disguise she’d go for a kogal pinup.

  Tomorrow I’ll give her the guitar. That will have to be it for a while. Then, sometime after New Year’s, we can accidently run into each other at the bar and buy each other drinks. Of course, Chihiro won’t be able to use any of Candy’s stuff. She’ll need everything new. Clothes. Music. Lots of Hello Kitty, robot, and anime tchotchkes. It will all cost money. The last thing I want to be is a half-­baked Mike Hammer, but until I pay off my debt to Julie for helping me fake Candy’s death, it’s what I’ll do.

  I wait until the last guy clears out of the bathroom and shove the trash can under the doorknob, blocking it. I need a moment to myself.

  I go into one of the stalls and close the door.

  It hurt seeing Candy even playing dead. It’s nothing I ever want to see again. I’m just glad none of the Vigil assholes got close enough to tell that what she was bleeding was blood from my chest wounds cut with some Karo syrup, all taped to the body armor under her coat. It was all so close to falling apart. Mason. The Angra. Tossing Chaya and Deumos. Killing Candy. One wrong move could have brought the whole thing down on top of us. But we got away with everything. For once.

  I want to live small for a while. No Gods, good or bad. No angels or Hellions. No ghosts or zombies. Just divorcées and insurance scams. That sounds like paradise. Like two weeks back at the Chateau Marmont with twenty-­four-­hour room ser­vice.

  I light a Malediction and draw the smoke slowly into my lungs. It hurts so good.

  There’s a light knock on the stall door. Great. The place wasn’t clear after all.

  “Go away. Sorry I blocked the door. Just move the can.”

  He knocks again, so light it’s almost inaudible.

  “Please go away.”

  No one says anything. I wait to hear the sounds of the trash can being moved.