“But it was actually a jar,” I said.
“Yes, but we can’t take it too literally. It was a story, after all. The older a story, the more significance it accumulates. Perhaps some of today’s works of fiction will form the basis of belief systems in the future. Anyway, stories come from somewhere—some divine inspiration or muse, if you believe writers. And if our myths and religions were somehow influenced by the real afterlife, it’s possible the story was based on this box. This is all a hypothesis, of course. I’d need to know more. I’d need to see the thing.”
I didn’t like the sound of a box containing all the evils of the world, one that spoke to the bearer and tried to seduce them into opening it. Then again, in the myth, the box had already been opened. And you only had to take a stroll around Lost Angeles to see that all the evils of the world had been unleashed a long time ago. If this was Pandora’s box, it was empty and therefore worthless, which didn’t tie in with Laureen’s desire to get it back. No, there was definitely something inside, something Sebastian thought would bring him oblivion. Franklin was barking up the wrong tree.
“Thanks for the theory, but I can’t tell you much more. It’s something I came across and was curious about.”
Franklin gave me an appraising look. I was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t as gullible as he seemed. “It does sound intriguing. I can keep an eye out for more in Enitan’s library while I research the book.”
“You do that,” I said, grateful for anything that would keep him from dogging my footsteps. “Why don’t you get started now? Enitan and I are going outside for a smoke. It’s a fire risk in here.”
Enitan looked as though he was going to protest that he didn’t smoke, but he read my glance and nodded. We left Franklin running his fingers along the stacks and stepped out onto the street.
“So,” Enitan said, “you seem to have gotten yourself wrapped up in something more tantalizing than the normal parade of human filth you wade through. Tell me everything.”
I spilled the story from start to finish. He stroked his stomach ever faster as the details emerged. When I was finished, he squeezed my arm. “You must be cautious. I have never seen an Administrator, but I know they are dangerous. You must assume this box you seek on their behalf is the same. There is good news, though, in your tale. Your Torment has been called off, so punishment is not irrevocable. And what you saw in the desert . . . there was no scale, no feather, but if the reality is close to the mythology, the sinners were being judged again.”
“And they all died the second death. I can’t say I’m brimming with excitement at the prospect.”
“On this occasion, yes. But in the mythology, some passed the test. Perhaps you were unlucky in what you saw. Perhaps some are judged to be worthy.” He paused, eyes glittering. “And if that is true, there is a way out of this place after all.”
15
I left Franklin browsing the shelves and headed home with that strange swelling back in my chest. This time, I recognized it as hope. I’d never imagined any of us had a chance at something better than this pit. But what if Enitan was right about there being a path to redemption? I wanted to believe him. The problem was that I didn’t see much redemptive behavior from my fellow Lost Angelenos.
When I got home, I flopped into my armchair and switched my thoughts to less theologically convoluted issues. I had a case to pursue that, if successfully concluded, would definitely improve my situation. It was then I realized that, amidst the excitement, I’d forgotten to ask about Sebastian’s middleman. I gave Enitan a quick call, but he was equally clueless. I had to find the middleman somehow and persuade him to tell me what I needed to know or narrow down my list of suspects some other way.
The phone rang, dragging me out of my thoughts. Laureen barked down the line at me. “We need to talk.”
“Nice to hear from you too. Want me to come over?”
“No. There’s an Italian restaurant in Il Terzo Livello called Osteria del Chianti. None of my people go there, mainly because it’s a smelly dive. It should suit you nicely. Be there at two AM.”
She hung up. I checked my watch and realized the evening’s carnival of torture was almost upon the city. It was amazing how quickly the mind adapted. A week ago, sick dread would have already been bubbling up in my stomach. I wouldn’t have had to look at the time. I considered venturing out again to the Ammit’s desert courtroom to see if some of the convicts got lucky. But waves of tiredness were washing over my brain. Anyway, I didn’t know what I was looking for. For all I knew, the Ammit had spared some of the sinners and sent them on elsewhere through some mystical means. I didn’t carry out a before-and-after headcount, after all. Instead, I lay down on the sofa and sank into a much-needed sleep.
* * *
There were countless eateries in Il Terzo Livello, from fast food joints to high-end restaurants, many of them clustered around the central square. I enjoyed coming to Sofia’s district. It was the closest you got to a normal life in the city. She kept the streets orderly as best she could, and since the main business revolved around food, the area felt less sordid. Even Hrag’s hookers and Yama’s dealers didn’t come here. People with bursting stomachs were usually more interested in sleep than sex or any other kind of drug. You could get your lips around any cuisine you wanted: Italian, Indian, Lebanese, Moroccan, Mexican, Russian, French, and dozens of others. All the restaurants, markets, and delis were stocked with the finest ingredients the Administrators could ship in, which meant the food was delicious. As ever, the district was blanketed in a seductive fog of smells that waxed and waned as I searched for the meeting place: sage, coriander, roasted chicken, chili peppers, garlic, sizzling beef, fresh pastries, aromatic coffee, and many more I couldn’t identify.
And there was the one sour note of Il Terzo Livello: it was nearly impossible not to eat to the bursting point. The Romans would gorge at feasts and orgies until their stomachs were distended, then, with the application of feather to tonsils, vomit it up to make room for more. Gluttons here used a shotgun instead of a feather. People would eat for months, until they swelled up like the Michelin Man, and hit the reset button. Then they would go all over again. Dozens of morbidly obese people tromped the pavements, some of them so large that others had to step onto the road to pass. These were at the end of the cycle—unless some of them had arrived in Hell that way, making it their default state.
I located Osteria del Chianti in a basement up a winding alleyway. It wasn’t so much a dive as an uncoordinated plummet from a dizzying height. The gray linoleum undulated as though the premises had once served as the epicenter of an earthquake, and half the light fittings ended in open wires. The few lightbulbs gave off a sluggish glow, which allowed me to pretend I couldn’t see the overflowing trash can parked outside the kitchen entrance. Laureen was the sole customer. She sat at a wobbly table in the far corner, in front of a mural depicting Tuscany or some such idyllic countryside. The grass looked bright green, but as I approached, I realized it was spongy mold. Laureen looked out of place, dressed as she was in a pristine white dress and matching straw hat.
“Lovely ambience,” I said, sitting across from her.
She pursed her lips and glowered at me from under the brim of her hat. “Order. I’m not touching the food, but we need to eat something or they’ll kick us out.”
She was clearly in a foul mood, so I ordered a penne arrabiata from the hovering waiter and waited for her to get to the point.
“I received another note this morning,” she said once the waiter had disappeared. She didn’t elaborate, instead staring at me as though searching for a reaction.
“Want me to read your mind? What did it say?”
“It was a list of the people whose sins I’m supposed to forgive. Sixteen in total. All eight of the Trustees, plus seven of the next wealthiest and most influential businessmen and women in the city.”
I whistled softly. “Smart. I doubt they’re all involved, but this way, you don’t
know which one of them has the box. I can . . .”
I was about to tell her I could reduce the list to eight, but she cut across me. “You don’t count well, do you? I said sixteen names. Eight plus seven equals fifteen. There was one other name, somebody neither wealthy nor influential.”
She pushed a piece of paper toward me. As I scanned down the list, I recognized all the city’s well-known figures. When I reached the last name, I did a double take. “That can’t be right.”
“Oh, it’s right. Got anything to tell me?”
I looked down again, just to be certain. “Kat Murphy” was indeed appended to the bottom of the roll call of the affluent and powerful. “I have no idea why I’m on that list.”
“Allow me to throw a thesis at you. Let’s say, hypothetically speaking, I hire someone to find something for me, and this person gets the idea in her tiny mind that there’s more to be gained than the generous payment I offered. She finds the person who stole my item and makes a pact with them. She agrees not to mention she’s found my possession in exchange for a slice of the action. Sound about right?”
Even without eating what would probably be a very dubious bowl of pasta, I began to feel sick. Laureen looked like she was ready to set the Torment back on me or, even worse, feed me to her pet Egyptian deity.
“I don’t blame you for thinking that. The same thing would have occurred to me. But I know you can’t forgive my sins. You told me yourself when you hired me, and I don’t think you had any reason to lie. If you could have quietly let the thief off the hook and gotten the box back without your boss finding out, you’d have done it. So there’s no percentage in throwing my hat in with the ransomer. Even if I thought you could forgive my sins, do you think I’d do something so obvious? I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I’m not dull enough to mess with somebody who has the power to hand me back to the Torments.”
She gave me a hard stare, and for a moment, I wondered if she could read minds. I still didn’t really know what powers the Administrators possessed. My answer seemed to satisfy her, for she relaxed her shoulders and held out her hand for the note. “Any other theories as to why you’re on there?”
I stared up at the ceiling and thought out loud. “None of those people owe me enough to do me that big a favor. The one thing I can think of is that the holder of your box knows you’ve hired me and threw my name into the mix, hoping you’d get rid of me.”
“How do you suppose they found out I hired you?”
That was obvious. Sebastian was the one person who’d had contact with the middleman. He must have lied about not being able to get in touch. The money-hungry turd probably sold the nugget about me being on the case to his contact, who passed on the information to his employer. I should have given him to Alexis after all. The sole flaw in this theory was the question of why the ransomer had taken the route of dumping me in the shit with Laureen. Every Trustee had the resources to snatch me and keep me safely out of the way.
I laid out the progress in my investigation to Laureen, telling her my theory about Sebastian, my discovery that it was definitely an inside job, and the fact that one of the Trustees was likely now in possession of her loot.
“That’s something, I suppose,” she said. “What’s your next step?”
“Find the middleman and extract the name of the buyer from him. After that, figure out where it’s hidden, steal it back, and hand it over.”
“That doesn’t sound at all difficult.”
“Is that sarcasm? It would be a lot easier if you grabbed the Trustees and got them to ’fess up.”
I was thinking specifically about dangling them one by one in front of the Ammit until the culprit’s tongue loosened, but I couldn’t say that. I didn’t want Laureen to know how much I’d found out.
“I can’t do that. We’re here to keep the city running, not to interfere with the system.”
“You called off my Torment. Seems like interfering to me.”
“We have discretionary powers, but we’re not supposed to use them unless absolutely necessary. Messing with a Torment or two is small potatoes, not likely to be noticed. If I yank all the Trustees out at once, it’ll cause upheaval. My boss will want to know why I did it.”
“And then what? You’ll get sacked?”
“That’s about the size of it. I need you to pull your finger out and get the box back. You’ve got six days left.”
“It could take longer.”
“No, it can’t.” She fell silent, twiddling her hair, and then seemed to come to a decision. “My boss is coming into town for a meeting in seven days. An inspection, rather. That replica won’t fool him. When he finds out the box is gone, he’ll take over. And that, Kat, will mean our deal is off. I tell you this so you understand there can be no delays.”
I looked down at the grubby tablecloth so she couldn’t see the worry thrumming across my face. Six days was going to be tight. Still, I had to project confidence. I swallowed hard and met her gaze. “I’ll get it back.”
“You’d better.”
The conversation lapsed, the only sound the buzzing of the lightbulb overhead. I wanted to probe more about the contents of the box, but she would give me the brush-off. Still, I figured I might as well try to extract some other information.
“So what’s Satan like?”
“Nobody calls him Satan. That’s more of an unofficial job title. The current incumbent is called Mr. Stanton.”
“Is he really scary?”
“Not at all. He’s underwhelming, in fact: a small man, shortsighted, smells of boiled cabbage. He is an excellent administrator, though, and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Which is why you should be getting on with what I’ve hired you to do. As in now.”
“What about my pasta?”
“You’re better off without it. Last time I ate here, I found a cockroach in my salad. I’d ordered beetle. Before you go, let me be clear about something. Your priority is to get the box back. But if you get the chance to find out who hired the three individuals you seem to think are so inept, take it. Now go do what you do.”
Laureen fumbled in her bag and produced a pack of cigarettes as I rose to go. The flame shook as she lit her smoke. She was scared. I didn’t have much sympathy. She didn’t have a Torment hanging over her head and the more distant fear of a one-way trip into the guts of the Ammit. The meeting had left me feeling ten times worse. If Sebastian had spilled the beans, then the ransomer knew I was coming. The middleman would go to ground, and I would be left with no leads. Even if I did somehow get the box back, the guilty Trustee would know I was responsible and want revenge. Either way, I was screwed.
16
The next forty-eight hours confirmed my worst fears. I burned through my savings like a socialite on a spending spree as I gadded about town, visiting all the places you might expect to run into a middleman with close ties to a Trustee.
I tossed a few token bets on the roulette wheel at the Lucky Deal and stopped in at the Colosseum again. I dodged lewd propositions at Hrag’s main brothel, the Palace of Perversions, until asked to leave for not sampling the merchandise. I pretended to smoke a pipe at Yama’s highest-end opium den, peeking out through my curtain at the passing customers. I cracked open a spiny lobster at Fusion, Sofia’s flagship restaurant, and inspected the earlobes of the other diners for excessive size. I popped in to Adnan’s firing range and slammed slugs into a target while watching the comings and goings. I drank at the fanciest bars in Eleutherios, where Jean-Paul and his associates sipped cognac. I spent a few hours hanging around outside Wayne Beat’s financial stronghold, named Walled Street in honor of its very large walls topped with armed guards. There was no sign of the middleman.
All the while, I was expecting a posse of armed henchmen to bundle me into a van. To anybody watching my wanderings, it would be clear I was still investigating. If one of the Trustees had put my name on the list in the interests of sabotage, they would know the ruse had failed. But nobody
seemed interested in what I was up to. Maybe I’d made it onto the amnesty list for another reason, which I couldn’t begin to guess at.
I made a similar lack of progress working out if any sinners had survived the attentions of the Ammit. I visited the desert clearing the following two nights. On the first occasion, around two dozen people turned up. They all seemed to go the way of the previous batch. The second night, nobody showed face. I also saw nothing of Franklin. Enitan told me he was spending all his time in the back room, leafing through manuscripts.
At five AM on the second night, grinding my teeth at the lack of progress, I hit the sack and lunged into a vivid dream about Danny. It wasn’t a memory this time; it felt like a vision of the future. We lay naked between soft cotton sheets in a dazzling white hotel room. A cool breeze whispered through open bay windows that revealed a glittering azure ocean, which dwindled until it met the cloud-fluffed sky in a hazy kiss. Soft jazz drifted over the gentle swish of the waves. I could see the dilated pores on Danny’s nose as he leaned in to brush his lips across mine. He smelled of soap and warm skin. Tranquility suffused my body. Words were unnecessary. There was no sin, no pain—just a perfect moment that rendered the past and future irrelevant.
When I woke up, the sun streaming in through the windows, I could almost still feel the weight of his body pressed against mine, and I had the wild idea that I’d conjured him into solidity. But the space next to me was empty. Even so, he felt closer than ever, as if any moment he would walk out of the kitchen holding two mugs of coffee and clamber back into bed. I stared at a peeling corner of wallpaper through misty eyes and realized what my sleeping mind was trying to do. It wanted me to believe there was a chance of winning entry to Heaven, where Danny would be waiting to forgive me. But as a car engine roared and gunfire crackled, I knew this was an unattainable dream. Any acts of kindness I carried out in Lost Angeles were pebbles tossed on the other side of a scale weighted down by a mountain of sin. Enitan was wrong. If there were a second judgment, the Administrators wouldn’t have created a place where the pigs could do nothing but wallow in their own filth. I was doomed to be consumed by the Ammit. The best I could hope for was to stay Torment-free and live with the dream Danny rather than the real one. To do that, I needed to satisfy Laureen.
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