Hell's Detective

by Michael Logan

  I swung my legs out of bed and made myself the coffee I’d longed for Danny to bring. The middleman was a dead end. I needed to narrow the field down fast some other way to give myself a fighting chance. There was a time for beating around the bush and a time for setting fire to the forest to see what scurries out. With the clock ticking down, the time had come to pull out the metaphorical can of kerosene and strike a match.

  One Trustee had already worked out how much leverage Laureen’s trinket offered. On that basis, the others would want it as badly for their own ends: not necessarily to have their sins forgiven but to expand their power and influence. Yama, for example, would probably seek to use the box to take over the city, so he was at the bottom of my list of suspects. Everything I’d heard about him suggested remorse wasn’t his strong suit, and he seemed at home here. The others were harder to judge. I would have expected Adnan to view it as another weapon to sell on. Hrag lacked imagination in anything other than the arena of sexual deviancy, but he would probably want to possess the box because it made him seem important. Sofia, Jean-Paul, and Tyrell seemed content with what they had, but the fact that they were in power at all suggested ambition of some sort. Wayne already had more money and influence than he could possibly need, but that had never stopped any bigwig I knew from pursuing more. Flo was the biggest mystery, but I had to assume there were things he wanted. In the end, there was no way of knowing for sure how each individual would use the box, so I couldn’t discount any of them—which was why I needed a filter.

  I intended to spread the word that I would soon come into possession of an item from Avici Rise, working on the assumption that the Trustees at least must have always known where the Administrators lived, as they dealt with them. I would hint that the item in question would bring great advantage to the highest bidder. I would have to be deliberately vague about the item. The details were irrelevant anyway. The fact that it belonged to an Administrator who was desperate to get it back would be enough to pique interest. The Trustees would come running, hopefully all except the one who already had the box—unless that party was smart enough to figure out my ploy and pretend he or she wanted in on the action. Even in that scenario, I hoped to make an educated guess. If all eight responded, the last to arrive would become my chief suspect, as they would probably think over their best strategy before acting.

  The play was weak, but it was all I had.

  There was risk involved. If Sebastian hadn’t talked after all, and the Trustee in possession of the box hadn’t noticed I was on the trail, they would know for sure something was up. Maybe the guilty party would simply scoop me up and subject me to some recreational torture until they nailed a deal with Laureen. That would not play well for me, since Laureen had no intention of making a deal. On the plus side, knowing the way the Trustees’ minds worked, I was confident they would provide unintentional insurance over the next few days. If I did get the box back, I would deal with the consequences of not actually handing it over to one of the Trustees later.

  I called Enitan to clue him in on my plan and rope him into getting the word out. He thought I was insane, pointing out that Yama was the kind of charming individual who would take the box from me by force rather than wait for the chance to pay lots of money and possibly lose it to one of his enemies.

  “He would if he could, but he won’t have the chance,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “You know the Trustees: they don’t trust themselves, never mind each other. You’re right—the first thing Yama and a few others will think of is how to get their hands on the loot early. The second thing they’ll think of is how the others will be thinking about getting their hands on the loot early. The third thing they’ll think of is how to stop that from happening. I’ll be followed night and day the minute we announce this. If one of them makes a move, the others will step in. It’ll be like having my own personal bodyguard.”

  “Do you really think it wise to set these people against each other? You could start another war and make the most vicious people in this city extremely cross with you.”

  “You worry too much. They’re all sweethearts really.”

  Enitan—who knew that once I’d made up my mind, it couldn’t be changed—stopped arguing. He offered to front the fake sale without revealing my identity. I refused. If he did that, all the heat would come his way. He didn’t deserve to run my risks for me. He agreed to notify his contacts with every Trustee, asking them to register their interest for an auction that was supposed to take place two days after Laureen’s deadline expired. Enitan was a born salesman. He would spin a convincing tale about the incredible opportunity the purchase of this rare prize would offer.

  I didn’t have to wait long for the first responses to come. Adnan himself called one hour after I spoke to Enitan and began playing on our personal relationship to weasel out an advantage.

  “You’ve been a very naughty girl,” he said when I answered.

  “Wrong number. Phone sex is 244-2517, not 2571.”

  He laughed. “You know it’s me, Kat. Why are you auctioning this allegedly marvelous piece when you know I will pay you a handsome price?”

  “Your prices are as handsome as you are. I’ve got bills to pay.”

  “The ladies do not complain. Nor will you. Let’s talk business and avoid the need for something so uncouth as an auction.”

  “No dice. The other Trustees are in the loop, and you know how grumpy Yama can get.”

  “Tell me, then, why I should come to your auction.”

  “I’m sure Enitan’s given you the basics. This is a genuine Administrator artifact, one of a kind.”

  “And what exactly is the power this artifact holds? Enitan was unclear.”

  “Did I mention it belonged to an Administrator?”

  “Administrators possess many ordinary objects. How do I know you’re not trying to sell some old socks?”

  I’d already drawn a satisfying red line through Adnan’s name on my suspect list, so I didn’t need to convince him to come to an event that would never happen. It would have seemed weird to be offhand, though, so I did my best to pretend I needed his fat wallet. “Do you really think I would invite such a mighty figure as yourself to an auction if this object wasn’t extremely desirable? If I didn’t know for a fact that the Administrator in question would pay a high price and give many concessions to get it back? If you don’t want to come, that’s your choice. I’m sure Yama or Hrag would be happy to take it off my hands.”

  “You are a sly one, raising the specter of my rivals. I will come,” he said and hung up.

  Hrag was next to eliminate himself through a brusque phone call from an underling. I fretted for another hour before a knock came on the door. I sidled up to it, my hand hovering near the holster. I looked out the peephole to see a slender woman whose woven hair hung over the shoulder of her tight black T-shirt. She had delicate features marred by a deep scar, slightly lighter than her dark skin, that ran from her right eye to the corner of her mouth. I knew her by repute: Yolanda, one of Yama’s chief enforcers. She was renowned for knowing exactly how and where to apply various parts of her body for maximum agony—including her braids, which had razor blades embedded in the ends. The drug lord was taking this seriously. I opened up and waved her in. She didn’t budge.

  “You will sell the item to Lord Yama,” she said, the formal tone indicating she was delivering a message verbatim. “You will bring it to him as soon as you have acquired it. He will tell you what he shall pay. If you do not do so and attempt to go ahead with an auction, he will be most displeased. If you attempt to double-cross him, he will be most displeased. If the item does not prove to be as significant as you claim—”

  “He will be most displeased,” I interrupted. “I get it.”

  Since I was stringing everyone along and needed the next few days to be as peaceful as possible, I decided to play nice. Yama was the one guy who might be crazy enough to try to seize the box and damn t
he other Trustees. “Tell Lord Yama his terms are acceptable.”

  Her face fell. “Really?”

  “You seem disappointed.”

  “Lord Yama informed me you would probably rebuff his generous offer while making lots of smart remarks. You have a reputation. I was to persuade you to accept.”

  “By punching me around the head, I assume? Sorry to spoil your fun. Lord Yama also has a reputation, far more concerning than mine. I’d prefer not to end up on his shit list.”

  “Can’t I slap you upside the head once?” she said, ditching the formality. “I spent five minutes downstairs warming up, and my knuckles are itching.”

  I looked at her closely and detected the hint of a smile.

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” I said. “I’ve got a modeling assignment in an hour.”

  “Too bad. You’ve got a very punchable face.”

  “I’ve heard that. One thing before you disappear to vent your frustration on some other unfortunate: tell Yama not to worry if it seems like the auction is still on. I need to continue with the pretense so I don’t raise the suspicions of the other Trustees. I’ll contact him once I have the item.”

  She gave me an appraising look. I could tell my rapid folding under pressure had raised her suspicions. My reputation had indeed preceded me, and for the millionth time, I told myself I should try to be less of a smartass.

  “Yama’s not the kind of man you want to lie to,” she said and left.

  I crossed to the coffee table to strike out Yama’s name. I was already three suspects down, which wasn’t bad for a morning of sitting around the apartment. I’d achieved far less over the last few days despite expending much shoe leather. Admittedly, I’d also placed my neck firmly on Yama’s chopping block. I’d think of something to appease him. If I didn’t, there was always Plastic Avenue.

  17

  I mooched around the apartment, too restless to read, as I waited for more RSVPs. If none of the others got in touch, the field would be too wide to give me any hope of completing the job on time. Jean-Paul, Flo, Sofia, Wayne, and Tyrell owned more real estate among them than British royalty. As the afternoon dragged on, I lit one cigarette after the other until dirty gray smoke festooned the living room. Any time I heard footsteps in the hallway, I looked up expectantly only to hear no knock. When the phone finally shrilled, I leaped out of my seat and answered before the first ring had died away.

  “How is it going?” Enitan said.

  I disguised my disappointment at hearing his voice. “Not bad. Three down, five to go.”

  “Make it six down. Sofia’s second-in-command popped in two hours ago on another matter and told me to tell you she was in. One of Wayne’s bankers called me five minutes ago to say he would attend. And Tyrell sent a note.”

  Some of the tension left my neck as I scribbled the three names off my list. Now we were getting somewhere. “While I’m grateful for the news, couldn’t you have called earlier? I don’t have many cigarettes, or nails, left.”

  “I became distracted. I discovered a most interesting document about your mysterious box and wanted to read it fully. You had better come over.”

  I checked my watch. It was after five, close enough to the nightly penance to make it unlikely that I would get any further messages for the next seven hours. I grabbed my car keys and took the stairs two at a time. This was a major bonus, as I hadn’t expected Enitan to find anything. The box seemed both too esoteric and too real an object to feature in any mythology. Everything else had elements of grandiosity or horror: the winged Torments, close to the Christian portrayal of demons and emanating from the occult symbol of the tower; the voracious Ammit from Egyptian lore; the endless cycle of punishments that featured in every carrot-and-stick world religion. From the somber tone of Enitan’s voice, though, the innocent-looking box was as bad as all of those if not worse.

  As I pulled into traffic, one of Hrag’s pimpmobiles fell in a few cars back. The tailing had begun, but Hrag’s boys, in their outlandish vehicles and absurd getups, were as discreet as a seven-month pregnancy bump at a shotgun wedding. I felt a warm flush of satisfaction at my instincts being proven correct. When I took the ramp from Providence onto Route 666, I spotted another car directly behind the pink monstrosity. This one was a black sedan with smoked-glass windows. That was bound to be Yama’s. He had an unhealthy fondness for black. As far as I could tell, these were the only two tails so far, but Adnan would probably be planning a similar action. He did so hate to be left out.

  Our procession glided across town, and I made sure to give my companions a poke by skewing into the turn for Diyu at the last second. They both managed to follow me, but I’d let them know I had their number. When I pulled up outside Enitan’s, they made no effort to hide, parking a few dozen feet farther on. The rival groups clambered out of their vehicles. Hrag’s boys flexed their muscles, while Yama’s lot made sure their hands were close to their holsters.

  “Talk amongst yourselves, folks,” I shouted and entered Enitan’s cave.

  At the chime of the bell, the fence poked his head out of the back room like a cautious turtle from its shell and waved me up to join him. Once he’d closed and locked the door, I took in the room and whistled. The floor was empty of paper, displaying splintered floorboards, and one wall had been cleared to allow the installation of a bookshelf. Colored notes had been taped underneath neatly filed manuscripts.

  “Your apprentice has been busy,” I said.

  “Indeed. I must thank you for bringing him to me. He has a most orderly mind.”

  “Don’t mention it,” I said, thinking I was simply happy to be shot of the pest. “So you hit pay dirt?”

  “Yes,” Enitan said, his voice dropping into a whisper.

  “You got a sore throat, or are you trying to inject some drama into the moment?”

  “I do not want anyone to overhear us,” he said, although his voice gained volume.

  “I’m hooked. Tell me.”

  “You are familiar with the concept of the apocalypse, Armageddon, or whatever you wish to call it, yes?”

  “End of the world. Lights out and don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

  “Close. In the Bible, it refers to a final battle on Earth between the forces of good and evil, which will lead to the ultimate downfall of Satan.”

  “So a happy ending then. That’s lovely.”

  “Not for the billions judged impure and cast into the pit with him. Anyway, as we know from bitter experience, the Bible is lacking somewhat in accuracy. Besides, there are many other apocalyptic myths and tales, most of them involving unpleasant phenomena such as plagues, floods, meteors, fireballs, and so on.”

  “What’s that got to do with the box?”

  “I found this,” he said, sliding a slim volume across the desk. I picked it up, noting the fragments of ripped paper along the tape-bound spine that indicated missing pages.

  “Apocalypse Myths and Their Origins Throughout History,” I read out loud. “Sounds like a real page-turner.”

  I thumbed through the pages, glancing at the titles of the first three chapters: “Ragnarok,” “The Mayan Apocalypse,” and “The Zombie Apocalypse.” On the title page of chapter four was a drawing—rough and ready but unmistakably an image of the replica I’d seen in Laureen’s safe. The chapter was titled “The Oblivion Box.” The rest of the book had been ripped away.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes,” said Enitan. “I could not find the rest. But do you not see? You told me the box spoke to Sebastian, promised him eternal peace. It was not for him alone. This will wipe out everything if opened.”

  “Oh, please,” I said, feeling distinctly underwhelmed. “Apocalypse in a box? That’s taking the concept of convenience too far. How could something so small obliterate existence?”

  “After all you have seen down here, you think it is not possible?”

  “You’ve got a point, but look at the other chapters,” I said, turni
ng back and scanning the pages. “Norse gods springing out of the afterlife to bash each other over the head with big hammers. The dead returning to life with an insatiable appetite for human flesh. What makes you think the one about the box is any truer?”

  He stabbed a plump finger onto the drawing. “Because we know this exists.”

  That pulled me up short. The box did indeed exist; I’d seen its replica and heard Sebastian’s tale, both of which dovetailed neatly with the document. Too neatly, as a matter of fact. I flicked back through the document. The pages looked fresh, and from the quality of the prose, which was worse than Enitan’s standard fare, the document seemed to have been written in a hurry. My eyes narrowed.

  “Tell me,” I said, “how did you come across this?”

  “It was in Franklin’s to-read pile. I flicked through to see how his research was going.”

  “Was he there at the time?”

  “No, he said he had to go out.”

  “Did you buy this recently?”

  “I do not believe so.”

  “Do you remember buying it at all?”

  “No, but that is not so unusual. I buy a lot of books.”

  “Don’t you think this one would have stuck in your mind, especially since it looks so new? At the rate the mold’s spreading in here, you would have bought it in the last few months.”