Текст книги "Devil Said Bang"

Автор книги: Richard Kadrey

Соавторы: Richard Kadrey,Richard Kadrey
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Nice work, Mike. You pulled things out there at the last minute. I thought I was going to have to feed your bones to my associate but you came through.”

“So now I can have my soul back?”

“Not a chance. But I’ll tell you what you can do to get it back. I have a friend, really just sort of a yammering bastard. He’s stuck on a mechanical body, only it’s not finished. You finish him off and you’re halfway home.”

“What’s the other half?”

“I need you to build something else. A Hellion-to-English translator. And it needs to read lips.”

Mike sits on the sofa and sets the bottle between his feet.

“Is that all?”

“You do that and you can have your soul back.”

He looks up at me. Big fat tears in his dumb, red eyes.

“You promise?”

I take out a pack of Maledictions and tap him out the last one.

“If you can’t trust a man who gives you his last cigarette, who can you trust?”

He takes the smoke and I light it with Mason’s lighter. Mike nods.

“What choice do I have?”

“None. I’ll be in touch with the details.”

Candy starts out. I follow but stop at the door to put on my glove.

“What’s the story with the vucari out front?”

Mike shakes his head. Wipes the tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“My cousins. From the old country. Fucking Cossacks.”

“But you’re not a Lurker.”

“It was a mixed marriage,” he says.

“I see why you made the deal. If I had to work with family, I’d prefer Hell too.”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll sell you my soul back,” he says. Then quickly, “I’m only kidding.”

“I know, Mike. I know.”

We go back to the Porsche. Mike’s cousins beat on the dead car, smiling at us like they’re tenderizing steaks for our dinner.

I get out my phone and dial Amanda Fischer’s number. She answers on the fifth ring.

“I don’t recognize your number. How did you get this one?”

“Don’t you know me, Amanda?” I say in my spookiest Hail Satan voice. “It’s Mr. Macheath.”

The line goes quiet. I hear breathing, then, “This doesn’t sound like Mr. Macheath. How do I know it’s you?”

I try to remember what happened when I met her and her Devil toadies at the Chateau Marmont with Lucifer 1.0.

“I have the lovely pyx you gave me on the mantel in my library.”

“Master!”

“New rule. Don’t call me ‘master.’ Lucifer will do.”

“Yes, Lucifer. What can I do for you, Master?”

This shit again. Why are all Hellions and devil worshippers bottoms?

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“It’s quite all right. Now I need you to do some things for me. I need some information.”

“Yes, Lucifer. What kind of information?”

“I want everything you can find about a place called Blue Heaven. Where it is. How you get in.”

“I didn’t think anywhere was barred to you.”

“You’ll notice that part of the name includes the word ‘Heaven.’ All Heavens have a waiting list to get in and my name is at the bottom.”

“Of course, Lucifer. Sorry.”

Candy looks bored. She gets out of the car, goes back to the garage, and starts talking to the shorter vucari. By her body language she’s flirting.

“What do you know about this ghost girl running around town?”

“Our mediums say she’s a hungry ghost. A spirit that will never be satisfied no matter how much she devours. She’s killed a lot of people.”

“I know. A lot of Sub Rosa.”

“Not just Sub Rosa. Ordinary mortals too. In fact, she’s killed members of our temple. When I knew it was you, I was hoping you’d returned to save us.”

Now Candy is flirting with the taller vucari. She glances over her shoulder at the shorter one and she and Ivan laugh together. The short vucari isn’t pounding on the car anymore.

“Of course I’m here to save my followers. But I have to know which of my flocks are worthy of saving. Yours isn’t the only temple in California, Amanda.”

“Of course. We’ll prove ourselves worthy of you.”

I doubt that.

“I’m sure you will. I’d like all information you can find as soon as possible. Let’s say tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? That’s hardly any time at all.”

“Then you’d better get started.”

Candy steps out of the garage, running her hand down Ivan’s arm and holding his pinkie for a second. She blows the short vucari a kiss and comes back to the car.

I put my hand over the receiver when she gets in.

“What was that all about?” I whisper.

“Watch,” she says.

In the garage, the vucari cousins are shouting. The little one pokes Ivan in the chest with the wooden handle of his mallet. Ivan swings and clocks the little guy. But he doesn’t go down. He crouches and slams his shoulder into Ivan’s belly. Ivan falls on the shorter vucari and they end up in a pile of flailing fists and feet, rolling around the garage floor like a spider having a seizure.

I mouth, “You’re evil.”

Candy shrugs and mouths, “I was bored. And I love messing with dumb guys.”

“One more thing, Amanda. I’m going to need guns. Pistols. I’m not sure what I’ll be in the mood for, so bring an assortment. Like teacakes to a party. All right?”

“My pleasure, Lucifer. I live to serve you.”

“Of course you do.”

“Where shall I get in touch with you? The usual? The Chateau Marmont?”

Goddamn. I forgot about that place.

“Yes, the Chateau. My usual suite.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Lucifer.”

“Ciao.”

I put the phone away and Candy leans back like she’s never seen me before.

“You have a suite somewhere? You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I don’t have one yet but I think I will when we get back to town.”

“Is there room service? I like room service.”

I put the black blade in the ignition and start the car.

“How does Rinko feel about you spending time with me? She knows about us, right?”

“She’s not brain-dead, so yeah, she knows. I told you before, Rinko and I aren’t married. She knows you and I have something and you know she and I have something. No one has to be here who doesn’t want to be. I mean, there’s nothing that’s stopping you from seeing someone else.”

“I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“Really? Is that why Sasha Grey had her tongue down your throat last night?”

“Brigitte? That was nothing. Just a couple of old zombie slayers who haven’t seen each other in a few months.”

“Another month and you two would have been dry-humping on the bar.”

“And spill our drinks? Against the bar maybe, but not on it.”

“Keep talking and I won’t go back to your suite with you.”

“You started it.”

“Did I? I don’t remember. Home, Jeeves.”

I pull a U-turn across four lanes of traffic and head for the freeway. When we pass the garage Ivan and his pal are still wrestling.

We’ve been on the freeway maybe five minutes when I spot the pickup truck. It’s not hard. It’s been on our tail since we got on the road. It’s white like a rental but the windows are tinted opaque black. There aren’t many rental companies that do that, and by “not many,” I mean none.

“We’re being followed.”

Candy turns and looks out the back window.

“Which one?”

“The white pickup.”

“Are you sure?”

“Let’s find out.”

I stomp the accelerator and the Porsche tears a hole in the traffic ahead. I squeeze between two SUVs as they’re changing lanes and cut off a cable-company truck trying to pass a wrecker on the shoulder. Candy turns and looks out the back.

“The pickup is still there.”

“Put on your seat belt.”

“You always sound so serious when you think we’re going to die.”

“I have an allergy to being dead.”

“I didn’t say I minded. I like it when you talk butch.”

“Good. Shut up and keep an eye on the truck for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Of course the truck can keep up with a Porsche. It’ll be some of King Cairo’s crew in a pickup souped up with Aelita’s Golden Vigil tech. Outrunning the asshole isn’t an option. The only thing I can do is stay clear of it until one of us grows wings or runs out of gas.

I let the wrecker pass and when the traffic thins for a second I jerk the steering wheel, blasting the Porsche across all six lanes to the far side of the road. A second later the truck follows. I cut back a couple of lanes.

“They’re still on us,” says Candy.

There’s no way they think I’m Saint James. The first attack might have been a mistake but this is a straight-up hit.

I try to charge back over the way we came but we’re trapped between a lunch truck and a chop shop Camaro, the body covered in primer and all the doors different colors.

The pickup accelerates and rams us. I can’t hold the wheel. I sideswipe the lunch truck. We bounce off and tag the Camaro before I get control again. I floor the Porsche and we shoot ahead to an open spot in the traffic.

“Still there,” says Candy.

I aim the Porsche all over the road, changing lanes like I’m drunk, seasick, and snow-blind. The goddamn pickup stays on our tail.

I cut back to the slow lane and slide in between two sixteen-wheelers, drafting off the first. Bad idea. The pickup pulls alongside us and the front and rear windows roll down. I know what’s coming and don’t want to see it.

I jerk the wheel right, completely blind. Aiming for the shoulder of the road. Lucky for us there’s no one there. It’s shit news for the truckers though. The shooters in the pickup truck start firing their modified rifles. They miss us and hit the side of the rear truck. Rear and front tires blow. Shots hit the cab. I can’t tell if the driver is hit or not. The truck starts drifting into the pickup’s lane while its trailer slides in the opposite direction, pulling the rear of the truck around on the bad tires. It jackknifes, cutting off five of the six lanes. I hit the accelerator, trying to get ahead of the chaos. I do, but so does the pickup. It rams us again. And again. The little Porsche isn’t made for this kind of abuse. There’s a metallic grinding from the back like the rear axle is about to go.

There’s an overpass ahead. I look at Candy.

“Do you trust me?”

“I hate that question.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then undo your seat belt and put your head down on your knees.”

“I hate how this sounds.”

“Don’t worry. It gets worse.”

The pickup moves up to ram us again. I stay ahead until just before the overpass. And stomp the brakes, pulling up on the handbrake at the same time. The pickup can’t slow and hits us at full speed, driving up the rear of the car and over the top like we’re a ramp. I throw myself on top of Candy. Wrap my arms around her. The car roof smashes down on my back but stops when it hits the armor. The weight of the truck is suddenly gone and we start to slow. From below I hear the sound of crashing metal and exploding glass. The Porsche slows and comes to a stop, grinding against the guardrail.

I slam my back against the roof a few times and manage to raise the crushed metal a few inches. When I have enough room to move my legs, I kick out the driver-side door, slide out, and run around to Candy’s side. Her door is jammed so tight that I can’t even get a good grip. I climb on top and drive the black blade through the roof, slicing it and prying it open like a sixty-thousand-dollar oyster. Candy looks up at me through the hole.

“This is what you mean by ‘trust me’?”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m developing what are called trust issues.”

“I’m sure Allegra knows some good shrinks. Reach up your hand and I’ll get you out of there.”

We get a ride into Hollywood in a station wagon with a family from Houston. I agree with them that we’re damned lucky to walk away from an accident like that with just a few scratches. Luckier than the pickup that went off the overpass and crashed onto the street below. They drop us on Hollywood Boulevard near Allegra’s clinic, and when I try to give the dad some money he waves it off.

“I’m sure you’d do the same for someone stranded. Just pass the good fortune along.”

Candy and I look at each other and I know we’re thinking the same thing.

Who knew people not playing angles or hustling something still existed. I thought they’d died out with the triceratops. I feel funny now. A little dirty. Like maybe I contaminated their car with bad luck. I wonder if they would have given us a ride if they knew I was the Lord of the Underworld. What’s funny is I think they would have.

Nice people are fucking weird.

Carlos is sitting up in a plastic chair in the clinic reception area. His arm and shoulder are still bandaged and smell of aromatic oils and potions.

I sit down next to him.

“Hey, man. I’m really sorry to get you mixed up in my shit.”

He laughs, patting his pockets.

“When haven’t I been mixed up in your shit? I met you on the day you got back from Hell, remember?”

“I guess so.”

“Yes so. I knew something like this could happen. It’s called a calculated risk. And now it’s happened and I’m walking away. It’s like I got a measles shot. I’m immunized. Nothing bad will ever happen to me again.”

“I’m not sure it works like that.”

“Of course it does.”

He gives up patting his pockets.

“You have any cigarettes? I’m dying for one. No pun intended.”

“I thought you didn’t smoke.”

“Only after surgery.”

“Sorry, but I gave my last one to a guy who sold his soul to the Devil.”

He sits up in his chair.

“I guess there’s some things worse than getting shot.”

“Not many. Anyway, I hear the guy is such a fuckup he’s getting his soul back. Even the Devil doesn’t want it.”

“I must have missed that day at Catholic school. The nuns never told us that being a dumb-ass was a weapon against the Devil.”

“Now you know.”

He leans forward, propping his good elbow on his knees.

“Don’t apologize for any of this. Remember when you and your pretty squeeze killed all those zombies in the bar? Business doubled after that. With you back and ninjas going Wild West, I’m going to make a fortune.”

“As long as no one shoots the jukebox.”

“I’ll kill any cocksucker that touches my jukebox.”

“You’ve got someone to take you home?”

“My brother-in-law is going to give me a ride.”

“You never told me you were married.”

“I’m not. He’s really my ex-brother-in-law but I like him a lot better than my ex-wife.”

I get up and look around for Allegra.

“You take care yourself. Heal up before you reopen the bar.”

“I’m going to make so much money I’ll buy a Cadillac to drive me to my Lexus and drive that to my other Cadillac to drive to work.”

“I’ll catch you later, man.”

“Later.”

Candy disappeared into the back of the clinic right when we got here, but Allegra is putting things away in the treatment room.

“Welcome home. Candy says you two had an adventure today.”

“The other guys had an adventure. We had a car wreck.”

“And walked away with a couple of scratches. I’m jealous. Remember that time you took me with you to meet the dead man Johnny Thunders? I miss that kind of thing.”

“Maybe you should train some people to take a few of your shifts.”

“I am. You met Fairuza, the sweet Ludere, the other day. She’s my chief apprentice.”

“Cool. I’ll drag you and Vidocq along when the right kind of craziness comes up.”

She smiles and wraps two chunks of what look like pearly rocks in dark blue silk. Divine-light glass from the beginning of time. God broke a star and dropped the glass to Earth. One of his original fuckups. It wasn’t all bad. It turns out it heals a lot of wounds. Doc Kinski once used it on Allegra.

“You don’t know anything about the other Stark, do you? You’re a doctor. Maybe he’d tell you something he wouldn’t tell other people.”

“No. Sorry. He never told me anything.”

“Have you been getting some stabbings in here?”

“Are you talking about the girl? No. No stabbings. From what I hear, if she cuts you, you die. I heal people. She kills. There’s no point in me treating the dead.”

Candy comes in and crooks her thumb over her shoulder.

“Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.”

We walk outside into the cool, crisp L.A. afternoon. The sky looks a little strange. Clouds are rolling in fast and it’s like the light is strobing behind them.

“I have to take a rain check on your suite. Rinko got a taste of blood last night and now she’s kind of in withdrawal. I need to take her home.”

“I understand.”

“Sorry. I keep seeing you and running off.”

I shrug.

“Maybe I deserve it. I ran out first. Anyway, you have to do the right thing by your friend.”

“Doing the right thing usually sucks.”

“Almost always.”

She kisses me and goes back inside. Through the glass I see her giving Rinko a potion and leading her into the treatment room.

There’s another reflection in the glass. A ghost.

I turn and the little girl is standing there. Frilly blue party dress and a knife as big as her leg. She stares at me like I’m a rat on her birthday cake.

“Who are you?” I ask.

She doesn’t say anything.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you killing people? You pissed off? Hungry?”

Still nothing.

I take a step toward her. She takes one back. I take another. There’s an earth tremor, like a small earthquake. I look down at my feet. When I look up again, the girl is gone. I walk out to where she was standing. Then to the far wall. I get on my knees to look under all the vehicles. The ground gives way and I land flat on my back. I was run over by a pickup truck about thirty minutes ago. It hurt. Falling six feet onto a sore back hurts more. I lie in the fresh dirt, trying to catch my breath.

“Hi, Stark.”

The voice is breathy. Barely a whisper and hard to hear over the traffic.

I’m lying in a hole as deep as a grave. There’s another hole like a tunnel leading off into the dark. The voice is coming from there.

“What is this?”

A desiccated corpse, gray parchment skin stretched like tissue paper over brittle bones, sticks its head out of the hole like a turtle and draws it back in when the light hits it.

“Don’t you recognize me?” says the corpse.

“You’re a fucking skeleton. How am I supposed to recognize you?”

“Once upon a time you wanted to kill me. Then you wanted to save me. You didn’t do either. You let Parker murder me.”

“Cherry? Is that you?”

Cherry Moon was a member of my old Magic Circle. One of the ones who stood by and let Mason send me to Hell. For staying out of the way, Mason gave her the gift of youth. Creepy youth. Candy is into Japanese cartoons but Cherry Moon wanted to be a cartoon. A forever-prepubescent Sailor Moon love doll in a school uniform. Do you know what it’s like to get hit on by a thirty-five-year-old woman who looks like she’s twelve? No. You don’t. It’s strange and unpleasant on so many levels I can’t begin to count them.

“Was that you who dropped me into a hole in Bamboo House?”

“Do you get followed around by a lot of tunneling dead girls?”

“You saved me from getting shot.”

“Yes. You owe me. You didn’t save me when I was alive. I want you to save me now.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Kill the little girl.”

When I first saw her, I thought Cherry was a ghost cursed to stay on Earth and the hole was just a ghost projection from her mind. Seeing her skeleton crammed into the narrow tunnel, I see I was wrong. Cherry did this to herself.

“Is the girl hurting you?”

“She’s killing us. All the other ghosts and spirits in L.A. When she isn’t killing you, she hides with us in the Tenebrae. Kills us like she kills the living and we don’t know why.”

When Cherry died, she was so afraid of moving on that she made herself into a jabber. Jabbers are a kind of ghost so traumatized by death that they can’t even haunt people or places like normal ghosts. They stick close to their bodies. Literally haunt their own corpses and tunnel in them from place to place. They won’t come out of the ground because their bodies are fragile and they’re afraid of being mistaken for zombies. Jabbers are about the most pathetic thing in the world.

“I don’t know what you want me to do. I can’t get near the kid.”

“You travel between worlds. I saw you come here from Hell. Come into the Tenebrae and stop her.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Find out.”

I get nearer the hole. Cherry doesn’t back away this time. I put out my hand. Slowly she creeps her hand forward until our fingertips are just touching. I was right. She’s real. A ghost hiding in her own bones.

“Jesus, Cherry, all you have to do is let go. Get out of this body. Get out of the ghost realm. Go on to wherever it is you’re supposed to go.”

“No!” she says. “Do you think Heaven is waiting for me with open arms? We both know where I’m going, and as long as these bones hold together, I’m staying right here.”

“I can help you when you get to Hell. Like you said, I couldn’t save you when you were alive. Maybe I can help now that you’re dead. But you have to let go.”

She crawls closer to the tunnel opening. I can see her lipless smile and eye sockets full of dirt and dry plant roots. I want to look away but I don’t.

“Where do you stay when you’re not stalking me?”

“I moved into an old cemetery in a field of old cemeteries. It’s the strangest place. Full of aetheric ghosts and physical ghosts like me.”

She makes a sound that’s almost like a laugh.

“There’s practically a traffic jam with us tunnelers. We have to be careful digging or we can fall into each other’s chambers.”

“What do you mean by a field of cemeteries? What the hell is that?”

“It’s like a cemetery for cemeteries. Or a garden where some kind soul has planted the dead and where we live. Go ask Teddy Osterberg. He’s the one who collects the cemeteries. I’m just one of the flowers in his garden.”

“So the little girl is killing Sub Rosas, civilians, and now ghosts. She tried to kill the other Stark, so she’s tried to kill an angel. Do you know anything about him?”

“Other Stark? He’s prettier than you. Like you in the olden days. Now you’re a mess. A girl likes a few scars. They give a man character. But you don’t have a shot with me anymore, darling.”

“Does anyone call the Tenebrae Blue Heaven?”

“I’m afraid we’re plain old Tenebrae. Tell me you’ll help us.”

I reach into my pockets for a Malediction and remember I gave my last one away. Anyway, Cherry wouldn’t want me smoking. Dried-out corpses are perfect kindling.

“If Teddy Osterberg collects the dead, he could be connected to the girl and I know the girl is connected to Saint James. I’ll check him out. Maybe I can help both of us.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t get too choked up. I’m mostly doing this for me. If I can get to King Cairo first, I’m going after him. I’m going to hurt him dead. I’m tired of people trying to kill me. Downtown. Up here. It’s getting aggravating.”

She makes the whispering sound that might be a laugh.

“You know what they say. All the birds come home to roost. The past catches up with us. And you have quite a past, Sandman Slim.”

“Philosophy from a corpse. Are you sure you aren’t Greek?”

She turtles her head back into the hole.

“I’ll see you soon. Don’t forget me.”

“That’s not likely.”

Cherry disappears into the dark. There’s a rustling and crackling of old bones as she turns around and crawls back the way she came. A homeless corpse living in a coffin squat. How desperate do you have to be to live like that?

I catch a cab at Hollywood and Sunset and have it take me to the Chateau Marmont, the traditional crash pad for showbiz and well-heeled assholes from around the world. John Belushi OD’d there. Jim Morrison crabbed around the outside windows on acid. Hunter Thompson drank by the pool, and a few months back, I played bodyguard to the other Lucifer while he stayed in his secret suite upstairs. Now that I’m the black beast of the forest, the room is mine. I think.

The cabbie whines when I hand him a hundred but is all smiles when I let him keep an extra fifty. I don’t answer when he asks if I want a receipt.

Inside, the desk clerk’s face is streaked with plenty of sin but he’s nothing special. He looks at me like I’m there to empty out the trash cans in the lobby. I still have the Glock in my pocket if things go wrong.

“Hi. I have a standing reservation. The name is Mr. Macheath. I’d like my special room.”

He frowns and types something into the computer.

“We don’t have a note saying you’d be stopping by, and according to the annotation you don’t even look like Mr. Macheath.”

I crook my finger at him. His name tag says CHARLES.

“Did you ever hear of the concept of low profile?”

He looks me over.

“That’s extremely low profile.”

I lean in closer. I’m so sick of dealing with pissants.

“You listen to me, you little fuck. The last time I was here, some people upset me. Like you’re doing right now. I locked them in my suite with a horde of zombies. I don’t know what the place looked like after I left—and it better be clean when I get up there—but I bet not good. Does that sound at all familiar, Chuck? Because if it doesn’t we can role-play right here. I’ll be the zombie pulling out your intestines while you watch. Then, and only then, when you’ve gotten a good look at your guts decorating the lobby like Christmas ornaments, only then will I kill you.”

To seal the deal I take off my glove and put my Kissi hand over his. He yanks his hand away. I swear, this gimp arm is turning out to be the best party trick in history. Better than chasing girls around when you’re five, trying to make them touch your scabs.

Charles edges over to the computer and types in something.

“Very good, Mr. Macheath. And how long will you be staying with us?”

“Until I leave.”

“Of course. You remember the way to the room?”

“Second star to the right, then straight on till morning.”

“Excuse me?”

“Top floor. Grandfather clock.”

I take the elevator up. I’m a little surprised to see that the hall is exactly the way it was the first time I saw it. Since the night I locked Koralin Geistwald and her clan in here, I’ve always pictured the place as a Playboy Mansion slaughterhouse. I hold my breath, open the front of the grandfather clock, and step through.

The suite is perfect. Like nothing ever happened. Clean and bright and full of brand-new Architectural Digest furniture. The kind that under any other circumstances would reject me like a dime-store kidney in a billionaire’s back. I guess they gave up trying to clean brains and eyeballs out of the old furniture and brought in new stuff. And I have the place all to myself until Amanda and her demonic brownnosers get here. Saying the place is a step up from the Beat Hotel is like saying Jean Seberg was pretty. I should take some phone shots and send them to Kasabian. THANKS FOR KICKING ME OUT. DON’T WORRY. I’VE LANDED ON MY FEET. But even I’m not that much of a bastard.

Samael was alone a lot when he was up here the last time. I don’t know how he did it. The place is so huge it echoes when I walk around. I need to treat it like that library Downtown. Build myself a little vacation home in one part of the room and stay there. Over by the giant flat-screen. I’ll bet my hooves and horns this place has every channel and every movie ever made on tap. With a little fixing up I could get used to the place. Maybe there are some earthly perks to being Lucifer after all.

I wonder if they miss me in Hell yet? And if enough people know about it to matter. Semyazah can hold things together, and if he has troops rounding up red leggers, it’ll keep them too busy to think about offing themselves. Or me. I’d still like to know who made those crank calls. But I’m not worried. There’ll be more. Maybe the hotel can tap my phone so I can trace them. I’ll have to remember to ask.

Watching my back has left me exhausted. I want to find Saint James and I want to kill King Cairo and Aelita. Not necessarily in that order. After shooting Carlos and spilling good whiskey and the stunt on the freeway this afternoon, I want to put the hurt of all time on someone. Saint James included. Throw Blackburn in too in case he switched the hit from Saint James to me.

I take a couple of pictures with my phone and e-mail them to Candy. Let her see what she’s missing. So much for not being a bastard.

I dial Traven.

“Hey, Father, with all the diabolical stuff you studied, have you ever met real-life, honest-to-God devil worshippers?”

“No. I don’t think I have.”

“You should come over. I have some stopping by. You’ll see how lame the Devil’s minions are. Maybe it’ll make you feel better about Hell and things.”

“I’m not sure about that but it would be good to talk about what you showed me in the bar. Your hand, I mean.”

“I’ll send a cab for you. When you get to the hotel, call me from the lobby and take the elevator to the top floor. I’ll come out and get you.”

“All right.”

I pick up the house phone and dial room service.

“Yes, Mr. Macheath?”

“Hi. I’d like some food sent up.”

“Certainly, sir. What would you like?”

“I don’t know. What do you have?”

“Our steaks are very good. And we have a chef’s special salmon today. It’s grilled and rubbed with a—”

“That sounds good. I tell you what. I don’t know what my guests will want, so send up a little bit of everything. Whatever you think is good. And not too many frilly dishes with mango-chutney goddamn glaze or diarrhea chilis. You don’t have to tart up meat to make it good. Make sure there are some ribs and a porterhouse steak medium. And desserts. Send a bunch of those. And black coffee.”

“Will there be anything else?”

Drunk on power, I say, “Yeah, a bottle of Aqua Regia.”

“Just one?”

I move the phone to the other ear to make sure I heard him right.

“You have Aqua Regia?”

“We have several bottles left from the case in your private stock.”

Goddamn Samael was smart. I have a lot to learn about the evil game.

“Just one bottle for now but stand by for a possible drinking binge.”

“Yes, sir. The first dishes will start arriving in thirty to forty minutes.”

“You’re my hero.”

Hell yes, it’s good to be king.

Father Traven and the first round of food arrive around the same time. All he says as I take him through the grandfather clock is, “Oh.” Then, “Oh my” on the other side.

“Welcome to the dark side, Father.”

Waiters wheel in cart after cart of food and line them up neatly against the wall like a satanic buffet.

I pick up a pork rib in Texas red sauce and take a big bite. It isn’t Carlos’s tamales but it’ll do.

“Eat up. The Christians said this much food is gluttony and the Greeks said it’s a sign of a small mind. Might as well dive in because we’re already fucked.”

He smiles but approaches the food cautiously, like there might be a tiramisu-shaped pipe bomb somewhere. Traven picks up some red grapes and puts one in his mouth. Smiles and nods.

“Weak, Father. Very weak.”

He walks over and sits on the arm of a plush light blue sofa. He’s a little like Merihim. Out of his own space, all he can do is wander and perch.