Текст книги "Kill City Blues"

Автор книги: Richard Kadrey

Соавторы: Richard Kadrey,Richard Kadrey
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

WHEN I GET back, Traven, the crazy bastard, has practically opened a soup kitchen in the Quonset hut. A hundred damned souls who’ve wandered up from the valley huddle inside trying to work the feeling back into their dead limbs.

“Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”

“Old habits die hard,” says Traven. “Wait. I think I just made a joke. My first joke as a dead man.”

“Congratulations. I’ll send you roses and a rubber chicken. It’s time to go.”

I pull him outside. As we go, he gives his heavy coat to a woman in rags afraid to go into the warm building. She stares at him and kisses his hand.

“Move it, Gandhi.”

He gives her a smile and comes over to me.

“Can’t we take some of them back with us? How big is the Room?”

“Sure, Father. Which of them gets rescued and who has to stay in Hell forever? You choose.”

“I see the dilemma.”

“Lucifer, the first Lucifer, always told me my problem was that I didn’t think big. Well, I’m trying to now. And stashing a few souls in the pantry isn’t the way to do it.”

“I trust you.”

“That makes one of us.”

I strap the dead hellhound to the front of the bike and put Father Traven on the back.

“This won’t be a long trip, but it might be a little weird. You can close your eyes if you want to.”

“You just pulled me out of damnation. I think I can stand whatever it is you’re going to show me.”

“Strap in, preacher.”

I gun the bike and aim at the shadow of one of the guard towers. Traven tries to be cool, but I feel him tense against me and hear him, I can’t fucking believe it, saying a Hail Mary as we pick up speed.

I hit the brakes when we’re halfway into the Room and we slide the rest of the way in, leaving a nice line of rubber across the floor.

He gets off the bike and looks around in wonder.

“We’re at the center of the universe.”

“Yep.”

“Where nothing can go in or out without your say-so.”

“Pretty much.”

“How does it work?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. It works and that’s good enough for me.”

“That’s called faith, son.”

“That’s called not looking a gift horse up the nose. I’ll be back soon with some books. Don’t worry. I’ll let Vidocq pick them out.”

“One thing,” he says as I angle the bike to take it back to L.A.

“Yes?”

“Can you tell Brigitte that I asked about her?”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, but I’m lying.

I COME OUT of the Room, as usual, by the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. I always get the copper jitters when I’m on the bike in L.A., and now I have a dead hellhound strapped across the handlebars. The only way I can attract more attention is if I was towing a Spanish galleon full of half-naked cheerleaders with flare guns. On the other hand, this is L.A. and I can just as easily be another moneyed airhead who scored a big movie prop on eBay. Why not? Ask nice and maybe I’ll trade you Gilligan’s hat for the bones of the Partridge Family’s dog.

I head up Gower Street and across Hollywood Boulevard to Bamboo House of Dolls. I think about parking the bike in the alley next to the bar, but I leave it in a space out front instead. Let the rubes get a look at a genuine hellhound. It’s not like this crowd hasn’t seen its share of funny beasts before. A few people call my name as I go inside, but it’s not a chitchat kind of night and I don’t need strangers buying me drinks in a bar where I already drink for free.

Carlos gives me a funny look when I come in.

“Is that ice in your hair?”

“Probably.”

I run my fingers through it a few times.

“Better?”

“Better. You been sticking your head in hotel ice machines again? I warned you about that.”

He gets a bottle from under the bar and pours me a shot of Aqua Regia.

“I can’t stay long,” I say. “Tonight’s a work night. Are there any Cold Cases around?”

“Again? Are you still on them?”

“Don’t send them any love notes yet. They’re the ones that shot up the front of your bar the other day.”

He slams down the bottle.

“Those dog-dick pendejo motherfuckers.”

I swallow the Aqua Regia.

“I’m sorry that I can’t help you with that one, though. I have to make nice with them tonight.”

Carlos shakes his head, staring at a table by the jukebox. Martin Denny is playing, “Was It Really Love?”

“Do what you got to do. I’ve got some potions back here that’ll have them puking frogs and shitting bottle rockets.”

“Thanks for the drink. I’ll be nice as long as they are.”

“Just leave some of them for me. That’s all I ask.”

I head over in the direction of the jukebox. The Cold Case I levitated a while back sees me coming. He stands and then the rest of them follow, grabbing for their most fearsome weapon. Their phones. I hold up my hands so they know I’m not here to hurt anyone.

“Sorry to show up still alive, boys. Tell Nasrudin no hard feelings but he’s on my naughty list. But I’m not here to talk about the past. I’m here to talk business. Who here wants me off his back? The first one to raise his hand gets a free pass from here on out.”

They all raise a hand.

“I forgot to mention. You have to do something for me first.”

Hands waver. A few go down. In the end, only two stay up. I pick the guy closest to me. He looks at me like he thinks I might bite off his face at any minute, so I speak in short sentences and use small words. He seems to understand. In a few minutes we have a deal. We even shake on it. I’ll be washing that hand before I head home.

I TAKE BACK streets as far as I can before cutting over to Sunset to reach the Chateau. Lucky me, it’s late enough that there aren’t a lot of tourists around to gawk at me with a hellhound across my handlebars like demon roadkill.

I get the Hellion hog back in its space in the garage and put the cover back on. I miss it already. Who knows when I’ll get to ride it again. If the world is still around at New Year’s, maybe then. Put Candy on the back and take her down the Pacific Coast Highway. Open the throttle up a little. Maybe I’ll even get a speedometer installed and see if we can top 200 mph.

I’m in a funny mood when I get back. Kind of light-headed. Halfway between sad and still riding on the adrenaline of the last few hours. I saved Traven from damnation, but only after I killed him. I accomplished everything I set out to do on the trip Downtown, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I guess nothing will be enough for a while. A dead friend stashed under floorboards. Monsters from another universe bearing down on us. A brokenhearted friend and a girlfriend who’s sick of me riding off to my doom every ten minutes. Yeah, I guess you could call the last day or so a real mixed bag. And I don’t know if things are going to get any better anytime soon. Right now, though, I just want to see Candy and get something to eat.

I have to admit that I’m tempted to take the hellhound upstairs in the elevator. Just stroll through the lobby with it on my shoulder. Mr. Macheath back from another night out on the town. But I check the impulse.

The hound is so heavy I have to dance it around to get it off the bike and onto my shoulders. No showing off this time. I find the nearest shadow and go through, coming out in the penthouse. Candy is sitting on the sofa with Kasabian, drinking beer and watching Destroy All Monsters. She looks up at me.

“Look. The ramblin’ man made it back. And he brought dinner.”

I drop the hellhound on the floor. It sounds like I shot-put a piano.

“I’m glad to see you too. I told you I’d make it back in time.”

“Is that what you said? I thought it was ‘I’m sorry I took off again like that and I’ll worship you as a goddess when I get back.’ ”

“That doesn’t sound like me. Maybe one of your other boyfriends.”

“Yeah, I have their bodies stacked on the roof. It keeps the cat burglars away.”

Kasabian comes around to check out the hound. It takes him a minute to crouch on his gimpy knee, but he makes it and runs his hands over the hound like it’s Ali Baba’s treasure. He examines his fingertips and squints.

“This is the best you could do? It looks like you pulled this thing out of a garbage dump.”

“You’re welcome to go back and get one of your own.”

“This falls deeply into the category of ‘better than nothing.’ ”

“So do you, so it’ll be a perfect fit.”

He runs his hand along the length of the hound’s spine.

“At least the legs are straight.”

“Call Manimal Mike anytime you want. He ought to be able to scavenge enough parts off the thing to fix you up, Hopalong.”

Kasabian looks up at me.

“What did we say about nicknames?”

“Sorry. You can’t really expect me to be Miss Manners overnight.”

He shakes his head, staring at the hound.

“Damn. You actually did it. And here me and your missus were making bets on whether you’d come back at all and how many more limbs you were going to lose.”

“Who won?”

Candy doesn’t look up from the movie.

“No one’s seen you undressed yet, so the bet still stands.”

“I’m calling Manimal Mike right now,” says Kasabian. He clamors to his feet and squeaks and grinds away to his room.

“Let me know when he’s coming over. I want to talk to him.”

I sit down next to Candy, take her beer off the table, have a sip, and pass it to her.

“How’s Brigitte doing?”

“You had someone you loved murdered, so you know.”

“Yeah.”

“Allegra and Vidocq took her to stay with them. I think seeing you burned and gutted like that scared Allegra a little.”

“She patched me up pretty good. I didn’t pop any rivets while I was gone.”

Candy turns and kisses me. I kiss her like maybe I was afraid I wasn’t coming back, which is how I always feel when I go to Hell. I hand her back her knife.

“So, I guess your plan worked out?” she says.

“Yeah. I have Traven stashed in the Room.”

She pushes away from me.

“That’s your master plan? Take him out of Hell so you can lock him in the attic like your crazy aunt?”

“I’m still working on the next step.”

“Which is what?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

I get up, checking the long slit the guard left in my coat sleeve.

“I need a shower. Will you call room service and have them send up some food?” I say. “A real spread. I just took one of the Devil’s souls. I might as well steal more of his food.”

I throw the coat on the pile of dirty and ruined clothes in the closet. At least it’s a slash and not bullet holes or blood. A slash I can get fixed.

I step in the shower and let the hot water wash the last of Kill City and Hell off me. I should turn on the news. I wonder what people are saying happened to Kill City. And about the strange people seen swimming from the sinking mall. Shit. Some of those pricks had cameras. With luck, they were just shooting the wreckage and didn’t get any shots of me. It might be about time to go totally Batman. Get a pointy mask and a cape. Maybe an hourglass-shaped muscle car. Call it the Sandmanmobile. That would really fox the cops.

The food is up by the time I dry off.

Lobster. Steak. Dim sum. Salads with vegetables they must have flown in from the dark side of the moon. Enough bread and desserts to give Canada a coronary. I love taking advantage of rich people.

I load up a plate with lobster tail and take it to the sofa. While I was in the shower they’ve moved on from Destroy All Monsters to Godzilla vs. Space Godzilla. Just another kaiju night at home with the kids.

Candy leans against my shoulder, eating dumplings. All might not be forgiven but enough is for now.

“In the attic under his Avengers collection,” I say.

Candy and Kasabian look at me.

“Your hoarder,” I say. “I found him in Hell. Dad’s gold coins are hidden under his Avengers collection in the attic.”

“Like TV–Mrs. Peel The Avengers or comic-book the Avengers?” he says.

“I have no idea.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want a piece of the business.”

“Don’t hold your breath for any more interviews with the dead. I won’t be welcome in Hell for a long time.”

“You had to get messy?” says Candy.

“Well, they didn’t give up Traven gratefully. I know you were pissed, but I’m glad you didn’t see me doing that.”

“What?”

“Murder.”

“Tell me about it later.”

“I’d rather not.”

“But you will.”

“Sure.”

AN HOUR LATER Manimal Mike is in the penthouse crouched by the hound, going over every inch of it, examining the details with a flashlight.

“She has a fair amount of corrosion, but nothing I can’t clean up.”

He nods, satisfied.

“This will work. I can fix Kasabian’s leg and use the frame to build a new torso, closer to human proportions.”

“How soon?” says Kasabian.

Mike frowns and shakes his head.

“I’ll have to get it back to the shop to be sure. Some of the joints are locked and I’ll have to clean and reseal everything.”

“How soon?”

“If I pick it up in the morning, I can probably give you a rough estimate tomorrow night.”

“Great,” says Kasabian.

Mike gets up and wipes his eternally grimy hands on a dirty rag he pulls from his back pocket.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, and heads for the door behind the grandfather clock.

I follow him over and cut him off.

“The other night at Death Rides A Horse . . .” I say.

He holds up his hands in apology.

“Sorry about that. I was in a bad mood and embarrassed that you caught me there.”

“You haven’t done anything stupid, have you? Pledged yourself to some bloodsucker or let one of them put their fangs in you?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Good.”

I reach into my pocket and take out a small bottle.

“Here’s the straight-up truth. I can’t give you back your soul because it’s not mine to give anymore. Never mind how or why, it’s just how things are.”

“Then I’m screwed.”

I hand him the bottle I got from the Cold Case.

“This is a clean soul. It doesn’t belong to anyone. It’ll substitute for yours when the time comes.”

He holds up the bottle to the light and shakes it. He gives me a doubtful look when he can’t see anything inside.

“Did you think you could shake up a soul and see it like salad dressing?” I say.

“What do I do with it?”

“First off, don’t lose it. Then keep it with you. When you die, your old soul will go in one direction, but you can ride this new one somewhere else. That’s assuming you don’t go completely Jeffrey Dahmer and stink the thing up. Do that and you’re on your own, man.”

“Thanks,” he says, still doubtful. But he puts it in his pocket.

“Forget it. Fixing up Kasabian so he quits whining about every little thing is doing me more of a favor than him.”

“I’ll come by with the truck tomorrow.”

“Park it by the garage entrance. I don’t want to carry the hound through the lobby.”

“See you tomorrow.”

After Godzilla, we move on to Rodan. Not one of my favorites, but there aren’t that many giant, supersonic flying lizard monsters around, so you settle for what you can get. I have my share of Aqua Regia and Candy settles into some red wine. Kasabian sticks to his beer, leaving crushed cans like autumn leaves all over the floor.

Sometime after midnight I hear someone or something scratching at the grandfather-clock door. I get a gun and go over to check it out. Find a folded piece of paper in hotel stationery lying on the floor. I bring it back to the sofa and set down the gun.

“Fan mail from some flounder?” says Candy.

I read it a couple of times to make sure I have it right.

“We’re being evicted.”

That gets everyone’s immediate and sober attention. Kasabian turns down the sound on the movie. He doesn’t turn it off, of course. That would be sacrilegious.

I read out loud, “ ‘The standing account for Mr. Macheath has been closed permanently. Please vacate the premises no later than noon today. There may be charges applied for each subsequent hour that the room is still occupied,’ blah, blah.”

Kasabian finishes his beer and throws the can at the flat-screen.

“I knew this was too good to be true. Is there anything we can do? What I really mean is, you do something.”

I hand the letter to Candy. She reads it over.

“I guess Mr. Muninn knows about the jailbreak,” I say.

“You do keep things interesting,” Candy says. “I never got the bum’s rush from a deity before.”

“How do you know?”

“Good point.”

“Where are we going to go?” says Kasabian.

“Where do you think?”

“Back to Max Overdrive? I can’t go back to that dump after tasting paradise. Besides, the upstairs is too small for three people. Hell, it was too small for two.”

“We’ll fix the place up. Did you really manage to scam two hundred grand of the vampire cash?”

Kasabian looks away, then back at me.

“I might have exaggerated a little. It’s more like fifty.”

“That’s enough to get started. Bag everything up and I’ll take it to Max through the Room. That way we won’t have to perp-walk through the lobby in front of everyone.”

“The first thing I want to spend some money on is a bigger refrigerator. I’m not letting all of this food go to waste.”

“Hell yeah.”

Candy tosses the note on the table and pours herself more wine.

“Damn, boys, you sound like my first girlfriend. She called herself white trash, but I didn’t really know what that meant until she moved out. Took all the canned food and toilet paper with her.”

“Take the toilet paper,” Kasabian says. “That’s a great idea.”

Everyone gets up, the good mood as dead as the lobster crumbs on my plate.

I start for the bedroom, when Kasabian says, “I was going to tell you tomorrow. I saw some other funny stuff when I was surveillance-droning in Hell.”

“Yeah? What?”

“That big-time priest down there, Merihim. You said he and the wild-thing nun, Deumos, were enemies.”

“And?”

“I saw them hanging around together. They didn’t look like enemies to me.”

That explains a lot.

“I was right when I said it. Now I’m wrong. No big deal.”

“Okay. I just thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks.”

We both look at each other.

“That felt weird,” says Kasabian.

“It did. Let’s not do it again anytime soon.”

“Yeah. Let’s not.”

Candy is in the bedroom taking clothes out of the closet and piling them on the bed.

“Hold up for a minute.”

She turns and looks at me, upset but trying not to show it.

“Sit down,” I say.

She drops a couple of T-shirts and sits.

I go the living room closet and come back with a cardboard box about three feet long, like a tall, thin shoe box.

“Merry Christmas.”

“What happened to all that stuff about us making it to Christmas, so I had to wait?”

I put the box in her lap.

“It’s been a tough couple of days. I figure that we could all use a little something.”

“Yeah, I was kind of jealous when you bought Kasabian a dog and didn’t get me anything.”

“Open the box.”

She smiles and rips the tape along the sides.

“Hell yes,” she says, holding up the guitar.

“It’s a midseventies Fender Duo-Sonic. The guy said it’s a piece of shit, but it’s just like Patti Smith’s first electric guitar.”

She balances it on her knees and hits a chord. It’s horrible.

“I think you have to tune it first.”

I sit down next to her.

“How did you get it?”

“A guy owed me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I didn’t break his arms.”

She leans over and rests her head on my shoulder.

“What are we going to do now?”

“Pack up. Go to Max and figure things out from there.”

“Saving the world is hard.”

“Yeah, but at least we’re not in Fresno.”

She elbows me in the ribs.

“I haven’t said anything to anyone, but when we were swimming away from Kill City, I think I saw one of the Angra.”

Candy pushes away from me.

“It’s loose in the city?”

“No. She got sucked back into the mall. But it means they’re closer to getting out.”

“Goddamn.”

“Sorry. I needed to say something to someone. Don’t tell anyone else.”

“Okay.”

“We should start packing.”

“Okay,” she says. “Thanks for the guitar. I notice you didn’t get me an amp.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Coward.”

“Damn right.”

AN HOUR LATER I’m moving things over to Max Overdrive by hand through the Room. I do it all myself. It would be too strange to have Candy and Kasabian marching through and seeing Father Traven every few minutes. I apologize to him every time I come through. I bring him some pillows and a blanket. It’s not like he’s going to get cold in the room. The temperature never changes. But they’re normal things. Things that will let him feel human in a pretty inhuman situation. I look around for a book I can give him, but all I can find is a month-old issue of Entertainment Weekly.

“I’ll get some of your stuff from Vidocq soon. I promise.”

“I know,” he says. He’s so fucking sincere it can just break your heart.

Downstairs in Max Overdrive, it’s still a maze of drop cloths and empty paint cans from when repairs on the place stopped after the zombie riots. At least the upstairs living quarters are in decent shape. Almost like a person lived there. There’s a not too small bed-sit area complete with actual windows that get sun, and an adjoining bathroom. Of course a couple of video monitors for movies. They seem small and pathetic after the drive-in-theater-size flat-screen at the Chateau. First thing we need around here is a bigger refrigerator. The second is bigger monitors.

Candy and I outvote Kasabian, so we get the upstairs room and he gets the sales floor area to himself. He can camp out on the mattress we stole from his bedroom at the Chateau. It’s better for him downstairs anyway, with his hinky leg. We’re just thinking of his welfare.

“We’re going to have to be careful of the furniture in here, you know,” I tell Candy. “It’s not like we can call down to the front desk every time we break an end table or bureau anymore.”

“That will just make things more challenging.”

“We could cover the whole room in bubble wrap.”

“And you’ll finally have the padded cell you’ve always wanted.”

Allegra knocks on Max Overdrive’s front door around noon. Candy lets her in.

“I went by the hotel but they said you weren’t there anymore. They asked if I knew a forwarding address. I guess some linens and furniture are missing from the penthouse.”

“Come upstairs and I’ll show you our almost new sofa,” says Candy.

Allegra sighs.

“The penthouse was nice but I guess nothing lasts forever.”

“Just scars and library fines,” I say, carrying a pretty little Tiffany lamp over to Kasabian’s bed. Allegra gives me a tense little wave when she sees me.

“Hey, Stark. Can I talk to you in private?”

Candy raises her eyebrows at me.

“Sure. Let’s go out on the lanai.”

I take her out the back door to the overflowing Dumpster.

She gets a good whiff of the thing and makes a face.

“I guess you need to get some services turned back on.”

“There’s still water and electricity. That’ll do for now.”

“I wanted to talk to you about Matthew.”

“He’s the boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend.”

“Right. Sorry.”

She takes a deep breath.

“He’s at my old apartment. He’s moved in like it’s his.”

“Is there anything there that would tell him where you are now? I don’t mean the apartment with Vidocq. That’s still invisible to civilians, right?”

“Yes.”

“How about the clinic? Could he track you there?”

She thinks for a minute.

“I keep some supplies there but nothing with an address. Aside from that, there’s some old tables and chairs. Some of Eugène’s chemistry equipment. A few books.”

“How dangerous is this guy? Will he be packing when I see him?”

“Probably. He’s hurt people. I know that. I don’t know if he ever killed anyone.”

“Okay, but that still means if it comes to it, it might be him or me. You understand?”

She touches the side of her head. Brushes some hair out of the way.

“I know it’s a lousy thing to ask, but please don’t kill him.”

“Didn’t you just hear me? If he draws down on me, I might not have a choice.”

She takes a step toward me. Gropes for words.

“You know how to do these things. Trick him. Use all that strategy you learned in the arena.”

“Why don’t you want me to hurt him?”

“I didn’t say don’t hurt him. Hurt him all you want. Just don’t kill him. I’d feel so guilty. He’s here because I stole his money. If he dies, it will be my fault.”

“I get it. I understand buyer’s remorse when it comes to killing. I’ve had it myself. Okay. I can probably handle this without making it a terminal situation, but I need your permission to make a mess.”

“As long as he doesn’t die, I’ll trust you with whatever you need to do.”

I think the scene over. I sort of remember the layout of her apartment.

“I’m going to need you to get some things for me.”

She calls up an empty note on her phone and types as I talk.

“A large painter’s tarp. Waterproof. Make that two. A gallon-size jug of dishwashing soap.”

“Got it. Is that all?”

“No. Glasses or empty bottles. Lots. When you think you have too many, that will be half of what I want.”

She tilts her head up at me.

“Are you going to make him drink something?”

“They’re not for drinking. They’re for breaking.”

“Don’t tell me anything more. I don’t want to know.”

“No you don’t. One more thing. I want to bring Candy along.”

She gives me a pleading look.

“Do you have to? I’m already so humiliated by this.”

“Candy doesn’t care about bad old lovers. We’ve all had a few, and hell, she puts up with me. Besides, she can help. She has a mean streak, and if I do what I’m thinking, I’ll have to leave Matthew alone for a while. She can babysit him.”

“Fine. Just don’t let Kasabian know.”

“No problem,” I say. “How’s Brigitte doing?”

She shakes her head.

“She’s stopped crying for now. I brought her to the clinic with me. She doesn’t know anything about medicine, but she can file and talk to the patients. I just want her a little distracted. And I want to be able to keep an eye on her.”

“She’s a killer. She’ll pull through.”

I can tell Allegra doesn’t like hearing me call Brigitte a killer.

“Is it true that Liam went to Hell when he died? Because he was excommunicated?”

“Those are the rules.”

“The rules stink sometimes.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Is there anything else you need from me?”

“A key to the apartment.”

“The door is unlocked.”

“I know. I want to lock it. It will confuse him. Or at least piss him off. Either one’s okay.”

She digs in her shoulder bag for a key.

“Can you do it tonight?”

“I’ll have to wait until he goes out to set up, so it depends on him.”

“He goes to a bar in Westwood every night around eight.”

“Perfect. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know how it went. With luck, you’ll never see or hear from him again.”

She hands me a key.

“And no killing.”

“No killing.”

She smiles for the first time since getting to the store.

“I’ll pick up this stuff right now.”

“I’ll see you later, then. Bring Vidocq by for an early dinner. We have leftover steak and dim sum and cake from the Chateau. None of it’s more than twelve hours old.”

“You’re living the Hollywood dream.”

“It’s the last good free food we’re likely to see for a while.”

“I’ll get you your soap and tarps.”

“And glass. Lots of glass. Two pairs of work gloves. And wire cutters. I’ll need those too.”

She starts away when I remember something.

“One more thing. Tell Vidocq to bring me some of Traven’s favorite books.”

“Why?”

“Do us both a favor and don’t ask.”

She nods and heads out. I go inside and pull Candy aside. Explain the situation to her.

“Sure,” she says. “Let’s do it tonight.”

“Perfect. It’ll give Kasabian time to change all the locks.”

Kasabian limps down from upstairs, carrying sheets and pillowcases.

“What are you two whispering about?”

“We’re planning your birthday party.”

“Good. I like piñatas.”

“And porn,” says Candy.

“Piñatas full of porn. Got it.”

Allegra comes back with the supplies a couple of hours later. I’ll have to get a van to transport all the gear to her place. I can tell Kasabian is curious about what we’re planning, but he’s smart enough not to ask questions, especially after he sees the roll of barbed wire I steal off the back of a PG&E truck.

I STEAL AN Escalade from the parking lot in front of Donut Universe. It has a built-in sound-and-video system that’s better than most movie theaters. Only a few hours since we left the Chateau and I’m already feeling nostalgic.

We load the Escalade in the alley next to Max Overdrive. It’s a tight fit. I had to drive the Hellion hog over and it takes up a lot of room.

When we’ve loaded the gear, Candy and I head out to Allegra’s place on Kenmore, due south of Little Armenia. Her building is a converted seventies-era motel called the Angels’ Hideaway. Dying palms out front. A pool with a foot of black water out back.

Someone comes out of Allegra’s apartment around eight. Heavyset white guy with his hair combed into an idiot fauxhawk. He carries himself so that everyone will notice his bulk. Typical jailhouse attitude. He doesn’t look like Allegra’s type, but I didn’t know her back in the day, so maybe she liked big boys with cinder blocks for brains. I have a feeling he didn’t spend his time in prison getting a GED or learning Latin. Probably pumped a lot of iron. Probably got dumber and meaner. By the time he walks out of sight, I don’t feel at all bad about what’s going to happen.

It takes two trips to carry everything into the apartment. The place has a simple layout. A short entryway that leads to a living room. A kitchen off to the side. You can’t get anywhere in the apartment without going through the living room first. That’s important. Candy and I shove all the boxes and furniture against the walls. Then the real work begins.

First lay down both layers of tarp. Next, cover them with plenty of dishwashing soap to turn them into slip-’n-slides, careful to leave dry areas around the edges to walk on. After that, Candy and I have a party breaking all the glasses and tossing the pieces onto the soapy tarp.

“Is this too mean?” she says. “Couldn’t we just beat him with a bag of oranges?”

“Hammering people up just makes them angry. If you want to permanently modify someone’s attitude, the thing to do is go full-tilt diabolical.”

“This is more like a Road Runner cartoon.”

“We haven’t gotten to the diabolical part yet.”

We put on the work gloves and roll out a few yards of the barbed wire, slicing it to length with the cutters. Then bend the wire into a wide circle and keep bending along its length until we have a spiral big enough to fit a man inside. When we’re finished, it goes over by the end of the tarp farthest from the door. Lastly, we unscrew all the bulbs in the room except for one small table lamp that I keep turned off for now. The only light in the apartment is what filters in through the blinds. I close those so the place is as dark as midnight in a jug.