The Perdition Score (11 page)

“Way ahead of you.”

I improvise a quick glamour spell and change from my face to Charlie Anpu's.

“How do I look?”

“Distressing,” says Vidocq.

Allegra wipes her hands on a towel.

“Don't let Chihiro see you like that. You're entirely unfuckable right now.”

I check myself in a mirror over the sink.

“Perfect, then. Thanks for the help.”

I give Allegra a hug and she squirms away.

“Ew. Take that face and go do whatever it is you have to do to fix things.”

I head for the door.

“Maybe I'll see you two at Bamboo House later?”

“Not if you're going to look like that,” Allegra says.

“Bamboo House is safe. I'll be me by the time you get there.”

“Please do,” says Vidocq. “And be careful.”

I open the door.

“I'm always careful. I'm just not lucky.”

I head out. Fairuza lets out a little scream when she sees me. Now I just hope I don't spook all the cabbies. It's a long walk to Marina del Rey.

I
T TAKES A
while, but I finally get a ride. The fare all the way out to Abbot's place is soul-sucking, but I pay the cabbie off with a wad of the cash I get paid for being on the council.

So, this is how regular people live. They get paid to do a job, then have to spend the money on clothes they don't want to wear somewhere they don't like, then spend even more money commuting. And that doesn't count the years of their lives spent going from home to a desk and back again. Fuck that. At least in the arena in Hell they didn't charge us for our weapons. And we got to steal better ones from who or whatever we killed that day. Sure, we didn't have 401(k)s, but if there was a boss who wouldn't get off your back, we didn't have to go to HR about it. We just cut the fucker's throat. That's job satisfaction.

I go through the locked gate and down the pier to Abbot's boat. There are a couple of security guys on break, just smoking and shooting the shit. They straighten up when they see me. Toss their cigarettes in the water and stand up straight like maybe the Queen of England is behind me. Only it's just me and I'm getting nervous and wondering if I'm going to have to hurt someone when one of them starts talking.

“Mr. Anpu?” he says.

He looks me up and down.

“We didn't know you were coming.”

I'd forgotten on the ride over that I'm wearing someone else's face. Seeing Charlie's mug in my boots and ex-con clothes must be frying some circuits in these boys' heads. I can't let a moment like this pass.

“Since when do I have to clear my social calendar with the employees?”

I let that float in the air for a minute.

“Sorry, sir. Of course. The augur is inside. If you'll come this way, we'll see if he's free.”

“He better be. I've come a long way to get turned away like a beggar at the door.”

I follow them onto the boat.

The truth is, I don't know if this is how Anpu talks and I sure as hell don't know his voice. It just goes to show you that people will believe anything, let you in anywhere, if you show up with a clipboard or an attitude.

They show me into the living room and I make myself comfortable on Abbot's million-dollar couch. One of the security guys goes off to find Abbot while the other stays with me. I don't think he's here because I might steal the silver. Let's see if I can figure out why.

“I'd like a drink. Gentleman Jack. Neat, if you have it.”

For a few seconds he looks puzzled. I guess he's not my waiter after all. How am I supposed to know how these things work? No one gave me instructions when I got the job. Or did they? Maybe it's in the envelope with my insurance papers. I need to check that sometime.

“Oh,” he says. “I don't know if I'm supposed to . . .”

I wave a tired hand at him.

“Forget it. Wishful thinking. I should have known he'd keep the cabinet locked. Don't want anyone sneaking nips during working hours, do we?”

“No, sir,” he says.

I can see the poor guy's eyes and hear his heart pounding. He'd like to shoot me and dump me in the Pacific. I should ease up a little. He can't help it if he chose a shitty career.

“Thank you. For the courtesy. I'll be sure to tell the augur you've taken good care of me.”

“Thank you,” he says with the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice.

Now I've really confused the poor bastard. Time to shut up. I don't want him to shoot the real Anpu the next time he stops by for tea.

A minute or so later Abbot comes into the room with a big quizzical smile on his face.

He says, “Charles. Did I forget a meeting tonight?”

“No. I just stopped by for a chat. Your men have been taking care of me. This one in particular. Be sure to give him a good performance review.”

Abbot glances at the security guy.

“Well, thank you, Charles. I'm sure we're all grateful for your input.”

He looks at Mr. Security.

“We're fine now. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir,” he says. Then to me, “You have a good day, sir.”

“You do the same,” I say in my most magnanimous voice.

As security hustles out, Abbot sits down. He stares at me.

“This is a new look for you, Charles. Do you have a cold coming on? Your voice sounds a little strained.”

“When you get kicked in the throat as many times as I have, it can sound a little funny.”

“Excuse me?”

He looks alarmed. No one around here can take a joke.

“Who kicked you?”

I do a little hoodoo in my head and the glamour fades away.

“Every dickless shit heel in downtown Dixie.”

When he sees my real face, Abbot drops back against the couch cushions.

“I should have known by the clothes. Charles wouldn't be caught dead in those boots.”

“I've been thinking about upgrading my wardrobe. Do you have a tailor?”

“You couldn't afford him.”

“Then give me a raise.”

He just sits there for a minute.

“You took a hell of chance coming here like that.”

“Relax. I walked right by your security guys. The riffraff on the streets aren't going to recognize me.”

“The only reason you got on board is because the protective wards recognized you, even if the guards didn't. If they hadn't, you could have been hurt.”

“I'm already hurt. Another time more or less won't make a difference.”

“I'm glad you feel that way,” he says. Then, “I heard about the mess in Hollywood last night. I even saw bits and pieces of it on the news.”

“So, they did get video.”

“Everyone with a phone recorded you.”

“Goddammit. I didn't think of phones.”

“How's the arm?”

“You saw that too?”

“Footage of a burning man will get a bit of airplay.”

“Then I guess I don't have to tell you that I lost Charlie Anpu.”

“I know.”

“Does Anpu know?”

Abbot shakes his head.

“We got lucky there. He had a fender bender on the way home, so that would have kept him occupied. And with a reputation like yours, no one is surprised about you having a street brawl with a Lurker.”

“Is that what people think? That it was just a Lurker?”

“Wasn't it?”

I look at the handwoven rugs on Abbot's floor. The flawless woodwork and exquisite golden fixtures around the room, and feel like a housefly on a hundred-dollar steak.

“Do you think I could have a drink? If I'm not being an asshole for asking . . .”

“Of course,” says Abbot. “And you're not. Relax. I know things went off-kilter last night, but from what I saw on the news it wasn't your fault.”

He goes to the liquor cabinet and pours us a couple of expensive whiskeys. Comes over and hands me one, then sits down again.

I actually meant would he mind if I had some Aqua Regia from my flask, but I'll always take free alcohol.

I sip my drink. It's smooth as a newly polished blade. But why did I
ask
him if I could have a drink? Why didn't I just
have one? This
Citizen Kane
world is getting to me. I'm like goddamn Oliver Twist begging for more gruel.

I look at Abbot.

“Maybe it's better if everyone thinks it was a Lurker.”

“If it wasn't, what was it?”

I take a gulp of his good stuff.

“It was an angel. But I don't suppose Ivy League types believe in spook stories like that.”

Abbot fiddles with one of his cuff links.

“I'll admit, an angel wasn't my first thought. But if you say that's what it was, I believe you.”

“Just like that?”

“The Golden Vigil believed in you. Why shouldn't I?”

For a second, I want to kiss the son of a bitch.

He looks into his drink.

“The question is, why would an angel come after you like that?”

I reach into my pocket and hand him the box.

“Because of that.”

He sets down his drink and looks the box over. Opens the top, looks at the vial of black milk, then closes it again and hands it back to me.

“What's so special about it?”

“It's not the box. The black stuff. The angel wanted it back. She was very clear on the matter.”

“I saw. Do you know what it is?”

I could tell him what Vidocq said, but the fewer people who know anything about the stuff the better.

“No.”

He thinks for a minute.

“Do you think it was a coincidence that all this happened while you were following Charles?”

I put the box back in my pocket.

“Nope. He has a box like this too. That's why he went to Musso's last night. It's where he picked it up.”

“Are you sure? A box like yours.”

“He was shit-faced and dropped it on the street. I got a good look.”

Abbot stares off into space again, wheels turning in his head.

“Charles and angels. You're the expert. What do you think it means?”

“That it might not be Charles and angels. That you were right and it's Charlie and Wormwood.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course not. But unless Charlie has a secret life, he's not going to know a lot of celestials. Wormwood has contacts in Hell. That means
they
believe in angels, and knowing how they work, it probably means they're in business with some.”

I shut up and let Abbot take that in. This time he's quiet for a long time. Then he laughs in a bleak sort of way.

“I don't know what to think about any of this. Mysterious boxes. Angels. Hell.” He pauses, then says, “How do you know they're in business with Hell?”

“Because Geoffrey Burgess told me. Norris Quay runs their office Downtown.”

“Norris Quay?” says Abbot. “Norris Quay is dead.”

“Naturally. How else is he going to have a day job in Hell?”

He shakes his head. “You're telling me to think like the Red Queen.”

“Who?”

“From
Through the Looking-Glass
. ‘Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.'”

“She sounds like a smart lady.”

Abbot leans forward, looking intense.

“Let's assume that everything you've said today is true. You were attacked by an angel. Charles is somehow connected to them and that proves he has ties to Wormwood, who also know angels and does business in Hell.”

“You're right on the money so far.”

“Wonderful. The thing is: What are we supposed to do with this information? I admit, I'm a little lost.”

“I spent eleven years Downtown, so I know the feeling.”

I finish my drink and set my glass on a nearby table.

“Oops,” says Abbot. He reaches over and hands me a coaster.

I put it under the glass.

“Sorry.”

“No harm done.”

He says it nicely, but I know he's going to check for damage when I'm gone. He probably had this one custom-made in the Amazon. He'll send a flunky to Brazil tonight to pick out a new one.

I cross my legs and get a look at my boots. They're filthy. In all this glamour that makes me happier than it probably should.

“What I think we do right now is what you wanted me to do before. Recon work. I poke around and see if I come up with any new Wormwood connections.”

“Do you think it's a good idea to follow Charles? If
something strange happens around him again, he's not going to write it off as a coincidence.”

“Not Charlie. Someone else I know is connected to Wormwood. Geoff Burgess. Or Eva Sandoval. I met them with some of the other Wormwood heavyweights. I think I'd rather go for Burgess.”

“Why him?”

“I don't like him. And why not? He's as good a place to start as any. I'm just shooting in the dark here. If you have a better idea, tell me.”

“No,” says Abbot. “I don't have any ideas right now. Fine. Do it until we have a reason to do something else. In the meantime, I'll talk to my contacts and see what they have to say.”

“Great.”

“I'll also have a word with our contacts in the police department. Let's see if we can push any investigation about last night in the wrong direction.”

“I'd appreciate it, having the heat off for a while. And being able to wear my own face.”

He sits up. Finishes his drink.

“What are you going to do with the box?”

I scratch my burned arm through my coat.

“Hide it, I guess. Do you have any ideas where? Some supersecret Honeycomb hideout?”

“I know how to make business documents disappear. Family jewels and cash too. But this? I'm stumped.”

“Me too. Normally I'd hide it in the Room of Thirteen Doors, but that's off the menu. I'll think of something.”