The Perdition Score (24 page)

“Like I said, I don't know if I can even do it.”

“Yes, you do. You always figure out these things. Take me with you or I'm gone. I don't like ultimatums any more than you do and I'll never give you another, but I mean this one.”

I touch the gash on the side of my face. It's almost gone, but it's going to add another scar to my collection.

“All right. But you do what I say down there, including leaving me and getting out if things go wrong. That's my ultimatum for you.”

She looks at me hard, hating me right then.

“Okay. I'll leave if you say so, but don't say it to be heroic. Only if there's no alternative.”

“Deal.”

“How long will it take to get ready?”

“We could do it tonight if I knew how to get there. I have the guns. I have Spiritus Dei to prep the bullets. You can wear some of my old body armor. That's nonnegotiable.”

“Don't worry. I like the sound of body armor.”

“Then all I have to do is figure out a way.”

The coffee machine burbles in the background.

She says, “What about Allegra and Vidocq? We can't leave them alone.”

“Brigitte can help with that.”

“She's making a movie.”

“Then she can come by between takes. Is there anyone else you trust who can handle themselves in a fight?”

Candy frowns.

“You think there might be trouble?”

“I doubt it. After last night, they'll be after me. But we need a killer in place on the off chance I'm wrong.”

“I'll call her if you want.”

“Tell her anything you want. Just make sure she brings her gun.”

Coffee drips from the maker into the pot below.

“I guess this isn't a good time to ask if you talked to Allegra about the other thing.”

“You can say it. PTSD. And yes, I did. She said she had some pills that might help. But I'm not sure this is the time for me to get too reasonable.”

“You're probably right,” she says. Comes over and hugs me. “We need monster you a little longer.”

It's a relief to hear. The idea of Allegra's drugs scares me more than anything I faced in the arena. I've had my mind messed with before. Doing it voluntarily is not something I'm looking forward to.

“What are you going to tell Alessa?”

“The same thing I told Julie. A family emergency.”

“You think Fairuza can keep her mouth shut?”

She blinks.

“I don't know.”

“I think she's going to talk sooner or later.”

“What do we do about that?” she says.

“Vidocq has potions that might make her forget.”

“No. I don't want to do that to her.”

“The good thing is that she doesn't trust the cops any more than we do. That means she's going blab to a friend. Who are her friends?”

“A couple of other Luderes. Kasabian. Cindil. She and Alessa have gotten close too.”

I lean against the counter.

“Cindil owes me for getting her out of Hell, so she won't talk. The Luderes worry me, so we need to let her blow off steam somewhere else.”

The coffeepot is full. Candy fills three cups.

“Maybe she can talk to Kasabian,” she says.

“That's what I was thinking.”

Candy hands me a cup. I take a gulp. It's too hot, but I'm grateful for a caffeine fix after a long day and night.

I look at her.

“I'm worried about Alessa too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even if Fairuza talks to Kasabian, if she, Cindil, and you know about this, someone is going to let something slip during a band rehearsal or something.”

“What can we do about that?”

I stand there for a minute running the options over in my head. They're all rotten.

“Maybe you need to talk to her.”

She puts down her coffee.

“You really think so?”

“Tell her about yourself. Not that you're Candy or a Jade. But enough to let her know that Chihiro is deep in the Sub Rosa world. And that it's sometimes dangerous.”

Candy doesn't say anything.

“Can you do that?”

“If you think it's a good idea.”

“I do.”

She looks at the clock on the wall.

“I wonder if it's too early to call Brigitte.”

“It's probably too late. She'll be on the set already.”

“Maybe you should call her. I'll talk to Kasabian.”

“Right.”

We bring coffee into the bedroom. Allegra smiles at it, but sets the cup on the bedside table without drinking any.

Candy stays with her while I leave a message for Brigitte.

“Call me as soon as you get this. And make sure to load your gun.”

That should get her attention.

I go in with Allegra while Candy calls Kasabian.

She sighs and looks at me. Lifts her hands. Lets them drop again.

I sit on the end of the bed.

“We're going to fix this, Candy and me.”

“I know you'll try.”

“You take care of us. Now we're going to take care of you.”

She reaches over and squeezes my hand.

“Thank you.”

“It might take a couple of days. Will he keep that long?”

She bites her lip.

“I don't know. In theory.”

“Then that's the one we'll go with.”

“You're still planning on finding an angel?”

“Yes.”

“How are you going to do that?”

I look at the bedside table.

“Your coffee is getting cold.”

She picks up the mug and takes a sip.

I look at Vidocq.

“Candy and I have a plan. Don't worry.”

“Then I won't. Just do it quickly.”

“With luck, we'll be moving tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.”

I get up.

“You won't be alone. Brigitte will be with you.”

She nods.

“I'm glad Liliane is dead, you know. I keep trying to feel guilty about what I did, but I'm just numb.”

“You had no choice.”

“Is this how it is for you? You look at yourself killing someone and it's not you. It's you watching a movie of yourself.”

“I have my bad nights, but the kind of people I kill, I'm okay with.”

“But you
do
have bad nights.”

“Here and there.”

“I want to have bad nights. I don't want to be like that.”

“Like me? Don't worry. You're not.”

She takes another sip of coffee.

“What are you going to do?”

“First I'm going to buy some groceries. Then, when the sun goes down, I'm going to take a long drive.”

“Do what you have to.”

Candy comes back in.

“I spoke to Kasabian. He'll do it.”

I look at the bedside clock.

“The stores won't be open yet. There's nothing we can do right now. I'm going to lie down. That all right with you?”

Allegra nods without looking up.

Candy follows me out into the living room. We take some pillows off the sofa and lie down. It's a tight fit, but it doesn't matter. Even with the caffeine in my system, I'm asleep in a couple of minutes.

This is where I'm meant to be. I'm Heaven's Abomination. I'm a monster. I'm going to Hell. And I'm completely at peace. My sleep is deep and comforting. No more nightmares for me.

A
BBOT CALLS ME
around noon. Candy doesn't wake up and Allegra is asleep next to Vidocq. I take the call in the kitchen.

“Elsabeth called. It sounds like you had a busy night,” says Abbot.

“Consider Burgess an early Christmas present.”

“You'll be interested to know that a lot of powerful people vanished into thin air last night.”

“Write their names down. There's your list of Wormwood heavies.”

“I'm already on it. Elsabeth is leaving the country,” he says.

“You told her I wouldn't hurt her, right?”

“I did, but you did murder her husband. Even if she didn't like him, it's a shock.”

“That prick is fine. Probably having piña coladas in Hell with Norris Quay right now.”

Abbot takes a breath.

“It's too bad we can't do anything about that. A shock like that could bring Wormwood down.”

“Who says I can't do anything about it?”

“You said you'd lost that kind of power.”

“There's more than one way to skin a flounder.”

Abbot says, “If that means you can hurt Wormwood in their sanctuary, I'll do everything I can to help.”

“You said I have insurance in that packet you gave me.”

“Yes.”

“Does that include life insurance?”

“No. Most council members have their own.”

“Guess what. I don't. I'll do what I have to do, but you promise me that if something happens to me—like you never hear from me again after tomorrow—you keep paying my salary to Chihiro.”

“I can do that,” says Abbot.

“Then we're square, no matter what happens from here.”

“When should I expect to hear from you?”

“In a couple of days. After that, consider me in Oz with the flying monkeys.”

“Wherever you're going, please come back.”

“If I don't, have Willem tell Audsley Ishii better luck next time.”

“I'll be sure to pass it along,” Abbot says.

“One more thing. For a blue-blood, pretty-boy asshole, you're not the worst person I ever met.”

“For a terrifying reprobate, neither are you.”

“See you in the funny papers.”

I hang up. Candy yawns and opens her eyes. I pour us both more coffee.

B
RIGITTE CALLS IN
the afternoon. Mysteriously, production on her movie has gone into a “temporary pause.” I guess Pieter Ligotti lit out of Dodge on the Wormwood Express like the others. I'm sorry it screws up Brigitte's job, but it works out better for us.

“You can pull guard duty on Vidocq and Allegra?”

“Of course,” she says. “Will she want to see me, though? I feel like all this is my fault.”

“Allegra knows it wasn't your fault. Wormwood used everyone. She needs her friends right now.”

“Of course I'll be there. Where will you be?”

“Candy and I are taking a trip. We'll be back in a couple of days. Kill anyone who tries to get in that isn't us.”

“With pleasure.”

I
T TAKES FOR
fucking ever for the sun to go down.

I go to a nearby gas station and hit the little grocery inside. It's all road food, grease, and sweets in here. I pick up a carton of unfiltered Luckies on the way out. The clerk gives me a look. I lost the Hellion hog's saddlebags when I rode it back from Hell, and I don't have a backpack, so I have to use one of Candy's. I stare right back at the clerk and strap on a Badtz-Maru pack. Get on the Hellion hog and head south on
the Hollywood Freeway to where it forms a crossroads with the 110.

It's early evening and the road is jammed with traffic. Not the best time to do what I'm about to, but I'm sick of waiting around.

I pull onto the shoulder and get out the black blade. Carve an intricate sigil into the roadbed. Then I light a Malediction. Nothing to do now but wait.

It doesn't take long before I get an answer to my distress call.

She burns down the road, doing ninety in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Every little space between the crawling cars, every opening where someone changes lanes, she blows through them without a care in the world.

After all, these are her roads.

Mustang Sally is the highway sylph. The queen of the freeways, the surface roads, and the filthy side streets. A spirit that's been around in one form or other since the earliest humans left the first mud trails in the ground. She drives L.A.'s roads 24/7 and only stops when bums like me lure her over with tributes.

Tonight, she's in a Porsche 550 Spyder. The car that killed James Dean and a lot of nameless other morons who couldn't handle the horsepower.

Sally gives me a big smile as she stops. But she doesn't get out of the car. Just fixes her hair in the rearview mirror. It takes me a minute to figure it out. Sally has helped me out plenty, but you always have to pay the toll.

I walk to the Porsche and open the door for her. She gives me her hand as she steps out.

“Hello, handsome. That's a new look for you.”

I forgot that I still have Badtz-Maru on my back. I shrug off the pack and hand it to her.

“It's for you, Sally.”

She opens it and peeks inside.

“Yummy,” she says, and tosses the pack onto the passenger seat. Then she walks past me.

“Love the wheels.”

Mustang Sally is the most refined lady you'll meet. Tonight she's in diamonds and an evening gown, but that doesn't slow her down. She hikes up her skirt and settles down onto the bike.

“Custom?” she says.

“As custom as they get.”

She runs her hands over the fuel tank and the seat leather.

“It's nice to know that they still do good work down below.”

“I don't know about that anymore.”

She cocks her head at me.

“Well, you do have a way of breaking your toys.”

“What if I want to put one back together again?”

“You want to go back.”

“It's the only way to make things right.”

She looks at me. Then the bike. Then her car.

“Want to trade? My Porsche for your bike? It would make a lovely tribute.”

She runs her gloved fingertips over the handlebars.

“Sorry, Sally. It has sentimental value. How about a '68 Catalina fastback?”

She thinks about it for a minute.

“It's not exactly a vintage Porsche.”

I come over and get in front of the bike. She could run me down and take it if she wanted and we both know it.

“It would make a nice second car. You can drive it to church and bingo.”

She leans back on the seat and takes off a glove. Spits in her hand. I spit in mine and we shake. She puts her glove back on.

I tell her, “But you can't have it right away. It needs a little bodywork.”

“That's all right. I trust you. And you always know where to find me. Now, what can I help you with?”

“I need to get back into Hell. Preferably, without dying this time.”

The first time Sally helped me get into the afterlife, the process included me splattering myself on a highway pylon. It was messy and gave me a headache.

She shakes her head.

“Sweet boy, sometimes you come to me with the silliest questions. The way to Hell—the road to everywhere—has been there for you since the day you came home.”

“Where? How?”

She puts out her hand and I help her off the bike. She takes a minute to smooth her skirt.

“I can't help you directly, but Mr. Muninn can. Sometimes the most complicated way is the easiest.”

I look at her. Perfect hair and diamonds lit by a thousand headlights.

“That's all you're going to tell me, isn't it?”

“There are rules to these things. Heaven and Hell are well off my roads, but if you're determined not to die to get there, it's the best I can do.”

She strolls back to her car and I hold the door open for her as she gets in. The backseat of the Porsche is completely full of burger bags, candy wrappers, and empty cigarette packs.

I look down at her.

“I hope the snacks and smokes will hold you until I get back.”

She reaches up and pats my cheek.

“Just make sure you come back, Mr. Stark. You owe me a car.”

“I'll always come back for you, Sally.”

“And I'll always be here for you.”

She blows me a kiss, finds an opening in the traffic, and peels rubber out into the night.

I sit there on the shoulder for a while. I'm not a goddess. I can't flit my way through traffic like a heavy-metal butterfly and nobody is going to slow down to let someone like me in front of them.

Muninn is in Heaven. And what the hell does “Sometimes the most complicated way is the easiest” mean?

I just traded away my car for a fortune cookie.

Finally there's an opening. I gun my way onto the freeway and pick up Candy at Vidocq and Allegra's. Brigitte is already there, wearing her pistol in a shoulder holster.

“Are you two going to be all right?” Allegra says.

“Right as rain,” says Candy.

Allegra hugs her.

Brigitte doesn't say anything. Just kisses both of us on the cheek. She's a killer. She knows what's what and how badly this could go.

Allegra gives us little waves as we leave.

Candy waves back. I give them a wink. Bullshit confidence on a bullshit night.

We get on the bike and head home. Neither of us is wearing a helmet, but I plan to blast out the tires of anyone who tries to stop us. Knowing I might get to shoot something, and with the warm spring night, it's a nice ride back to Max Overdrive.

T
HERE
'
S ONLY ONE
thing Sally could have meant about Muninn helping us. There must be something in his old shop that we can use to get Downtown.

We arrive at the Bradbury Building at around ten in the morning. Not so early that people will notice. A good time of day to blend in with the crowd.

We spent the night going through my guns, dipping everything in Spiritus Dei. Candy dipped her black blade in the stuff, so I dipped mine for luck. I packed the Colt and put a handful of speed loaders in one pocket. Put a stolen Glock in an old holster I cut from a leather tool belt. Candy got the Benelli shotgun I took off a dead Nazi piece of shit last Christmas. It fits nicely under the old coat I wore when I first got back to L.A. It's big on Candy, but there are motocross pads in the sleeves and sides, so it should protect her if things get physical.

We're not exactly inconspicuous when we walk into the Bradbury, but enough movies and TV have been shot here
that people are most likely going to take us for a couple of eccentric show-biz nitwits location-scouting the place.

It's a few minutes of milling around on the first floor before we can get on one of the metal art deco elevators alone. We take it up to the fifth floor, but when it stops we don't get off. I press the one and three buttons simultaneously and the elevator starts down again.

When it stops, we get off. The thirteenth floor is completely dark. The first time I was here, the shop we want at least had candles in the window. Now it looks like the whole floor has been deserted since Mr. Muninn left.

“Where are we?” says Candy.

I point to a dusty shop ahead that looks like a cross between a Beverly Hills Pier 1 and the back room of the world's saddest auction house.

“This used to be Mr. Muninn's shop. Once upon a time, he was a kind of antiques dealer.”

“You're a liar,” Candy says.

“Nope. I'll show you.”

With only the lights on our cell phones, we get to the shop and I jimmy the lock with the black blade.

Inside is a collection of old furniture. Stuffed exotic birds, some of which bear a strong resemblance to dinosaurs. There's a coin set from Atlantis. A glass cage that once held a Fury, now empty. Strange weapons. Canopic jars.

Candy turns in a circle.

“How are we going to find anything in all this junk?”

“We're not. Muninn kept the good stuff in the back.”

Through the back is a door that leads to a steep stone staircase. Lucky for us, lucky for the world, the light switch at the
top of the stairs still works. Floodlights flicker on for what seems like miles in every direction. If the collection upstairs seemed out of control, the stuff down here is worse, mostly because of the sheer scale.

Rows of shelves spread out in all directions. I know Muninn had a system for his junk, but I never understood it. Aside from small collections in the shop, the hoard down here he put together over, in his own words, “ice ages.” In the distance is the prow of an ancient ship. Part of a silent-movie film set. An old L.A. red car train.

“Double fuck me,” says Candy. “Upstairs was bad enough. We could spend the rest of our lives down here.”

“No. Mustang Sally said that Muninn could help us and the most complicated way is often the easiest. Something like that.”

“Maybe she's talking about a puzzle. You solve it and it'll open a portal or a hot-air balloon will pop out.”

“That's what I was thinking. Let's split up, grab anything that looks like a puzzle, and meet back here in an hour.”

Candy looks around.

“What if I get lost?”

“Yeah. That.”

I look around and find a bag of worn old Greek drachmas. Hand it to her.

“Do a Hansel and Gretel. Drop one of these every few minutes when you go, then you can follow them back.”

“Thanks, Nancy Drew. I know how the story goes.”

We take off in opposite directions. One row over, I find an old grocery-store shopping cart full of candlesticks and vases.
The vases go on a shelf with no problems, but some of the candlesticks try to squirm away or wrap themselves around my arms. A pair of snake-headed sticks hiss at me. I turn the cart on its side and dump the rest of the sticks. Some crawl away under the shelves.