Hollywood Dead

by Richard Kadrey

  The desolation always ends if you know the proper path, though, and Abbot leads us to an office at the back of the warehouse. Invoices and shipping orders are still tacked to a corkboard, and a lone wooden desk chair rots in the corner. Abbot ignores all of that and heads for an old-fashioned girlie calendar on the back wall. It’s like something from the fifties. A model in worker’s coveralls, the front zipper open to reveal a lot of skin, lounges seductively on a stack of shiny pipes. Every plumber’s dream girl, abandoned here how long ago? Abbot flips past January to February. It’s a leap year. He presses his thumb against the 29 at the bottom of the page, and the back wall swings open like a vault door. He goes inside and the rest of us follow.

  Lights flicker on in a spacious living room decorated like a high-class hunting lodge. Big rooms. Dark wood along the walls and the ceiling beams. The furniture looks like it was stolen from the lobby of a fancy hotel trying to pass itself off as folksy. I’ve seen worse Sub Rosa layouts, dripping with gold and animal heads on the walls like a narco boss’s palace.

  Abbot heads to a living room area with sofas facing each other and quaint tables with Tiffany lamps.

  “Why don’t you all go into the kitchen?” he says. “There’s plenty of food and drinks. Relax. Decompress. You’ve all had a hard night and I appreciate everything you did. I’ll come and talk to you individually later. Right now, though, I need to talk to this one.”

  Abbot points at me. Everyone looks in my direction.

  I shrug and take out a battered pack of Shermans.

  “Can I smoke in here?”

  “Under no circumstances,” Abbot says.

  I point to a sideboard in the corner of the room.

  “Can I at least have a drink?”

  “Of course.”

  I get a bottle of bourbon and two glasses and sit on one of the sofas.

  Abbot’s bodyguards reluctantly file into the kitchen. It must be hard on them. On the one hand, I just saved them. On the other hand, I’m a known menace. It’s why I like freelancing. Less wear and tear on your psyche.

  Abbot sits down on the sofa across from me. I pour two sizable glasses of bourbon and push one to his side of the coffee table. He doesn’t move to pick it up. I pick up mine, raise it in a toast, and drink half. The perfect thing to clear the smoke out of your throat.

  Abbot says, “So, tell me seriously. Where have you been for the past year?”

  My injured shoulder is beginning to itch. I take off my coat and pick pieces of yacht wood out of my skin. When I start to set a bloody splinter on the table, Abbott shoves a year-old copy of Vogue from the end of the table under it.

  “I told you. I was dead.”

  “Be serious.”

  “I am. I was dead and in Hell. Then somebody brought me back.”

  “Who?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Who?” he says a bit more insistently.

  “Wormwood.”

  He leans against the back of the sofa, then forward again.

  “Which version of Wormwood was it?”

  Should have known he’d know the dirt.

  “The original.”

  “Why did they bring you back?”

  “To stop the faction from blowing up L.A., which I did. You’re welcome.”

  Abbot frowns.

  “They knew about that? I thought we were the only ones.”

  “Pardon me for asking, but I’ve been gone and don’t know who the players are anymore. Who is ‘we’?”

  “The Sub Rosa, of course.”

  I look at Abbot hard. His pupils and heartbeat are funny.

  I say, “I get the feeling there’s more to that sentence. Like it should be the Sub Rosa … and somebody else.”

  Abbot looks in the direction of the kitchen, like he’s regretting sending his goons away. Finally, he looks back at me and says, “I mean the Sub Rosa and the group you call the faction. They’ve been trying to take over the city, both the Sub Rosa and civilian worlds. We stepped in to stop them. I thought we had a deal.”

  “You made a deal with the faction?”

  He sits up straight. “Are you judging me? It sounds like we both made deals with the Devil.”

  “No. I know the Devil. He wouldn’t pull shit like this.”

  Abbot thinks for a minute.

  “You said you stopped the destruction of the city. That might explain the attack tonight. I thought we’d reached a deal where they would cease all mystical activity in L.A. They probably think that we’re the ones who stopped them.”

  I pull the last pieces of wood out of my shoulder. I’m not bleeding right. My blood flows slowly and is the wrong color. Almost black. Abbot notices.

  “Are you a Drifter?” he says. “A zombie?”

  “No. But I’m not fully alive yet. That was my deal with Wormwood. I stop the event and they make me whole again.”

  “What happened?”

  “There was a disagreement over who fulfilled their part of the bargain. I’m not sure who won the argument, but I’m still half-dead.”

  “I guess neither of us got what we wanted from Wormwood.”

  “They’re good at that.”

  Abbot says, “I wonder if I should call them and try to set up another meeting.”

  “That’s a bad idea. You think they attacked you because I kicked over their sand castle? I think they were going to kill you all along.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  I take out the piece of paper Ray gave me. There are a few holes where splinters and shrapnel shot through. I hand it to Abbot.

  “Do you recognize any of these names?”

  He takes the paper and looks it over.

  “Nothing except for my own,” he says.

  I pour myself another drink.

  “It’s a kill list. A friend translated it for me from a scroll made out of human skin. All the names I recognized are dead or dying.”

  “And my name is there.”

  “Right after a long list of Wormwood big shots.”

  Abbot says, “I take it this list wasn’t created in the last twenty-four hours?”

  I shake my head.

  “The faction mystics trying to blow up the city had it at their ritual. I got it from one of them.”

  “I’d like to talk to them. Do you know where they are?”

  “Under about a hundred tons of rubble where the Chapel of St. Alexis used to be.”

  “Of course,” he says. “Los Angeles is lucky you’re not an exterminator. You’d burn half the city to get one fly.”

  “It would have to be a very bad fly.”

  The kitchen door opens a few inches and I can see the face of the guard I punched on the boat.

  “Is everything all right, sir?” he says.

  “We’re fine. Thank you,” says Abbot.

  The guard glares at me and lets the door fall shut.

  I look at Abbot.

  “You’re going to tell him about me saving you tonight, right? I don’t need more enemies right now.”

  Abbot glances back in the direction of the door.

  “Don’t worry about them. They’re loyal and they understand orders. They’ll leave you alone if I say so.”

  “And you’re going to say so, right?”

  “Of course,” he says a little lightly for my taste. But I have to trust him for now. Like I said, I don’t need more enemies.

  He pushes the list back to me.

  “I still don’t understand why Wormwood would make a deal. Why not just come after us?”

  “I spent some time with a faction member. Sometimes she talked like she was at a tent revival meeting. I didn’t believe all of it, but I do believe one thing. The faction is on a crusade. A goddamn holy war.”

  “Against the Sub Rosa?”

  “Against anyone who isn’t a true believer.”

  “In what?”

  “I have no idea. What do you know about them?”

  Abbot ta
kes his first sip of bourbon. He holds on to the glass, rolling it between his hands.

  “Honestly, not a lot,” he says. “We know they’re well funded and equipped, and that they’re very good at what they do.”

  “You haven’t been able to get anyone on the inside?”

  “Not a single person.” Abbot leans back against the sofa. He says, “So, you’ve been dead for a year.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Some of us thought that you might have faked the whole thing. That you’d grown tired of L.A. and the endless fighting and had decided to retire.”

  I look at him.

  “You know that Audsley Ishii is dead, right?”

  “Of course. Your friend Candy killed him because he allegedly killed you.”

  “He didn’t allegedly anything. He put a fucking knife in my back. Do you think I got her to murder an innocent guy just so I could have a weekend in Cabo?”

  He sets his glass on the table.

  “No. That’s the part that didn’t make sense. I knew you were capable of disappearing, but I had Candy thoroughly checked out. There’s nothing in her background indicating that she’s capable of cold-blooded murder.”

  “Did you blow her cover when you checked her out? The Feds are still looking for her. That’s why she’s been wearing a glamour and going by Chihiro all this time.”

  “That’s not true,” Abbot says. “Those investigations have all been dropped. After Marshal Larson Wells was arrested, the Golden Vigil operation was shut down and all its cases closed. There’s no warrant for Candy. Or you, for that matter.”

  “Lucky me. I’ll get a dog and a Prius.”

  Abbot smiles.

  “You couldn’t afford them.”

  “That must have been nice for you. Me being dead, you didn’t have to pay my salary all this time.”

  “But I have been paying it. To Candy.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You really never read the paperwork when I put you on retainer, did you?”

  “Not a word.”

  He sets down the glass.

  “Aside from health insurance, which it looks like you could use right now, there was a wrongful-death provision. Audsley Ishii had been an employee of the Augur’s office. Even though he’d been dismissed, he killed you over a disagreement that stemmed from that job. When he killed you, it initiated the wrongful-death payout. Candy, being the closest thing you have to a next of kin, has been getting your salary the whole time you’ve been gone.”

  I study his face, and this time I’m sure. Abbot is telling the truth.

  I say, “Thanks. You could have been a bastard about it, but you weren’t. I appreciate that.”

  Abbot picks up his glass.

  “We had a deal and I honor my deals. Now that you’re back, I’ll start the paperwork to reroute the money to the account we set up for you.”

  Maybe this is part of what Kasabian meant when he said they’d been doing great without me. Having my Sub Rosa money without me around to break things or bring trouble down on the store could be one of the things that helped turn the store around.

  I have a little more bourbon and think.

  “Don’t do it,” I tell him. “Keep sending her the money. I only have a day or so before I might die again. She can use the money more than me.”

  “If you don’t die, do you have any of your own money?”

  “Not a cent.”

  “Do you have a place to live?”

  “The bus station is a place.”

  Abbot leans forward again.

  “We have an apartment near Universal City that we keep for out-of-town dignitaries. You can use it until we figure out what to do with you.”

  “What do I need an apartment for? I just told you I’m probably going to be dead soon.”

  Abbot puts his hands on the table.

  “Don’t talk like that. We’ll figure something out. I have the best magicians, the best necromancers, the best of everything at my disposal. What kind of spell did they use to bring you back?”

  “I don’t know. No one will tell me. But it’s supposed to be pretty obscure.”

  “That’s not much to work with. But I’ll get people looking into it. If you find out anything, get in touch as soon as possible. You still have my phone number?”

  “Yeah. But why are you doing this? You don’t owe me anything.”

  He looks at me hard.

  “Is it so inconceivable that someone might do something for you not because they owe you something but because they simply want to?”

  “Yeah. It’s a little weird.”

  “Then that’s one reason why I’m the Augur and you’re not. I like you, Stark, whether you believe it or not. I enjoy doing things for people I like, and I have the resources to do it.”

  “That sounds like the kind of thing that could get a person in trouble.”

  “Not true. Even if you’re not getting paid, we still have a contract. I can use any resources I want to help an employee.”

  I look at him.

  “An employee?”

  “Sorry. Contractor.”

  “That’s better.”

  “It’s settled then. I’ll get people started on the problem, and you’ll get in touch if you learn anything. And here, take this.”

  Abbot gets out his wallet and hands me what looks like a small gold coin. When I look closer I see that it’s a lot more like a milagro in the shape of an eye.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Your shadow-walking trick is impressive, but if you get sicker, you might not be able to do it. If you get stuck somewhere and need help, just break the coin in half. We’ll find you.”

  I turn the coin over in my hand a few times.

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure,” Abbot says. “Do you want to go and see the apartment?”

  “Can you just give me a key and let me find it on my own? I can move faster than your van through LAX traffic.”

  “Of course.”

  He takes out an ordinary house key and hands it to me.

  “The entrance is through a strip mall on Cahuenga near the In-N-Out Burger by the Hollywood Freeway. There’s an out-of-business nail salon. The key opens the front door and the apartment entrance is through a supply closet at the back. It’s one of the bottles of skin lotion on a shelf by themselves. I forget which one, but there are only three. Just pick up each one until the door opens.”

  I can’t help but laugh at the setup.

  “Nail salon. Skin lotion. Got it.”

  Abbot points to the kitchen.

  “Do you want anything to eat before you go? The cook makes amazing garlic lamb.”

  “Some other time. I appreciate all this.”

  “Thanks for saving us tonight.”

  “I’ll see you.”

  “Stay in touch.”

  “Right.”

  I go out before any of the guards come back. I’m tired of the way they’re looking at me.

  MAX OVERDRIVE IS closed when I get there, late enough that even Kasabian isn’t screwing around inside. I go in near the storage room, terrified that someone found Howard or that he woke up and wandered away.

  There’s no reason to worry about Alessa and Candy tonight. The faction will be doing cleanup and recon in Marina del Rey. Looking for bodies. Picking up shell casings. Maybe sending divers down to the boat to search for bodies. They’ll find a few, but not the one they want. With luck they’ll either keep looking or assume Abbot burned in the fire. Me? All I want right now is a little clear head space. No Wormwood. No faction. Just me and Howard, a couple of regular guys doing regular-guy stuff. No pressure. Maybe some beer and pizza. Then he does his hoodoo and I send the fucker on his way. That’s all I want, which is exactly why I’m sure I’m not going to get it.

  My left shoulder is wet. The places where I pulled out splinters aren’t even trying to heal. More good news.

  I open the storage door as qui
etly as I can and move stacks of porn out of the way. At least things aren’t completely screwed. Howard is still curled up like a sleeping kitten in the corner. I grab his arm and pull him into a fireman’s carry, then push the storage door closed with my boot.

  When I turn around, Kasabian is staring at me from the door of his little apartment in the corner of the store. He doesn’t say anything. Just sighs and slowly closes the door again, watching me until the door is completely shut. I almost feel like apologizing, but I don’t have time. Plus, he hasn’t exactly been sympathetic about my current situation. And he has a home. I have a Sub Rosa squat in a nail salon. Fuck it. Let him sweat a little.

  I leave through a shadow and come out on Cahuenga near the In-N-Out Burger. There’s a minimall next door, so I hustle Howard over there as quickly as possible. I can do without being mistaken for a body snatcher by some solid citizen itching to dial 911.

  The mall is pretty much as Abbot described it. A dull slab of commercial concrete with a liquor store, a sandwich shop, and an auto parts place. The nail salon is in the center of the mall. I don’t bother with the key when I get there. Just shadow-walk through the windows. The glass is covered with white paper and a FOR RENT sign with a dummy phone number at the bottom. I haul Howard to the supply closet in the back of the salon. When I get there, I have to set him down and catch my breath. I’m getting weaker. I should be able to throw Howard’s limey ass like a shot put halfway down a football field. Now I’m sweating after only fifty feet. Maybe I should have eaten something at the safe house. Can I even digest food anymore? The bourbon went down all right, but that’s God’s own medicine. If there are any chili dogs in here, I’m going to have to fire one up.

  When my legs stop shaking, I find the shelf with three bottles of skin lotion. Pick up the first one. Nothing. This porridge is too hot. I try the one in the middle. This porridge is too cold. One more try. If I’m wrong, then Abbot set me up and a Sub Rosa SWAT team is going to burst in here with flash-bangs and grenades laced with hoodoo poison.

  Only one way to find out.

  What do you know?

  This porridge is just right.

  A seam in the cheap wood paneling splits open and a narrow section of wall swings back out of the way. I don’t bother picking up Howard this time. With a fistful of collar, I drag him through the door.