“Do you want to go to Hell?” Traven asks.
Luke puts his hands in his jacket pockets. Stands up straight, trying to look defiant.
“To be with Lord Lucifer forever? Yes. Of course.”
“I can help you with that right now.”
Traven shoves Luke against the wall so hard his head bounces off the marble. When the kid opens his mouth to yell, Traven holds it open and leans in like he’s going to kiss him. Luke pulls back but there’s nowhere to go.
Black vapor drifts from Traven’s mouth into Luke’s. A breeze of dust. A wet, oily stream of fluid. Buzzing things like microscopic wasps. It smells like burning feathers and rancid onions. The kid’s face darkens with sin until he’s as black as Manimal Mike. When Traven steps back, Luke collapses on the floor, coughing and drooling on his designer lapels. Amanda and Muttonchops rush to him.
Traven looks down at Luke and says, “Did you think damnation would be easy?”
Amanda screams, “What have you done to my son?”
“I damned him for all eternity. Isn’t that right, Lucifer?”
“The father here gave him a black karma enema. Luke is stuffed with more sin than the entire NBA.”
I kneel down and push up Luke’s eyelids to have a look at his pupils. They’re pinpoints. Barely visible.
“You understand that there are traditions and procedures Downtown. My guess is that bloated with this much sin, there isn’t much I can do for him. He’ll end up on a paddleboat on the river of fire. Or in the Cave of the Despised, with razor crystals and flesh-eating spiders. Which do you think he’d prefer, Mom?”
Muttonchops looks at the kid. Takes out a silver coin and puts it on the kid’s tongue. Black tarnish creeps over its face. In a few seconds it looks a hundred years old. He looks at Amanda.
“He’s telling the truth. I’ve never seen so much sin in one body.”
He turns to me and bows his head.
“Forgive us, Lucifer. We were blinded by your outward appearance and couldn’t see the real you.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to nose-polish my ass Downtown. Right now I want the answers to my questions.”
“And my son?” says Amanda.
“Answer my questions and I’ll see what I can do for Little Lord Fuckitall.”
“Praise to you, my lord.”
“He wishes to only be addressed as Lucifer,” Amanda says to Muttonchops.
“Forgive me.”
Luke opens his eyes and tries to push Amanda away but he’s too weak. She and Muttonchops help him to the sofa and leave him slumped like a jellyfish on a rocking chair.
“You asked about Blue Heaven,” says Muttonchops.
He takes a piece of paper from an inside pocket of his jacket.
“It has many names but its real name translates roughly as ‘the Dayward.’ It doesn’t exist in any one location. It exists in time. It’s said that in 1582, when Pope Gregory switched from the old Julian to the Christian calendar, fifteen days were lost. Those fifteen days, existing outside of our space and time, are the Dayward. Blue Heaven.”
“And how do you get there?”
“I haven’t been able to find that out, Lucifer.”
“Not a good start, Lemmy. What about the little girl?”
Amanda touches the back of her hand to Luke’s forehead. Brushes back some hair that’s fallen over his face.
“We don’t have her true name but we believe that her living form was a child known as the Imp of Madrid. She actually lived in Sangre de Sant Joan, a trading village outside of the city. The story is that she killed and mutilated travelers along the nearby road. When people stopped traveling there, she killed the inhabitants of a nearby town. When they called in priests and wolf hunters for protection, she killed them and turned on her own people. After she murdered and mutilated half the village, the men managed to corner her in a barn and lock her in. They burned her alive. When they found her body, a priest dismembered her corpse, down to the individual bones. They believed that if you left bodies inhabited by evil spirits intact, they could reanimate. By separating the bones, she couldn’t revive. A child’s body has two hundred and eight bones. They buried each one in a separate grave. The Imp of Madrid’s body takes up an entire cemetery. No one else has ever been buried there and the ground remains unconsecrated.”
“So, a typical Valley girl.”
No laughs. Even Traven won’t give me a polite smile. Bunch of stiffs.
“Have you ever heard of something called the Qomrama Om Ya?”
“No,” says Amanda.
“What about you, Wolverine?”
Muttonchops shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, Lucifer.”
I go to the buffet and pick up a piece of rumaki. Hold it up for the room.
“Dig in. There’s plenty for everyone.”
Amanda glances at Luke.
“Thank you, no.”
I bite the rumaki and talk with a full mouth.
“How about you, Father? You just had a workout.”
Traven comes over, pours himself some mineral water, and goes to sit by the window.
“You ever hear of a guy named Teddy Osterberg?” I say.
Amanda brightens.
“Yes. Teddy is part of the family. That is, he’s part of your temple in Los Angeles. He’s not terribly observant but his family has honored you for three generations.”
“What about King Cairo? Any of you know him?”
Luke rolls over in his chair and kicks his feet, trying to get them flat on the ground.
“Cairo,” he says. Of course the little shit knows him. Rich kids like him love hanging around criminals. Slumming to the rich is like NASCAR to tobacco chewers.
“Write down his address and phone number.”
Luke gets his phone from inside his coat. Fumbles and drops the thing. He sits up and pats himself down for a pen and paper. I grab the phone from his hand and type KING CAIRO in the address book. A phone number and address come up. I copy them down on hotel stationery. Toss the phone into Luke’s lap. He’s coming around. Still obsidian black. Still silted up with sin.
“Amanda, does Teddy know who Mr. Macheath is?”
“I don’t believe so, Lucifer.”
“Good. I want you to tell Teddy that Mr. Macheath, a bigwig from an out-of-town temple, is coming to see him but don’t tell him anything more about me.”
“You should know that Teddy has always been a bit of a recluse and even more so since he was mugged a few months ago. He hardly sees anybody.”
“I promise not to touch his toys. Will you call him for me, Amanda?”
“Yes, Lucifer.”
She smiles. Finally something she can do without a roomful of minions.
“Swell. Okay. I think we’re done here for now.”
“Lucifer, what about Luke?” says Amanda.
“What about him? He’ll be fine.”
“What about his soul? After all he’s done in your name, it’s unfair that he should be tortured in Hell and not standing at your side.”
“What part of my CV gave you the idea that I’m fair?”
“Please,” pleads Amanda. She puts her hands over her mouth for daring to ask Lucifer a favor.
I nod at the attaché case Muttonchops brought in.
“Are those the guns?”
“Yes,” he says.
“You brought ammo too?”
“Of course.”
I go to the table and pour two glasses of Aqua Regia. Set one down on the table and give a small one to Luke. He sips and spits it out like I gave him a mouthful of hot coals. He’s not happy but he can stand and his pupils have expanded to something like normal size.
“Tell you what,” I say. “You leave the guns, see what you can find out about the Qomrama Om Ya, and fuck off out of here. I’ll see what I can do to keep Richie Rich here out of the meat grinder Downtown.”
“Thank you,” says Amanda, grabbing my hand. I pull it away when
she pulls it to her mouth like she’s going to kiss it. She helps Luke to the back of the clock.
Muttonchops makes several small bows on his way out.
“Praise you, Lucifer.”
I shut the door behind them and take the attaché case to where Traven is sitting. Pop the locks.
“Are those what you were hoping for?” Traven asks.
“Oh yeah.”
What’s in the case is a bit like the buffet. A smorgasbord of firepower. It’s good stuff too. Not as flashy as I was afraid it might be. There’s a silver Sig Sauer .45 and a little .38 Special derringer. A nice pistol to have in your pocket for when you’re feeling not so fresh. There’s also a Desert Eagle .50, a gun I hate even more than the Glock. It’s a pistol you see in movies because it’s as big as a turkey leg and shiny as a silver dollar polishing a mirror. When we see it we’re supposed to admire the guy who has it because he can handle something so manly and powerful. What we should be thinking is that unless he’s whale-hunting, the only reason anyone has a gun that size is because he can’t aim worth a damn, so he has to blow garbage-can-size holes everywhere hoping he hits something important. I set the Desert Eagle aside.
There’s a completely impractical but heartwarming .40 mare’s-leg pistol. It’s like a short rifle with a lever action to chamber each shot. I don’t know if I’ll carry it but I’ll definitely keep it around. The last gun is a Swiss 9mm folding pistol. It’s the flashiest piece in the case but still semipractical. When it’s closed, the folder looks like a black lunch box, but hit a switch and it springs open into a 9mm pistol with a rifle stock. Candy would die and go to Heaven and Houston and back if I gave it to her. I might do it but I’m not sure I’m going to give her any bullets. She might like the bang-bang sound too much to be trusted. I’ll take her shooting and see how it goes.
I get the Glock out of the duffel and put it on the table with the pistols.
“Want a gun, Father? These are troubled times.”
“We’re always living in troubled times. It’s why we have religion.”
“Is that why? I thought it was so I could get rid of all the change people gave me that week.”
“You have a very practical view of the divine.”
“I’ve seen how the sausage is made.”
Traven picks up the Sig, weighs it in his hand, and sets it down gently.
“Is that boy really going to be tortured in Hell?”
I shrug.
“I was just giving them something to think about. I can send anyone anywhere I want. And don’t get too weepy about the kid. Everyone has a lousy time Downtown. Even Lucifer. I’ll tell you about my recurring lost-toner-cartridge nightmare sometime.”
Traven sips his mineral water. I probably shouldn’t have said that last part. I spooked the poor guy again.
“I guess I finally saw the famous Via Dolorosa.”
“Yes. After you returned to Hell, I decided I couldn’t just read about all this arcane knowledge and do nothing with it. I had to act. I had to learn to make use of it. How do you think I did?”
“You freaked out the Devil groupies pretty well, so good choice of ways to be scary. Just don’t try it on crackheads knocking over a gas station. It’s a little slow for that.”
Traven smiles his tired smile.
“I’ll remember that.”
“Where does a nice academic like you pick up tips about something like the Dolorosa?”
He hesitates. He runs a hand through his hair.
“I found it in a sixteenth-century book of Baleful magic.”
I nod.
“You know that’s illegal, right? You’re an outlaw. Jesse James with a dog collar.”
“Thank you,” he says. “What are you going to do now?”
I wish I had a Veritas. It would help me answer the question. Muttonchops left his tarnished silver coin on a coffee table. I pick it up with my Kissi hand.
“You’re going to help me decide. Kill King Cairo or talk to Teddy Osterberg about the girl and Saint James?”
I flip the coin high in the air.
“Call it, Father.”
“Heads,” he says.
“Always an optimist.”
The coin hits the floor and I put my boot down on it.
It’s heads.
“You win. Which is it?”
“Go talk to Teddy Osterberg.”
I go back to the buffet.
“You didn’t care what the second choice was, did you? You just don’t want to make it easy for me to kill Cairo?”
He shrugs.
“Damned as I am, murder is still a hard thing for me to condone.”
“Like I said, you can’t help being a good guy.”
“Not yet.”
I wonder if Samael left any Maledictions downstairs.
“You don’t happen to have a cigarette on you, do you?”
Traven shakes his head.
“I don’t smoke.”
“I was hoping you’d started.”
I go back to the food and pick up the Aqua Regia. Set it down and pour myself some black coffee.
“Seeing your world. It’s frightening but exciting,” Traven says.
“Thanks, but the truth is I’d rather you cracked the books. I need information from someone I can trust. Is there a way into Blue Heaven? And what’s the Qomrama Om Ya? I know it’s a weapon and Aelita wants it. But that’s all. Maybe you can find out why.”
“If you think that’s how I can be of the most help.”
I go to the window and look out in the direction of the Hollywood sign. It’s going to take some time to get used to being home.
“Hey, Father. Is it me or did the sky turn green?”
Traven comes to the window.
“When did that happen?”
“I don’t know. What kind of fucked-up poison is this city spewing to turn the whole sky a different color?”
“I heard a strange story on the radio on the way over. They say that Catalina Island has disappeared. There was no earthquake, so it didn’t sink. It’s simply gone. And everyone on it. Almost four thousand souls are missing.”
Killer ghosts and missing islands. That sounds an awful lot like Aelita but where’s the percentage in killing off tourists? It’s not going to get her any closer to offing God. Unless He’s vacationing off the coast of L.A. under an assumed name. Does God have a secret yacht full of bathing beauties?
It’s a fun thought but I don’t think Mr. Muninn is the sunbathing type.
I ride the Hellion hog along the Pacific Coast Highway into the hills above Malibu. I figure that with a Gumby-colored sky and radio tall tales about Catalina as the new Atlantis, no one is going to pay attention to the bike. Manimal Mike has a garage. I’ll ask him if he can set me up with a set of plates. These cardboard-and-Sharpie ones are only convincing if you don’t actually look at them.
As I hit the crest of the hill, my phone rings. I park the bike and answer. It’s Candy.
“Holy hell. Where are those pictures from?”
“My new digs,” I say. “I decided that if I’m stuck being Lucifer, I should live like him.”
“Can I come over and see them?”
“Later. Right now I’m in Malibu seeing a guy who collects corpses like other people collect comics.”
“You know the most interesting people, Mr. Macheath. Call me when you get back. I want to come over and break some of your new stuff.”
“I think I can squeeze you in. Don’t eat before you come over. I have enough food to feed the Crusades.”
“Later, Bruce Wayne.”
“Later, Major Kusanagi.”
Teddy Osterberg’s place is a rolling green estate at the highest point of the Malibu hills. This area likes to dry out in the summer and burn even when it doesn’t go brown. You can tell Teddy’s place hasn’t had so much as a campfire in a century. It takes a lot of money and manpower to keep a spread this big green all year. A lot of company for a recluse.
; The house is a turn-of-the-century Gothic hulk. More like a bank than a house but with a view to West L.A. one way and practically to Japan the other. There’s a white Rolls-Royce Phantom convertible in the circular driveway. I knock on the door. A few seconds later, I hear footsteps and the door swings opens.
I recognize him immediately. Teddy is the civilian at the synod with the nice suit and the Michelangelo manicure. He’s dark with sin signs but he comes from old money, so he was probably born prestained and has been piling it on ever since.
I turn and point up.
“Mr. Osterberg, does that sky look green to you?”
“Hmm,” he says like a guy who’s seen much stranger things. “It certainly does. You must be Mr. Macheath. Please call me Teddy.”
He puts out his hand and I shake it. The door is only open wide enough for him to stand in, so I push past him and go inside. I’ve gone from annoyed to pissed that Traven sent me up here instead of going after King Cairo and I’m prepared to take it out on Teddy.
He doesn’t say anything as I go in. Just stands by the door for a minute and then closes it, locking us in a big foyer as silent as a tomb and as clean as an operating room.
“I was surprised to see you open your own door. Malibu people usually have out-of-work B-actors standing at attention all day hoping someone comes up the drive.”
“I’m sure some do but I don’t keep a staff. It’s just me up here, so door opening is a skill I’ve had to master all on my own.”
The foyer is dark but there are dim lights on in the other rooms. I’m going to need night-vision goggles if I want to see anything interesting without starting a bonfire. What I can see in the dimness is an unlit chandelier over an oval space. A sweeping staircase to the second floor. A slice of a dining room and living room off to my left. Tables around the edges of the foyer are dotted with sculptures made from bones. Birds. Dogs. Flowers. Teddy is sort of an abattoir Tick Tock Man. It’s good to see he has something to while away the long days and nights all by his lonesome.
Teddy says, “I don’t usually have guests in the house.”
“So I hear.”
“What I mean is, it’s a bit rude of you to barge in, even if you are one of Amanda’s friends.”
“I’m not Amanda’s friend. She’s way too low on the totem pole for that. This isn’t where I want to be today, so I really don’t care if you’re put out. I also don’t see any tributes or signs that you’re part of Amanda’s world. Where are the sacrificial virgins and inverted pentagrams?”
Devil Said Bang (Sandman Slim) Page 23
