Devil Said Bang ss-4

by Richard Kadrey

  I mouth, “You’re evil.”

  Candy shrugs and mouths, “I was bored. And I love messing with dumb guys.”

  “One more thing, Amanda. I’m going to need guns. Pistols. I’m not sure what I’ll be in the mood for, so bring an assortment. Like teacakes to a party. All right?”

  “My pleasure, Lucifer. I live to serve you.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Where shall I get in touch with you? The usual? The Chateau Marmont?”

  Goddamn. I forgot about that place.

  “Yes, the Chateau. My usual suite.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Lucifer.”

  “Ciao.”

  I put the phone away and Candy leans back like she’s never seen me before.

  “You have a suite somewhere? You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “I don’t have one yet but I think I will when we get back to town.”

  “Is there room service? I like room service.”

  I put the black blade in the ignition and start the car.

  “How does Rinko feel about you spending time with me? She knows about us, right?”

  “She’s not brain-dead, so yeah, she knows. I told you before, Rinko and I aren’t married. She knows you and I have something and you know she and I have something. No one has to be here who doesn’t want to be. I mean, there’s nothing that’s stopping you from seeing someone else.”

  “I’m not interested in anyone else.”

  “Really? Is that why Sasha Grey had her tongue down your throat last night?”

  “Brigitte? That was nothing. Just a couple of old zombie slayers who haven’t seen each other in a few months.”

  “Another month and you two would have been dry-humping on the bar.”

  “And spill our drinks? Against the bar maybe, but not on it.”

  “Keep talking and I won’t go back to your suite with you.”

  “You started it.”

  “Did I? I don’t remember. Home, Jeeves.”

  I pull a U-turn across four lanes of traffic and head for the freeway. When we pass the garage Ivan and his pal are still wrestling.

  We’ve been on the freeway maybe five minutes when I spot the pickup truck. It’s not hard. It’s been on our tail since we got on the road. It’s white like a rental but the windows are tinted opaque black. There aren’t many rental companies that do that, and by “not many,” I mean none.

  “We’re being followed.”

  Candy turns and looks out the back window.

  “Which one?”

  “The white pickup.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  I stomp the accelerator and the Porsche tears a hole in the traffic ahead. I squeeze between two SUVs as they’re changing lanes and cut off a cable-company truck trying to pass a wrecker on the shoulder. Candy turns and looks out the back.

  “The pickup is still there.”

  “Put on your seat belt.”

  “You always sound so serious when you think we’re going to die.”

  “I have an allergy to being dead.”

  “I didn’t say I minded. I like it when you talk butch.”

  “Good. Shut up and keep an eye on the truck for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Of course the truck can keep up with a Porsche. It’ll be some of King Cairo’s crew in a pickup souped up with Aelita’s Golden Vigil tech. Outrunning the asshole isn’t an option. The only thing I can do is stay clear of it until one of us grows wings or runs out of gas.

  I let the wrecker pass and when the traffic thins for a second I jerk the steering wheel, blasting the Porsche across all six lanes to the far side of the road. A second later the truck follows. I cut back a couple of lanes.

  “They’re still on us,” says Candy.

  There’s no way they think I’m Saint James. The first attack might have been a mistake but this is a straight-up hit.

  I try to charge back over the way we came but we’re trapped between a lunch truck and a chop shop Camaro, the body covered in primer and all the doors different colors.

  The pickup accelerates and rams us. I can’t hold the wheel. I sideswipe the lunch truck. We bounce off and tag the Camaro before I get control again. I floor the Porsche and we shoot ahead to an open spot in the traffic.

  “Still there,” says Candy.

  I aim the Porsche all over the road, changing lanes like I’m drunk, seasick, and snow-blind. The goddamn pickup stays on our tail.

  I cut back to the slow lane and slide in between two sixteen-wheelers, drafting off the first. Bad idea. The pickup pulls alongside us and the front and rear windows roll down. I know what’s coming and don’t want to see it.

  I jerk the wheel right, completely blind. Aiming for the shoulder of the road. Lucky for us there’s no one there. It’s shit news for the truckers though. The shooters in the pickup truck start firing their modified rifles. They miss us and hit the side of the rear truck. Rear and front tires blow. Shots hit the cab. I can’t tell if the driver is hit or not. The truck starts drifting into the pickup’s lane while its trailer slides in the opposite direction, pulling the rear of the truck around on the bad tires. It jackknifes, cutting off five of the six lanes. I hit the accelerator, trying to get ahead of the chaos. I do, but so does the pickup. It rams us again. And again. The little Porsche isn’t made for this kind of abuse. There’s a metallic grinding from the back like the rear axle is about to go.

  There’s an overpass ahead. I look at Candy.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I hate that question.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then undo your seat belt and put your head down on your knees.”

  “I hate how this sounds.”

  “Don’t worry. It gets worse.”

  The pickup moves up to ram us again. I stay ahead until just before the overpass. And stomp the brakes, pulling up on the handbrake at the same time. The pickup can’t slow and hits us at full speed, driving up the rear of the car and over the top like we’re a ramp. I throw myself on top of Candy. Wrap my arms around her. The car roof smashes down on my back but stops when it hits the armor. The weight of the truck is suddenly gone and we start to slow. From below I hear the sound of crashing metal and exploding glass. The Porsche slows and comes to a stop, grinding against the guardrail.

  I slam my back against the roof a few times and manage to raise the crushed metal a few inches. When I have enough room to move my legs, I kick out the driver-side door, slide out, and run around to Candy’s side. Her door is jammed so tight that I can’t even get a good grip. I climb on top and drive the black blade through the roof, slicing it and prying it open like a sixty-thousand-dollar oyster. Candy looks up at me through the hole.

  “This is what you mean by ‘trust me’?”

  “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I’m developing what are called trust issues.”

  “I’m sure Allegra knows some good shrinks. Reach up your hand and I’ll get you out of there.”

  We get a ride into Hollywood in a station wagon with a family from Houston. I agree with them that we’re damned lucky to walk away from an accident like that with just a few scratches. Luckier than the pickup that went off the overpass and crashed onto the street below. They drop us on Hollywood Boulevard near Allegra’s clinic, and when I try to give the dad some money he waves it off.

  “I’m sure you’d do the same for someone stranded. Just pass the good fortune along.”

  Candy and I look at each other and I know we’re thinking the same
thing.

  Who knew people not playing angles or hustling something still existed. I thought they’d died out with the triceratops. I feel funny now. A little dirty. Like maybe I contaminated their car with bad luck. I wonder if they would have given us a ride if they knew I was the Lord of the Underworld. What’s funny is I think they would have.

  Nice people are fucking weird.

  Carlos is sitting up in a plastic chair in the clinic reception area. His arm and shoulder are still bandaged and smell of aromatic oils and potions.

  I sit down next to him.

  “Hey, man. I’m really sorry to get you mixed up in my shit.”

  He laughs, patting his pockets.

  “When haven’t I been mixed up in your shit? I met you on the day you got back from Hell, remember?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Yes so. I knew something like this could happen. It’s called a calculated risk. And now it’s happened and I’m walking away. It’s like I got a measles shot. I’m immunized. Nothing bad will ever happen to me again.”

  “I’m not sure it works like that.”

  “Of course it does.”

  He gives up patting his pockets.

  “You have any cigarettes? I’m dying for one. No pun intended.”

  “I thought you didn’t smoke.”

  “Only after surgery.”

  “Sorry, but I gave my last one to a guy who sold his soul to the Devil.”

  He sits up in his chair.

  “I guess there’s some things worse than getting shot.”

  “Not many. Anyway, I hear the guy is such a fuckup he’s getting his soul back. Even the Devil doesn’t want it.”

  “I must have missed that day at Catholic school. The nuns never told us that being a dumb-ass was a weapon against the Devil.”

  “Now you know.”

  He leans forward, propping his good elbow on his knees.

  “Don’t apologize for any of this. Remember when you and your pretty squeeze killed all those zombies in the bar? Business doubled after that. With you back and ninjas going Wild West, I’m going to make a fortune.”

  “As long as no one shoots the jukebox.”

  “I’ll kill any cocksucker that touches my jukebox.”

  “You’ve got someone to take you home?”

  “My brother-in-law is going to give me a ride.”

  “You never told me you were married.”

  “I’m not. He’s really my ex-brother-in-law but I like him a lot better than my ex-wife.”

  I get up and look around for Allegra.

  “You take care yourself. Heal up before you reopen the bar.”

  “I’m going to make so much money I’ll buy a Cadillac to drive me to my Lexus and drive that to my other Cadillac to drive to work.”

  “I’ll catch you later, man.”

  “Later.”

  Candy disappeared into the back of the clinic right when we got here, but Allegra is putting things away in the treatment room.

  “Welcome home. Candy says you two had an adventure today.”

  “The other guys had an adventure. We had a car wreck.”

  “And walked away with a couple of scratches. I’m jealous. Remember that time you took me with you to meet the dead man Johnny Thunders? I miss that kind of thing.”

  “Maybe you should train some people to take a few of your shifts.”

  “I am. You met Fairuza, the sweet Ludere, the other day. She’s my chief apprentice.”

  “Cool. I’ll drag you and Vidocq along when the right kind of craziness comes up.”

  She smiles and wraps two chunks of what look like pearly rocks in dark blue silk. Divine-light glass from the beginning of time. God broke a star and dropped the glass to Earth. One of his original fuckups. It wasn’t all bad. It turns out it heals a lot of wounds. Doc Kinski once used it on Allegra.

  “You don’t know anything about the other Stark, do you? You’re a doctor. Maybe he’d tell you something he wouldn’t tell other people.”

  “No. Sorry. He never told me anything.”

  “Have you been getting some stabbings in here?”

  “Are you talking about the girl? No. No stabbings. From what I hear, if she cuts you, you die. I heal people. She kills. There’s no point in me treating the dead.”

  Candy comes in and crooks her thumb over her shoulder.

  “Can I talk to you a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  We walk outside into the cool, crisp L.A. afternoon. The sky looks a little strange. Clouds are rolling in fast and it’s like the light is strobing behind them.

  “I have to take a rain check on your suite. Rinko got a taste of blood last night and now she’s kind of in withdrawal. I need to take her home.”

  “I understand.”

  “Sorry. I keep seeing you and running off.”

  I shrug.

  “Maybe I deserve it. I ran out first. Anyway, you have to do the right thing by your friend.”

  “Doing the right thing usually sucks.”

  “Almost always.”

  She kisses me and goes back inside. Through the glass I see her giving Rinko a potion and leading her into the treatment room.

  There’s another reflection in the glass. A ghost.

  I turn and the little girl is standing there. Frilly blue party dress and a knife as big as her leg. She stares at me like I’m a rat on her birthday cake.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you killing people? You pissed off? Hungry?”

  Still nothing.

  I take a step toward her. She takes one back. I take another. There’s an earth tremor, like a small earthquake. I look down at my feet. When I look up again, the girl is gone. I walk out to where she was standing. Then to the far wall. I get on my knees to look under all the vehicles. The ground gives way and I land flat on my back. I was run over by a pickup truck about thirty minutes ago. It hurt. Falling six feet onto a sore back hurts more. I lie in the fresh dirt, trying to catch my breath.

  “Hi, Stark.”

  The voice is breathy. Barely a whisper and hard to hear over the traffic.

  I’m lying in a hole as deep as a grave. There’s another hole like a tunnel leading off into the dark. The voice is coming from there.

  “What is this?”

  A desiccated corpse, gray parchment skin stretched like tissue paper over brittle bones, sticks its head out of the hole like a turtle and draws it back in when the light hits it.

  “Don’t you recognize me?” says the corpse.

  “You’re a fucking skeleton. How am I supposed to recognize you?”

  “Once upon a time you wanted to kill me. Then you wanted to save me. You didn’t do either. You let Parker murder me.”

  “Cherry? Is that you?”

  Cherry Moon was a member of my old Magic Circle. One of the ones who stood by and let Mason send me to Hell. For staying out of the way, Mason gave her the gift of youth. Creepy youth. Candy is into Japanese cartoons but Cherry Moon wanted to be a cartoon. A forever-prepubescent Sailor Moon love doll in a school uniform. Do you know what it’s like to get hit on by a thirty-five-year-old woman who looks like she’s twelve? No. You don’t. It’s strange and unpleasant on so many levels I can’t begin to count them.

  “Was that you who dropped me into a hole in Bamboo House?”

  “Do you get followed around by a lot of tunneling dead girls?”

  “You saved me from getting shot.”

  “Yes. You owe me. You didn’t save me when I was alive. I want you to save me now.”

  “
What do you want me to do?”

  “Kill the little girl.”

  When I first saw her, I thought Cherry was a ghost cursed to stay on Earth and the hole was just a ghost projection from her mind. Seeing her skeleton crammed into the narrow tunnel, I see I was wrong. Cherry did this to herself.

  “Is the girl hurting you?”

  “She’s killing us. All the other ghosts and spirits in L.A. When she isn’t killing you, she hides with us in the Tenebrae. Kills us like she kills the living and we don’t know why.”

  When Cherry died, she was so afraid of moving on that she made herself into a jabber. Jabbers are a kind of ghost so traumatized by death that they can’t even haunt people or places like normal ghosts. They stick close to their bodies. Literally haunt their own corpses and tunnel in them from place to place. They won’t come out of the ground because their bodies are fragile and they’re afraid of being mistaken for zombies. Jabbers are about the most pathetic thing in the world.

  “I don’t know what you want me to do. I can’t get near the kid.”

  “You travel between worlds. I saw you come here from Hell. Come into the Tenebrae and stop her.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Find out.”

  I get nearer the hole. Cherry doesn’t back away this time. I put out my hand. Slowly she creeps her hand forward until our fingertips are just touching. I was right. She’s real. A ghost hiding in her own bones.

  “Jesus, Cherry, all you have to do is let go. Get out of this body. Get out of the ghost realm. Go on to wherever it is you’re supposed to go.”

  “No!” she says. “Do you think Heaven is waiting for me with open arms? We both know where I’m going, and as long as these bones hold together, I’m staying right here.”

  “I can help you when you get to Hell. Like you said, I couldn’t save you when you were alive. Maybe I can help now that you’re dead. But you have to let go.”

  She crawls closer to the tunnel opening. I can see her lipless smile and eye sockets full of dirt and dry plant roots. I want to look away but I don’t.