City of the Lost

by Stephen Blackmoore

  “Yeah. Face like a mule’s ass,” I say. Gabriela gives me a dirty look.

  “Don’t go disrespecting the Bruja,” says the desk clerk. He sounds mean and pissed off. “I’ll kill you if you do that again.” He turns to her crew. “And you all. You question and you know what happens. You want to end up like that other? He was young when he came in, like you. She’ll put you into the ground as nothing but skin and bone.” He crosses himself.

  Gabriela rolls her eyes, mimes picking up a telephone and dialing a number. The phone on the desk rings. Desk clerk goes back to answer it, his face turning white as Gabriela speaks, her voice an old crone’s cracked whisper.

  “Let him into the bar. He’s not to be harmed. And if you threaten him again, I’ll have you skinned.” She hangs up her imaginary phone and waves me forward.

  We pass the desk clerk shaking at the telephone, as if wondering if his flesh is about to be torn off. I’d pay money to see that.

  She leads me to a dark oak door with leather paneling. They’re all watching me. None of them noticing her.

  The door is the only thing in this sordid room that looks even remotely clean. I don’t remember it from when I killed the Armenian. It’s placed wrong. If I’m doing the math right, this should open out onto the street.

  It doesn’t.

  There’s a jazz bar where Skid Row should be. Be at home in Harlem in the fifties. Smoky red lighting, the bustle of waiters and waitresses, people drinking, laughing, and listening to a live quartet on the stage.

  “This shouldn’t be here.”

  “It isn’t.” She leads me to an empty table near the bar.

  “I’m gonna ignore that for the moment. What happened out there? Why couldn’t they see you?”

  “Oh, come on,” she says. “Don’t tell me you haven’t looked at my chest.” She points to her tee shirt where the words YOU CAN’T SEE ME are glowing.

  “Didn’t think you meant it literally.”

  “You should see what I can do with bumper stickers. It’s best if the normals don’t know what I look like. They wouldn’t understand.”

  Normals. Everybody else. People like the gangbangers, the desk clerk. People like Carl. Is that why she’s telling me things? Is that why she’s showing me her face? Because I’m not one of them? Because I’m not normal?

  “What was that they said about making somebody old?”

  “La Eme,” she says. “Mexican Mafia likes to mess with me from time to time. Thinks my men should be running drugs for them. Thinks I should be paying them off. I take threats seriously.”

  Too bad Simon’s dead. He’d have loved her.

  I’m not sure I believe her, but nothing tells me she’s lying. I file the thought away to chew on later.

  “Where are we? And who are all these people?”

  “Haven’t a clue. In fact, I’m not even sure this is really a place. More a state of mind. Technically, it’s not real. Not like you see reality, anyway. And the people? Most of them aren’t real, either.”

  A waiter in a sharp tuxedo stops by our table to take our drink orders. Scotch for me. Rum and coke for her.

  The band on stage is doing some smoky number, the kind to wind down a crowd before closing. It’s good just to listen to it. The customers are more into each other than the music, flirting with each other, laughing at each other’s jokes. We spend the few minutes listening to the music before the waiter returns with our drinks.

  I take a sip. “Seems pretty real to me.”

  “Real enough.”

  “So, where’s this demon? He gonna pop out of the stage with horns and a pitchfork?”

  “No. That’s him over there, tending the bar.” She waves at a massive black man with a thin goatee and arms like tree trunks. He’s chatting up a smoking hot blonde in a red dress and fuck-me pumps.

  “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  We make our way through the tables. I can hear the chatter. Most of it’s unintelligible—different languages, different accents.

  “Darius,” Gabriela says, shouldering her way past the blonde, who gives her a dirty look.

  “Go on, darlin’,” Darius says, deep voice a Barry White rumble. “We’ll catch up later.” She narrows her eyes at all of us and wanders off in a huff.

  “Darius, this is Joe Sunday. Joe, Darius.”

  “The Dead Man,” Darius says, grabbing my hand and shaking it furiously. He’s got a grip like an industrial crusher. “I’ve been watching you, Dead Man. You’re all kinds of interesting.”

  “Glad to meet you, too,” I say.

  “You should be. Darlin’,” he says to Gabriela, “you come to finally give me some of your sweet, sweet honey?”

  “You know the rules, Darius.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Rules are for pussies. How about you, Dead Man? Care for a ride?” He gives me a leer that would make a porn star blush.

  “Like you said, I’m a dead man.”

  “Doesn’t mean your equipment don’t work.” He grabs his crotch and rocks his pelvis at me. “Think about it. I’m always here.”

  He pulls multicolored bottles from shelves, from under the well, pouring them into a shaker with ice.

  “The lady here says you might have some information for me.”

  “Buy low, sell high.” He pours his concoction into a couple of martini glasses, where it swirls like Timothy Leary’s brain, full of colors and light. He pushes the drinks toward us. They smell like chocolate.

  “The drinks are on the house, but information’s expensive. What do you have to trade?”

  Gabriela gives Darius a sour look. “It’s on my tab. The usual terms.”

  “Ooooh” he says. “She likes you.” He punches my shoulder playfully. “Stud.”

  He leans in to me and looks me in the eye. “Okay, the usual terms, then. This is how it works, Dead Man. You get three questions, I’ll give you three answers. And if you don’t like my answers, tough. Comprendé?”

  “Three questions. How do I know you’re telling the truth? That you even know the truth?”

  “You don’t. But Gabriela here can vouch for me. Of course, there’s no telling if you can trust her.”

  “And this doesn’t cost me anything?”

  “The lady’s picking up the bill on this one.”

  “Wait,” Gabriela says. “I pick up the tab when he agrees to give me the stone.”

  “Ah,” Darius says, leaning back and crossing his arms. “I love a wrinkle. So, what’ll it be, Dead Man? Do you give the stone to her, or do you keep it to yourself? Hand it off to the Nazi and see what he does with it? Or hang onto it and stop your rotting?”

  “Wait. What did you say?”

  “You asshole,” Gabriela says.

  Darius smiles. Big white teeth. “I always find negotiations more interesting when all the cards are on the table, don’t you?”

  “The fuck are you not telling me?”

  Gabriela rubs her eyes with her palms. “Dammit. Fine. The only reason you’re rotting is because you don’t have the stone near you. Stay away from it too long and the connection starts to fade. It won’t kill you, not really dead, but you’ll be little more than a mummy.”

  Of course. I should have made the connection. Something still doesn’t add up. “So why did I stop rotting when I—” I can’t bring myself to say it.

  “Ate that whore?” Darius finishes for me, causing a startled look from Gabriela.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime, Dead Man.”

  “Wait, what happened?” Gabriela asks.

  “The Dead Man here’s got a way with the ladies. Knows the way to a woman’s heart.” He makes clawing motions in the air. “Grab under the sternum and pull. After all, a heart a day keeps the rotting away.”

  “I lost control of myself,” I say. “Killed a woman and ate her heart.”

  “But he didn’t fuck her first,” Darius says. “Because that would be wrong.” He puts his hands to his che
eks and makes an O of his mouth, like that Scream painting.

  “Hey,” I say, at Gabriela’s horrified look, “at least I’m not eating brains.”

  “Eh, they’re not so bad,” Darius says. “Look, you want answers, Dead Man, you best talk to me. My joint, my rules. Now it’s time to choose. Do you take the lady up on her offer and maybe find out? Or do you keep her out of the loop and take it all for yourself? And in case you’re thinking of taking the deal and blowing town, I don’t take well to dirty welchers.” Again with the teeth. “And you don’t want to be known as a dirty welcher, do you?”

  Not by him, no. I don’t like the idea of seeing that face in a dark alley.

  “If all I need is to keep the stone, then why the fuck should I bring it to you?” I say. This little girl tried to fuck me over. At least that’s behavior I can understand. I think I actually like her a little better because of it.

  “How about this,” she says. “If you find the stone and can get it to me, it’s mine. Provided I can find a way to keep you from disintegrating without having to eat hearts. Is that good enough?”

  “You said you can’t reverse the process.”

  “I can’t, and that’s not what I’m offering. If I can keep you from going all George Romero I get the stone. Keep eating people, and you’ll get caught eventually.”

  I don’t like the loopholes, but it’s a better, more honest deal than I’ve gotten so far. She knows I want the answers, but I think she knows I’ll walk away if I don’t like the deal.

  “Okay,” I say, finally. “I’ll take it.”

  Darius claps his hands like thunder. “Now, see. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Drink up to seal the deal.” He pushes the martini glasses closer to us.

  Gabriela picks hers up, sips it warily. She’s not happy about this. I’m not too thrilled with it either.

  “I have to admit,” she says, “that’s one of your better mixes.”

  “Thank you, darlin’. I work in vain to please you.”

  I take a sip of my drink. She’s right. It is good. Tastes like spring rain, oranges ripe off the tree.

  “So, I get three questions?”

  “Can’t you just savor the moment, Dead Man? Gotta go rushin’ here and there.”

  “The dead travel fast,” Gabriela says. “Go on. Answer his questions.”

  I don’t know what price Gabriela’s paying for this, but I don’t want to have to do the same. I ask the obvious.

  “Where’s the stone?”

  He laughs. “Oh, my man. You think Gabriela here hasn’t asked that one a thousand times? You know what I say to her? I say, ‘Darlin’, why it’s right where you’re lookin’,’ but she doesn’t understand. So, how about this? It’s closer than you think.”

  “The fuck kind of answer is that?”

  “The one you got.”

  “All right, this is bullshit.” I get up from the bar, head toward the door, customers looking up to watch me stalk out.

  “Joe, wait,” Gabriela says. “There’s a reason he can’t be more specific. The stone won’t let him.”

  I stop just before reaching the door. “The hell does that mean?”

  “It means that there’s a spell that’s hiding it. He knows where it is, but he can’t say directly. I didn’t even know about the stone until I noticed the magic draining and asked him why.”

  “Great, so I wasted a fucking question.”

  “I don’t think so,” she says, taking my arm and pulling me back to the bar. “Just ask your other questions. He won’t lie to you, and he’s not that cryptic unless he has to be. There are rules he has to follow.”

  I slide back onto the barstool, Darius smiling a wolf’s grin. He claps his hands again, shimmies his head side to side like an Egyptian. A crazed genie in a tuxedo.

  “Ask your second question,” he says, clearly loving this game.

  “What’s gonna happen to me if Giavetti pulls the trigger on his plan?”

  “Oooh,” Darius says. “Good one. Why, son, you’ll rot away like old fish in a septic tank. You want details?” I start to tell him no, but he barrels on, anyway.

  “Why, your skin’s gonna peel off your bones, and it’s all gonna go black and splotchy. And you’ll leak pus. And then shit’s gonna fall off. You thought what you been through was bad? This is gonna be worse. Cause you’re gonna lose yourself. Mind’s gonna slip away, and you’ll feel it slippin’, too.” He cackles. “And it’s gonna hurt. Gonna hurt like it should, your skin sloughing off like boiled chicken skin in a scaldin’ pot. And then—”

  I cut him off. “That’s good,” I say. “I got the point.” I wonder if this is a con game. As far as I know this guy’s just got some fancy tricks up his sleeve. What if he is a demon? The fuck does that even mean? Aren’t demons supposed to trick you into losing your soul or something?

  My gut’s telling me he’s being honest. Ultimately, my gut’s the only thing I can count on.

  Darius puts three fingers into the air like a Boy Scout salute. “Third question,” he says. “Make it count.”

  Fuck. He can’t tell me where the stone is. A thousand questions run through my head. Finally I settle on one.

  “How do I kill Giavetti? Permanently?”

  “Old age.”

  “You’re fuckin’ kidding me,” I say.

  “Son, Giavetti ain’t immortal, just very long lived. Stick around another couple hundred years, time’ll solve that problem.”

  “Fuck you,” I say. “I asked you a goddamn question, and you give me this bullshit answer.”

  I’m tired of having my chain yanked. Demon, my ass. I draw my Glock. I don’t know why. Maybe because the thought of putting a couple rounds through this jackass’s head makes me feel a whole hell of a lot better.

  “Whoa,” Gabriela says. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Dead Man gotta show me his dick still works,” Darius says. “Gotta go wavin’ it around for everyone to see.”

  “Are you gonna give me a straight fucking answer?”

  “Or you’ll pop a cap in my ass?” He leans toward me. “Go for it, boy.”

  That does it. I pull the trigger. Behind me Gabriela swears loudly.

  The bullet passes through Darius like he’s made out of water. Bottles of phantom alcohol behind him explode as they’re hit.

  Darius looks at the destruction behind him, then back at me. He reaches over and, before I can duck away, he tweaks my nose.

  “I like you,” he says. “You’re cute.”

  “That’s enough,” Gabriela says, her voice like iron. “Give him a real answer.”

  “Oh, fine,” he says. “Only thing’s gonna kill him is to make sure there’s nothing of him left to grow back from. Beyond that, old age is your best bet.”

  He looks from Gabriela to me and back again. “Happy now?”

  Not really, no.

  Chapter 17

  I’m pacing in Gabriela’s office. She’s sitting in her chair, bare feet up on her desk, hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Any idea what he meant by ‘It’s closer than you think’?” she asks, eyes watching me go back and forth like a caged animals.

  “No idea. What about you? ‘It’s where you’ve been looking.’ Is that what he said?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  Darius clammed up after dropping the bomb on me, so we didn’t hang around. The gangbangers were gone when we stepped back into the Edgewood, and the guy at the desk was snoring in a chair in the lobby.

  “So where have you been looking that’s closer than I think?” I ask.

  “God, where haven’t I looked? I had guys scour the sanitarium in the canyon and break into your house looking for it.”

  “You what?”

  “I deal with vampires and demons. You think a little B&E’s going to stop me?”

  “When was this?”

  “After you went to the club. One of my guys called me and told me where you were. I figured you’d be a w
hile, so I had them toss your house.”

  “And they didn’t find it?”

  “No. You had it?”

  “Until that night. Somebody must have hit my place before and grabbed it. Unless one of your boys has it in his pocket?”

  She frowns, clearly not liking this idea. “I’ll check on it, but they know what will happen to them if they cross me.”

  “Exactly what does happen if they cross you?”

  “Depends on my mood. I skinned a guy last week.”

  “You don’t look the type.”

  “Never piss off a sorority girl. I do what I have to. Any idea who might have known it was there?”

  “Giavetti was still in the morgue. Neumann didn’t know I had it or he wouldn’t have bothered grabbing me.”

  “Anyone else?”

  I shake my head, but Samantha comes to mind. She was at the club with me and could have hit my place while I was at Neumann’s. I don’t want to mention her until I know what her part is in all this.

  “Where else have you looked?” I ask.

  “The house it was stolen from.”

  “One of your guys crack the glass in the front door?”

  “That was the dybbuk, but, yeah. You were there, too?”

  “Earlier today.” I don’t know what a dybbuk is. I don’t really want to find out.

  “Then you were around the airport?” she asks.

  “About that,” I say, and tell her about Carl. Who he is and how I found him. I don’t mention the address he gave me. So far it’s the only lead I have, and I’m not giving that one up.

  “Jesus,” she says. “An eye in his forehead? That’s fucked up. I’ve heard of Neumann pulling some weird shit before, but, damn.”

  “But he didn’t make Carl old.”

  “You sure?”

  “That’s what Carl says.”

  “Any idea who did?”

  I don’t say anything.

  She picks up on my look and returns it just as coolly, no expression on her face. “You think I did it. Because of what I did to the guy from the Mexican Mafia,” she says.

  “If you did, I’ll be really pissed off.”

  “No,” she says. “I didn’t do it. I’m certainly capable of it, but it wasn’t me.”