Cody threw back the rest of her drink and stood up. "I've got an idea, Shakespeare," she snapped. "How about if you actually write something, rather than trying to make your fortune off someone else's work? I hear that a lot of writers break into the profession by writing." She grabbed her bag and walked to the door. "Nice to meet you, Jacob. I don't recommend hanging out with this loser for very long. You'll end up just like him."
She reached for the door handle, but before her hand touched it, the door swung open on its own. Standing on the other side were two men. The man on the left was tall, muscular, and good-looking; the one on the right was smaller and had a shifty look about him.
"Who the hell are you?" demanded Cody, her right hand hovering over the opening of her bag.
"Easy, chickie," said the smaller man. "We don't intend you any harm. We're here for your guest." He waved a gun in Cody's direction and she stepped slowly back into the house.
"You," pronounced Eddie coldly as his eyes met those of the tall man.
"Hey, Eddie," said the man. "Finally made it out of Cork, eh? Congratulations."
"No thanks to you," Eddie said.
"You know these guys?" Cody asked.
"I know the linebacker," said Eddie. "Name's Gamaliel. He used to be one of Tiamat's minions. I can only assume his sidekick is Izbazel. Nice to see you boys working together again. Like Sonny and Ricardo."
Cody gave Eddie a puzzled look. "I think you mean Sonny and Cher," said Cody.
"The point is..." began Izbazel.
"No, he means Lucy and Ricky Ricardo," replied Gamaliel. "You know, from I Love Lucy."
"Lucy and Desi," corrected Jacob. "Ricky was the name of the kid. The couple was Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz."
Cody shook her head. "Lucy was her character's name, too. They named the kid after his dad on the show, Ricky Ricardo, played by Desi Arnaz. The name of the couple on the show was Lucy and Ricky."
"Anyway, the point is..." Izbazel said again.
"I wasn't talking about I Love Lucy," snapped Eddie. "I was talking about Miami Vice. You know, Sonny Crocket and Ricardo Tubbs."
"Ricardo Tubbs?" Gamaliel asked incredulously. "Who even remembers something like that? Not one in fifty people would get that reference."
"He's right," Cody said. "You can't say 'Sonny and Ricardo.' That's like saying 'Batman and Jeff.'"
"Fine," exclaimed Eddie. "Whatever. They're a pair, OK?"
"THE. POINT. IS!" shrieked Izbazel. The room fell silent and all eyes turned toward him. For a moment, he forgot himself what the point was. "Oh!" he eventually said, trying to retain his hold on the group. "The point is this: we're taking Slater."
"Right," said Gamaliel, nodding.
"Me?" asked Jacob. "What do you want with me? I don't even know what any of you are talking about! I never even heard of Charlie Knox!"
"Eddie, do your chocolate bullet thing," Cody said.
"Oh yes," said Izbazel, mockingly. "Please. Do your chocolate bullet thing."
Eddie held up his hands. "I can't," he said. "They aren't letting me get a handle on the energy channels. I can't overpower a pair of cherubim, even if it is Scarecrow and Mrs. Robinson here."
"Fine," Cody spat. "God forbid you pull your own weight for once." She had used the fraction of a second that attention was focused on Eddie to slip her hand into her bag, and before anyone knew what was happening, she had fired four shots, tearing holes in the bottom of the bag. Izbazel and Gamaliel staggered backward. She had hit each of them twice in the gut.
"Eddie!" she shouted. "Chocolate bullets!"
But Eddie, having sensed the break in the pair's hold on the energy channels, had already seized his opportunity. Izbazel squeezed the trigger again and again, but nothing happened. "Damn you, Eddie!" Izbazel screamed.
"Run!" Eddie yelled. "I'll hold them!"
Jacob got up from the couch and ran past Cody into the kitchen. She fired four more shots into the would-be abductors and then followed on his heels. Eddie waved his hand and the couch leaped from the ground and flew toward Izbazel and Gamaliel, pinning them against the wall.
Eddie followed up the couch with an easy chair, three lamps, and a bookcase. He manipulated the mysterious energy streams to hurl every bit of furniture he could find at them. But within seconds, he could feel himself losing his grip on the stream. The pile of furniture exploded into ten thousand pieces, revealing two very pissed-off cherubim.
"You're out of your league, Eddie," Izbazel said. He gave the barrel of his gun a kiss and then leveled it Eddie. "Shoulda stayed in Cork." He fired over and over, emptying the clip into Eddie. Eddie stumbled backwards and crumpled to the floor, unmoving. "After Slater!" Izbazel barked.
"I'm on it," Gamaliel said, sprinting after Jacob and Cody. He caught up to them in Katie's garage. They had gotten into Katie's Porsche 911 and Cody was gunning the engine. The garage door was very slowly sliding toward the ceiling, but when she saw Gamaliel, she threw the car into gear. It squealed backward, the bottom of the garage door catching the convertible canopy and tearing it clear off. "Duck!" Cody yelled, too late to do any good. The garage door clipped the top of Jacob's head and he fell forward, smacking his forehead on the dash. After that, he didn't move.
The car peeled into the street and Cody slammed on the brakes, throwing it into first gear. She punched the accelerator and the car engine roared but didn't move. She punched it again. The car howled, but still refused to budge.
"Whoops," said Gamaliel, striding toward the car. "Looks like a drive train problem. The good news is that it's probably covered by your warranty. The bad news is that this isn't."
Flames shot from the engine compartment.
"Uh-oh," said Gamaliel. "Engine fire. I'd run if I were you."
Cody cursed and got out of the car. "Sorry, Jacob. Nothing I can do." She ran.
Gamaliel opened the passenger door and pulled Jacob's limp body from the car. Hoisting the small figure over his shoulder, he walked back toward the house. Behind him, the Porsche exploded, knocking Cody to the ground.
Izbazel emerged from the house and rejoined Gamaliel on the way to a Chrysler parked down the road. They dumped Jacob in the backseat and then got in the front. Izbazel got behind the wheel and they pulled away, honking politely at Cody as they passed.
"Well, shit," said Cody, pulling herself to her feet.
Eddie stumbled out the front door and made his way to Cody. "What do you think they wanted with Jacob?"
"How would I know?" asked Cody. "I don't even know the guy. I don't know those two demons either, for that matter."
"Jacob works for the FBI, I guess. Seemed very interested in the Anaheim Event. Not very helpful in terms of the Charlie Nyx problem, though. I know, I know, I should just forget about it."
"Hmm," said Cody. "About that...sorry I kind of lost it back there. I may have been projecting a bit. I'm starting to think I'm wasting my time with all this conspiracy stuff."
"No, you're right," Eddie replied. "That book was never going to work anyway. The Finch people have put so many restrictions on it, I might as well just start from scratch. Maybe I will. Hole up in the hotel for a couple of weeks and see what I can come up with. It will probably be shite, but at least it will be my shite."
Sirens wailed in the distance.
"Sounds like a good plan," said Cody. "We'd better get out of here. We're going to have a hard time explaining the gunfire and the exploding Porsche. Not to mention the fact that we're both technically trespassing. We'll take the Beemer. I'll drive."
"Fine," said Eddie, tossing Cody the keys. "I've been running from sirens all day. Ironic, isn't it?"
They got in the car.
"How is that ironic?" Cody asked.
"Because in Greek mythology, the Sirens lured men to their doom. But I hear them and I run away. Ironic."
Cody snorted. "Fucking writers."
Eddie smiled.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Christine found herself back on the
miserable gray plane known as the Floor. This time, however, it was even more depressing than the last, as the plane appeared to be completely deserted. The portal was located in a sort of warehouse area; steel shelves packed with boxes containing God-knew-what filled a spacious, dimly lit room. She called out several times but there was no answer. She knew that somewhere, not far away, there was another portal that would take her to the planeport, but even with her impeccable sense of direction she wasn't certain she could find it.
She made her way to a door that she was fairly certain was the one she had followed Nybbas through the last time she was here. Opening the door, she found herself in the cubicle maze that had once been the center of Lucifer's efforts to corrupt humankind. It was completely deserted, prompting Christine to wonder what had happened to the thousands of demons who had toiled away like diabolical telemarketers, tempting mortals to give in to their baser instincts. No doubt a few of them had gotten jobs producing reality shows on TV.
Christine threaded her way through the cubicle maze, with its Formica desks littered with dusty old computer monitors and headsets, trying to retrace the path she had taken before. Let's see, she thought. Left at the "Corruptor of the Month" board, right at the poster of the lone mountain climber selling "PERSISTENCE," left at the cartoon of the two nerds in hell, with the one nerd saying to the other, "Hot enough for ya?" And...I'm completely lost.
She found herself in an unfamiliar array of cubicles, staring at a sign that read: "There is no 'I' in team, but there are two in PERDITION. Lucifer is WATCHING."
Great, now what? she thought. Try to find my way back to the warehouse portal or press on and possibly get even more lost? Damn it, I know it's around here somewhere.
She was startled by a voice behind her. "Enjoying your little excursion?" it said. "Good grief, you mortals should be required to wear tethers."
She turned to face the source of the voice, but she realized with a sinking feeling that she already knew who it was: Perpetiel, cherubic escort and kibitzer par excellence. The pudgy, near-naked angel buzzed over the cubicles toward her, flapping his small, birdlike wings. "Don't you know the left-hand rule?" he asked, condescendingly.
"The left-hand rule?" Christine asked.
"For navigating mazes," Perp explained. "It would come in handy in a situation like this. Did you know that there's no biological difference between a puma, a cougar, and a mountain lion?"
"Yeah, you told me that one before," Christine said.
Perp seemed taken aback. "Before when? I just got here."
"The last time we met," said Christine. "In the planeport."
"I think I would remember if we met before," said Perp. "Speaking of which, did you know that people are more likely to remember you if you wear the same outfit every day?"
"I did know that," said Christine. "You told me that one as well."
"Really?" Perp asked. He seemed genuinely confused. "You're sure it was me?"
"Pretty sure," said Christine. "You were wearing the same outfit."
"Huh," replied Perp. "Do you know how to make mock hollandaise sauce?"
"I think so," said Christine. "You told me that one, too."
"Ooh!" Perp shouted excitedly. "Can you tell me? Because I've forgotten. This way!"
Perp buzzed off over the cubicles, and Christine did her best to follow him, darting left and right to avoid obstacles in her path. Perp didn't seem terribly concerned with whether she was keeping up; the only way she could keep him in sight was to occasionally shout one of the steps in making mock hollandaise sauce. He would then stop for a moment, say something like, "Stir constantly until thick and smooth, yes!" and then dart away again.
At long last they reached the second portal and Christine collapsed in exhaustion. "Need...a minute," Christine gasped, lying on the floor, covered in sweat. Perp observed her piteously. "I suppose you have a newfound respect for escort angels who work for tips," he sniffed. "Not so easy, is it?"
Christine gritted her teeth. "If the cats aren't sleeping on the radiator," she gasped, "turn down the heat."
"Hey!" Perp exclaimed. "That's mine! You're stealing my tips!"
"Yeah," said Christine. "And I'll keep...stealing them if you...don't slow down and...shut up."
"Hmph," Perp grunted. "Then I won't take you where you need to go."
"Yes, you will," Christine retorted. "Uzziel sent you...down here to get me. You'll be in trouble if you...return empty-handed. When ants travel in a straight line, expect rain...When they scatter, expect fair weather."
"OK, OK," grumbled Perp, pressing his hands over his ears. "Just stop it! Stop taking my tips!"
Christine smiled and got to her feet. "Good," she said. "Let's go see Uzziel."
They went through the portal to the planeport and then walked to the portal that went to the Courts of the Most High, where Uzziel's office was located. Perp led Christine sullenly across the dazzling, azure-skied plane to a great crystal pyramid-shaped building in front of which a sign announced "Apocalypse Bureau."
"Well, I suppose you can make it from here," Perp sniffed.
"Yes," Christine said. "I think so. Um, thanks, Perp. Oh, and one more thing: I was wondering if you could tell me how to get red wine out of cashmere."
"Ha!" replied Perp. "You and every other mortal!" With that, he zipped away.
Christine walked up the granite steps into the lobby of the Apocalypse Bureau's headquarters and told the receptionist she was there to see Uzziel. After some discussion about whether she had an appointment and whether she thought she could just walk in off the street and expect to see a very busy seraph with a lot of Very Important Concerns to attend to, she was told to take the elevator to Level Four, where Uzziel's office was located. She walked up to a door bearing a golden plaque that read "Deputy Assistant Director Uzziel" and knocked. After a moment, a tall man with a devilish smile opened the door.
"Do you have an appointment?" he asked.
Christine nearly fainted again. It was Mercury.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Eddie and Cody took the BMW back to Eddie's hotel.
"I suppose you'll go home now," said Eddie, as they stood in the Wilshire's lobby. "Move on to the next case."
"Not sure there's going to be a next case," Cody replied. "I meant what I said back at Katie Midford's house. I think my obsession with the so-called 'secret history of Los Angeles' may have more to do with my own issues than anything else. I've seen a lot of weird stuff as a PI, but in the end, none of it ties together. I need to move on to a more realistic job."
"Like acting," Eddie said, with a straight face.
"Ha!" Cody exclaimed, not realizing Eddie was serious. "At least with acting, you're supposed to play make-believe. You're not trying to get at any ultimate truth. You just make shit up."
"I always thought that good art was its own sort of truth," Eddie mused.
Cody grinned. "Fucking writers," she said. "I'm going to get a drink." She strode to the bar and Eddie followed.
After they had each tossed back a couple of gin and tonics, Cody announced that she was going to the ladies' room. Eddie nodded and beckoned for another drink. As he lifted the third drink to his lips, a familiar voice spoke behind him.
"You've gotten a bit off track," it said.
Eddie spun around on his barstool, a look of shock on his face. "You!" he gasped.
A balding middle-aged man wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a frumpy suit stood before him. He had met this man once before, at Cob's Pub, in Cork. "How's the report coming?" the man asked.
"Oh," said Eddie. "It's, ah, done, basically. I have it in the car. Do you want to see it?"
"Not necessary," said the man. "I have faith in your abilities. I assume you constructed a compelling story, with likable characters and a satisfying resolution?"
"Well," said Eddie. "I don't mean to toot my own horn..."
"Why not?" asked the man. "Whose horn would you prefer to toot?"
"Um," replied Edd
ie uncertainly. "I'm sorry?"
"You should be," said the man. "Why are you tearing around Los Angeles trying to find a nonexistent book when you've got a perfectly good one of your own?"
"The publisher wasn't interested in a book about angels," Eddie explained. "They said maybe after the final Charlie Nyx book..."
The man sighed. "Eddie, your book is the final Charlie Nyx book."
Eddie scowled. "No," he said. "This is the book about Mercury and Christine and the Apocalypse, remember? The seventh Charlie Nyx book is still out there somewhere."
"No, it's not," said the man.
"How do you know?" asked Eddie.
"Because I wrote the other six," said the man.
"You wrote them?" Eddie asked in disbelief. "Wait a minute. Who are you?"
"I've gone by many names, Eddie. You probably know me best as Culain. Saint Culain if you're nasty."
"What?" Eddie gasped. "No. No, that's...absurd! You were supposed to be..."
"I was supposed to be what?"
"And Culain...he's been dead for a thousand years!"
"Hmm, yes," said the man, nodding. "Every identity has to end eventually. Especially the higher profile ones."
"So...what? You're an angel?"
The man shook his head. "Just a man. A man who's been around for a long time."
Eddie was speechless. Who was this man who had commissioned the writing of Eddie's account of the near-Apocalypse? Where had he come from? How did he know so much? And who was he working for? Eddie's shock was turning to anger.
"You...told me you were above the archangels," Eddie said at last. "You lied to me. You're just...a man."
A wry smile crept across the man's lips. "It's true that I'm a man. As to who's above whom, well, that depends on your understanding of the hierarchy of the Universe. The fisherman is above the fish, but it's not the fish who follow the fisherman."
"Wonderful," Eddie grumbled. "Riddles. The fact is, you tricked me."
The man laughed. "Tricked you, yes. The way you tricked Harry Giddings into proclaiming the Apocalypse. Got him killed, too. Along with a hundred and forty-four thousand other people. But I'm sorry, I interrupted your tragic story of being deceived into writing a best-selling novel. Go on."
Mercury Rises Page 17
