Necrophiliac's Honeymoon

by Paul Neuhaus

  The bitch had slipped us a mickey.

  I stood up, knocking over my black chair. I grabbed Venables by her wrist and pulled her to her feet. She didn’t resist. Maybe because her head was lolling side to side as if it wasn’t hers anymore. Leading my friend by the hand, I stumbled over to the front door and found it locked. Deadbolt and chain. Getting the two locks undone with my rebellious fingers was an adventure. Between the chain and the deadbolt, Amanda said, “She’s laughing at us.”

  I turned and looked past Venables. Dee hadn’t gotten up. She was still sitting with her arms folded across her chest. She wore the most radiant smile. The inside of my skull was like whitewater rapids, but one thought (a tiny little raft) did fight its way to the top: If I live, I’m gonna come back and kill that bitch. I got the deadbolt open and the two of us somehow managed to go out and down the fancy steps without falling. The Firebird was near Slumberland, but there was no way in hell I was gonna drive it. When we got to the curb, I raised my hand to hail a cab. As we waited, I looked over my shoulder and saw Dee standing on her front porch. Still with the arms folded. Still with the smile.

  Finally, a cab stopped and the two of us fell into the back seat. I slurred the address at the driver and the two of us phased in and out of consciousness during the drive.

  I guess you guys have probably seen the caduceus. It’s a staff with two snakes wrapped around it, one on either side. It’s the symbol of the medical profession; has been for a really long time. There’s a lesser-known staff with a single snake. That one’s called the Rod of Asclepius. I bet none of you have ever heard of Asclepius. He was a Greek god d-lister. Like the Andy Dick of Olympians. His whole deal was medicine and healthcare, but more in the popping pills arena than the cutting people open and sewing them back up arena. You see the Rod these days too (it’s on most ambulances, and it’s on the flag of the World Health Organization), but you see it a lot less than its double-serpented cousin. If you know what you’re looking for, you’ll find it in a few neighborhoods across the U.S. Usually on a small, unassuming storefront. Little hole-in-the-wall joints like that are for people like me. Asclepius himself isn’t around anymore, but his followers are. I had a guy I’d been going to for years (mostly for hangovers and postcoital complaints).

  His name was Basil Economides and he knew his shit.

  I woke with a start. I hadn’t been dreaming at all so my transition back to consciousness was a sudden (and weird) one. I looked around and tried to get my bearings. For the first ten seconds, I had no idea where I was. Then someone said, “Peekaboo!” and I nearly shit myself.

  Basil poked in his head from the edge of my right peripheral vision. He was grinning. He looked like a chubby, Greek Robin Williams (may he rest in peace). “What the fuck?!”

  That made Economides smile even wider. “Hello,” he said. “Welcome back.”

  “Why would you do that? I just woke up. I was out cold.”

  “‘Out cold’ she says. You’re lucky to be alive, do you know that? How do you feel?”

  “Like a gorilla fucked me through my eye holes.”

  “Yes, I think we’ve all been there, haven’t we?”

  Basil was just humoring me. He didn’t know what it was like to get fucked by a gorilla through his eye holes. He barely ever left Silver Lake. I remembered something suddenly. At first, I didn’t know what it was exactly, but then I did. “Ohmygod! Amanda! Is she here?”

  He gestured with his left hand and I saw my new friend lying on a paper-covered bed just like mine. She was still asleep.

  “You know, by the time you got here, you were fully out,” Economides said. “We’re talking blotto. The cab driver ran in and said he needed help getting you out of his car. I praised him for his speed and for his caring nature. He said he was only looking to get away clean. ‘I need this like I need a hole in my head,’ he said, and who can blame him?”

  “Not I.” The recent past was coming back to me in milky waves. The visit with Medusa. Slumberland. The chat with Dee. The poisoning. “What’d she use on us, Baz?”

  “Conium maculatum,” he replied. “Biennial. Herbaceous. Flowering. Fun fact: it’s in the same family as the carrot.”

  “Can I get the non-Trivial Pursuit answer?”

  “Hemlock. The classics never die.”

  “Yeah, but we almost did.”

  The smile left his plump face. “It’s true. There’s still no antidote for hemlock poisoning. If you’d gone straight to the hospital, they probably could’ve pulled you through. They’d’ve cleaned out your G.I. tract. Given you anti-seizure medication. But you come here for my special sauce, don’t you? You should be able to walk out in an hour or two. The headaches I promise you’ll have will probably only last a coupla days.”

  I sat back on my elbows and sighed. “You’re the king, Economides. But please don’t ever say that I come here for your secret sauce.”

  “I’m gonna second that.” It was a weak voice from the other side of the room. Amanda was awake.

  “Back to the land of the living,” Basil said approvingly.

  “I feel like someone hollowed me out with a melon baller,” Venables said. “There was something in that iced tea, wasn’t there?”

  “Where were you twenty seconds ago? It was hemlock. That bitch almost Socrates’d us both.”

  “She was one of you guys, wasn’t she? One of the mythological people.”

  “Yeah. It was Medea.” Next to me, Basil whistled.

  “Her I don’t know,” Amanda replied.

  “Jason and the Argonauts. Jason went looking for the Golden Fleece. He needed it to win a throne or something. I don’t remember exactly. He got together all these heroes and they set out on a boat. The Argo. Hercules and all them assholes. Once he got to where the fleece was, he met Medea who fell head over heels for him. She was something you don’t see much in Greek stories: a smart woman. Intelligent. Magic powers. The whole package.”

  “Don’t forget sneaky and mean as a snake,” Economides threw in.

  “Those too. Anyway, she helped Jay-money get his fleece and went back with him to wherever it was he came from. For the love of this one man, she betrayed her father and murdered her own brother.”

  “That sounds like the gal I met.”

  “Everything was kosher for a while, but ‘round about middle age, Jason’s eye started to wander. He traded Medea in on a newer model. Since Medea played a big part in getting the fleece, she figured her hubby owed her a little more respect. I can’t say she was wrong, but I’m not down with where she took it next. See, in order to get even with Jason, she murdered their two children. Her regular M.O. was—surprise, surprise—poison, but her kids she filleted like a coupla cod. Bitch had a right to be angry, but that’s some cold shit. The whole ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ thing? That’s where that comes from. From Medea.”

  Amanda put her head back down. “We started the day looking for a jug-stealing refugee from the Psychedelic Furs and ended it with a tea-poisoning child-murderer.”

  “Never let anyone tell you we don’t have a vibrant culture,” Basil said.

  When the time came, Basil walked us out. We exited the recovery room into a short hallway that led to the lobby. Behind the desk was a guy in his late teens. He was wearing blue scrubs like Basil, and he waved to us as we approached. “This is Dru,” Basil said. “He’s my new intern. You might remember Kosmos from before. I had to let him go.”

  I did remember Kosmos. He’d been a fixture in the office for years. “You hadda let him go? Why?”

  “Do you know the lollipops I give to the kids? Kosmos was eating them.”

  Dru picked up the big glass jar full of lollipops and held it out to us. “Would you both like a lollipop?” he said.

  As I spoke with Basil, I selected a butterscotch. (Amanda took a grape.) “You fired Kosmos because he was eating the lollipops?”

  Basil shrugged. “What could I do? Stealing is stealing.”

&nb
sp; I turned back to Dru. “Keep your hands out of that jar, Dru. If you know what’s good for you.”

  “No worries there,” he said. “I’m fructose intolerant.”

  “Wow, is that a thing?”

  Basil rolled his eyes. “No. Stupid Millennials.”

  We walked out onto the sidewalk, and I realized I’d forgotten something. “Oh, hey. I need to use your phone, Baz. We’re gonna need a cab.”

  “Or I could get us an Uber,” Venables chimed in.

  “Or you could just take your own car,” Basil said.

  Sure enough, the Firebird was parked right in front of the clinic. I was stymied. “How did you—? What did—?”

  “Your keys were in your purse. The cab driver said he brought you from WeHo. I had Dru go over there and get your ride before it got towed.”

  I grabbed the little man and hugged him. “Best care anywhere,” I said.

  When we broke, there was Amanda to shake Economides’ hand. “Really. Top notch.”

  After we said our goodbyes, we got in and I pointed us toward Malibu. For the first leg of the journey, neither of us said much. We both had the headaches Basil promised us. I did notice a weird odor in the car. It smelled like poppies. I didn’t know if it was coming from us or if it’d come from Dru. I didn’t think much of it right then.

  Finally, Amanda spoke, and I could barely hear her over the engine. “Did you have any idea there were so many mythological figures roaming around the L.A. basin?

  I smiled. “Does that mean you believe in us now?”

  She backpedaled. “Did you have any idea there were so many alleged mythological figures in L.A.?”

  “That’s more like it. No. I’ve been out of action for years now. Self-pity and a lazy streak a mile wide. It’s gotten a little cuckoo in my absence. I wonder why everybody’s coming here?”

  “The weather? Progressive politics?”

  “Or maybe it’s just that all the sewers lead to Hollywood.”

  “Huh. You sound like every GOP presidential convention ever.”

  “I kid L.A. She’s a syphilitic whore, but she’s my syphilitic whore.”

  “Why do you think Dee poisoned us?”

  I sighed and rubbed my right eye with my fist while keeping the other hand on the wheel. “Because this is bigger than we thought it was. It’s not just a simple case of jar theft. If Dwayne’s tied-up with Medea, it means Medea’s got a stake. Medea doesn’t get involved in anything that doesn’t help Medea.”

  “Didn’t you say she helped Jason get the fleece?”

  “Yeah, but she was warm for Jason’s form. Once he cheated on her, though, Whoa, Nelly. All bets were off.”

  Amanda looked out the passenger side window at the lights going by. It was night by then. “What kind of a sick mind does it take to kill kids in the name of revenge?”

  “It’s like they say in the deep South: ‘That girl ain’t right’. She’s royalty, she’s related somehow to Circe, and she’s got a headful of bad wiring. Not a good combo.”

  “Who’s Circe?”

  “Didn’t they make you read The Odyssey? She was a sorceress. Magic powers. Which means, Medea’s got ‘em too.”

  “Swell. What if, tomorrow, we—” She stopped, and, for a moment, I thought she was having a hemlock-related seizure. “What’s that?” she said.

  I looked in the direction she was pointing. We were driving parallel to the Pacific Coast Highway. On the horizon, there was an orange glow. “I dunno, but we’re about to find out.” Actually, I had a strong suspicion what the glow was, but I didn’t wanna blurt it out and risk making it come true. Even when you’re thousands of years old, superstitions are hard to shake. Sure enough, once I cut over to PCH, I saw that it was a fire. A big fire. Ahead of us, several firetrucks pulled into a parking lot. It was my parking lot.

  “Holy shit,” Venables said. “Is that—?”

  My shoulders fell. “Yep.”

  We weren’t able to get into the Tonga Lei Lounge’s lot. It was too jammed with LAFD trucks and cop cars. The sirens and the fire lit up the misty air and made for a weird scene. If you haven’t already guessed, it was my trailer that was burning. I parked the car by the side of the road and got out. Amanda followed. We stood watching the blaze from a few hundred yards away.

  “Are you insured?” Amanda asked.

  “Ha. Do I look insured?”

  “It was arson, wasn’t it?”

  “If it’s not, I’ll eat my diaphragm.”

  “Ew. Did you have anything really valuable in there?”

  I thought for a moment. “I don’t guess so. Not really. I mean if the jug’d been in there, things might be getting a little weird right now. I could easily see it popping and letting all the evils out. ‘Course, that’s not a problem since, as we both know, it wasn’t in there.”

  “An itty-bitty tick in the Win Column.”

  “The first of the day. No, the only thing I think I’m gonna miss are my magic pinecone and my commemorative plates.”

  The lawyer looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. “Commemorative plates? You don’t seem like a Franklin Mint kinda gal.”

  “No, these were given to me by a friend of mine I’m not likely to see again. Walking Dead. Kinda cool if you wanna know the truth.” As we watched the pretty flames, I picked up on a weird detail I hadn’t noticed before. People were still coming in and out of the Tonga Lei Lounge. In fact, none of them really seemed to notice the fire at all. Over the P.A. The restaurant was playing “Same Old Song”. The Four Tops. Nineteen sixty-six. One of Motown’s finest. The tune shook something loose in my head. “What’s Dwayne do for a living?” I asked.

  “Until he welched on his contract, he was a singer.”

  “Right. And a pretty good one at that. Plus ‘Listen for the liar’ only the birds didn’t mean ‘liar’, they meant ‘lyre’.”

  “Birds? What the fuck’re you talking about?”

  “Dwayne’s Orpheus. Great singer. Obsession with dead things. I shoulda realized it a lot earlier. I really am off my game.” Venables looked at me blankly. Of course, she had no idea what I was talking about. “Come on,” I said. “We’re getting a motel room. I’ll explain it to you there.”

  She started to get into the Firebird herself, but then hesitated. “Just to reiterate... I don’t party with the ladies.”

  “I know. Don’t worry. I’m starting to think of you like a kid sister or something.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  Once she was in and seat-belted, I put the car in gear and headed back toward Santa Monica. I had the bones of a plan in my head.

  5

  The Underworld

  We checked into the Holiday Inn Express near the NuArt theater in West L.A. We both took showers to freshen up. Neither of us had a change of clothes. Barring a Target run, I would never have fresh clothes again. Fortunately, since Amanda was with me, I didn’t sink into the pit of despair I might have otherwise. It really was shaping up to be a shitty week.

  While I was in the shower, I noticed the poppy smell again. This time, I tried to pin it down. I even sniffed my own pits. It did seem like it was coming from me. Was it a side effect of the hemlock Basil hadn’t told us about? It’s not like it was unpleasant or anything, but it was odd. I mentioned it to Amanda as she moved to take her own shower. When she came out again, she said she noticed it. (“I smell like a florist’s,” she said.) In terms of the mysteries on our plate, I deemed it low priority. It was odd, though.

  With me in my bed and Amanda in hers, I gave her the Reader’s Digest version of the Orpheus story. Killer musician falls in love with girl named Eurydice, killer musician loses girl, killer musician gets an unprecedented trip to the Underworld to get girl back, killer musician gets girl back provided he can take her to the surface without looking at her, killer musician blows it at the last possible minute. You’ve probably heard some variation yourself. As I told the tale, I remembered again what Tiresias had said. “Li
sten for the liar.” Not even he realized it at the time, but he hadn’t meant “liar”, he’d meant “lyre”. It’s a little harp. Orpheus’ chosen instrument. I was, by that point, completely convinced I was right about Dwayne’s identity.

  Venables thought the story was sad, whereas I thought Orpheus was a bozo. I mean, really, he had one job. And, since the botched rescue attempt, he’d apparently become a bitter obsessive, unable to let the failure go.

  “Why do you think he stole the jar?” Amanda asked.

  “To avoid me putting him in it.”

  “That’s what I thought you’d say, but I’m confused... This Orpheus dude wasn’t one of the original Evils. He’s not one of the ones you let out. Why would he be afraid of the jug?”

  “You’re right: he wasn’t one of the original Evils. But people can be promoted. If they behave badly enough, they can qualify for... jar-ification. The nice thing is, people like that are electives. I don’t have to put them into the jar to fulfill my contract with the Olympians. The thing is, I have exercised the option a few times throughout history. I’ve put a few nouveau Evils in just because I thought they deserved it. Orpheus probably knows that.”

  My new friend looked around the room with nervous eyes. “Okay, but just one question... They burned down your trailer. Would they be bold enough to burn down a Holiday Inn?”

  “Probably not. On the other hand, Dee murdered her own kids so she’s probably capable of just about anything. If the fire alarms go off, be up and out of here lickety-split.”

  “I’m in my underwear.”

  “Which is worse, burning to death in a shitty hotel, or having all of West L.A. see your belly button and ass dimples?”

  She thought for a minute. “The first one. Probably.”

  “Okay,” I said, reaching for the light on the nightstand between us. “Let’s get some shut-eye and—”