Devil Said Bang (22 page)

“If it’s any consolation, I’m not sure if I’m here
either. I feel like a bad Xerox someone put through the shredder.”

“I’m sure that will pass.”

“Sorry about your car. Did you get it back?”

On my way back to Hell, I had to abandon Traven’s
car on the street near the body of a dead cop. It was an ugly scene but it was
Josef’s fault not mine and there was nothing I could do about it.

“Eventually. The police held on to it for a few
weeks. I feel awkward asking you this right away but I need to.”

“No. I didn’t kill that cop. But for what it’s
worth, I killed the guy who did it.” And slept like a baby. But I don’t tell him
that part.

I say, “I’m glad I caught the two of you together.
There’s some stuff I want to talk to you about. Things that happened to me in
Hell. Changes I’m still trying to get my head around.”

“Is that what the glove is for?” asks Traven.

I look down, relieved I remembered to put it back
on.

“This? No. I just lost my arm and the new one is
kind of ugly.”

“You lost your arm? My God.”

“Don’t sweat it, Father. Now I can get handicap
plates.”

“What do you mean ugly?” asks Vidocq.

I scan the room. No one is looking, so I slip off
the glove and let them get a good look at my demon mitt. Immediately I realize
that it was a mistake. Traven has gone white.

Vidocq says, “Allegra tried to describe it but
didn’t come close to capturing
la
horreur exquise
.”

Traven stares at me. If eyes could scream, run
home, and hide under the blankets, he’d be blind.

“Is that what Hell is like? What else did they do
to you? I couldn’t psychologically survive something like that.”

Father Traven used to translate old books for the
Church. Then he translated the wrong one. An evil Necronomicon thing. The Bible
of the Angra Om Ya. The gods before God. He got excommunicated for his trouble,
and in the priest game, excommunication is a one-way ticket to Hell. Traven is
the dirtiest guy in the bar. His sin signs are deep and awful. Almost every bare
inch of skin is black. His hands look like he dipped them in tar. They
practically drip with sin. Then I remember. Traven’s a sin eater, from a long
line of sin eaters. He’s swallowed more sins than a thousand of the worst
killers and bastards you can think of. The weight of it must break his back. And
he says he couldn’t survive getting an arm like mine. I think he’s selling
himself short but we all define horror in our own way.

“Don’t sweat it, Father. I met God. He isn’t what
you think He is. I know the Devil pretty well too. He isn’t what you think
either. Trust me, Heaven or Hell, consider yourself taken care of.”

“I know that should reassure me but somehow it
doesn’t.”

“Then let’s have another drink,” says Vidocq.

I call Carlos to bring over a round of drinks. We
clink glasses and throw them back.

Vidocq raises an eyebrow at Traven.

“Have you told him about the Via Dolorosa?”

“Not yet.”

“The Via Dolores? What is that?”

Traven shifts his weight. The subject makes him
uncomfortable.

“Via Dolorosa,” says Vidocq. “ ‘The Way of Sorrow.’
It’s something the father learned while you were gone.”

“I suppose you inspired me,” says Traven. “I’ve
spent my whole life sitting by myself among books. I thought the work I was
doing was important and that I was important. The sin of pride. Then I watched
you march off to Hell by yourself and I knew that reading old books wasn’t
enough anymore.”

“And that’s what Dolores is?”

“You could say that.”

“Is it a trick or something? Show me.”

Traven shakes his head and looks at the sparse mix
of civilians and Lurkers. He isn’t used to seeing humans mixing with what he
probably considers monsters. But he’s dealing with it all right.

He says, “At the right time and place. When you
tell me more about what happened in Hell, I’ll tell you about the Dolorosa.”

“Deal.”

My legs shake so slightly it’s barely
noticeable.

“Did you feel something just now? A little
earthquake?”

“No,” says Vidocq. “Father?”

Traven shakes his head.

“Never mind. It’s probably me. I’m still getting my
land legs.”

The bar doors open and standing there is my
favorite professional zombie hunter, Brigitte Bardo. Ex-professional. It’s not
like she quit the business, but when there aren’t any zombies left to hunt, it’s
hard to stay pro. She was also a porn star in Europe. Lots of civilians in
occult work and Lurkers do sex work because the money is good and they can’t
deal with regular jobs. There’s something else about Brigitte and it’s not
pretty and it comes to me every time I think about her. A zombie bit her while
we were hunting together. We found a cure and Vidocq gave it to her but it was
my sloppiness that almost turned her into maybe the worst thing in the
world.

When Brigitte sees me, she smiles and comes over,
every bit the legit starlet she is these days. We lost touch when she dumped me
for a movie producer who could help her career and because I’m a shit magnet.
It’s nice to see she doesn’t hold a grudge.

She gives me a quick hug and kisses my cheek.

“Hello, Jimmy,” she says in her breathy Czech
accent.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came by to say hello. That’s all right, isn’t
it? I heard you’ve been off having adventures.”

“Of course it’s all right. It’s great to see you.
What I meant was how did you know I was here?”

“You are so wonderfully stupid. People are talking
about you now that the other one is gone and you’re back.”

“I just got here. How do they know?”

“Oh my. How would they? Perhaps the huge motorcycle
that fell from the sky by Hollywood Forever. Unlike you, normal people think
that’s unusual.”

“Yeah. That. Well, at least Carlos’s business will
pick up.”

She wraps her arm around mine and leads me to the
bar. We lean in close so we can hear each other.

She says, “Tell me about yourself. What did you do
on your summer vacation?”

“Can I tell you a secret? Something I haven’t told
anyone? I have to tell someone and I think maybe it won’t freak you out the way
it would most people.”

“Because I briefly joined the undead?”

“Because of who you are. It takes someone special
to spend her whole life offing zombies. You can’t be afraid of much.”

“Only you and then just a little.”

Her smile is all wolf.

“I never got to ask you. Do you remember anything
after you were bit? Did it leave a scar?”

“I don’t remember anything and the only change is
that I eat more meat. Rare and bloody. People think of it as very European and
eccentric. But I didn’t come to talk about that. You have a secret and that’s
much more exciting. You must tell me.”

I crane my head around, making sure no one is close
enough to hear.

“I’m the Devil. Not metaphorically. I killed the
other candidate and Lucifer took off back to Heaven and stuck me with running
Hell. I’m the new Lucifer.”

She takes a step back, a hand covering her mouth.
She’s laughing.

“My o vlku, a vlk za
dverˇmi.”

“What?”

“Of course you are. Who else would run off to find
his old love and come back the king of wolves? You’re always an interesting boy,
Jimmy.”

“If only I was ten percent less dangerous, right?
Isn’t that what you said? Being Lucifer doesn’t exactly put me on the safe list.
Guess you were right to leave.”

“I think so. Though some days I’m not so sure. Some
days I miss the hunt. The dead lying at my feet. Fucking you in this bathroom
afterward.”

“Aside from sex and murder dreams, how are you
doing? Are you working much?”

She sighs at being dragged back to earth.

“I finished a couple of films. One large and one
very large and artful. I costarred with a famous American actor, though I won’t
tell you who. I’ll let it be a surprise when you come to the premiere. Will you
bring a friend? That’s my subtle way of asking if you’re in love.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say about me
being Lucifer?”

“As you used to say, that and five dollars will get
you a cup of coffee. I’m more interested in you than I am the Devil.”

I point to where Candy and Rinko are sitting.

“The one with the short hair.”

“She’s adorable. Who’s her friend?”

The girls notice us looking at them.

“That’s Rinko. She hates me.”

“She loathes you. It’s obvious to anyone. Shall we
make them jealous?”

She takes my face in her hands and kisses me hard.
It takes me back a few months when she led me out behind the bar and taught me
how a pro slaughters zombies—by ripping out their spines. Then I killed them all
in one night and left her without a job. Except for being a movie star. It’s
nice to have something to fall back on.

The kiss goes on. She might just be going through
the motions, but it’s a hell of a kiss.

She whispers into my ear so quietly I can barely
hear her.

“Now I will disappear. I have a car waiting to take
me to a much more expensive bar full of expensive people with whom I’ll talk
about movies we’ll never make together.”

She glances at Candy and Rinko’s table.

“Besides, there’s nothing that interests a woman
more than a mysterious stranger taking advantage of her lover and then
vanishing. But not forever I hope. Please don’t be a stranger,
Pán d’ábel
.”

She winks, blows me a kiss from the door, and walks
out. It’s an Oscar performance. Ten more seconds the room would have given her a
standing ovation.

When I turn back to the bar, Candy is standing next
to me.

“I take back what I said earlier. I know who I want
you to punch.”

“Down, girl. Like you said about Rinko, Brigitte is
an old friend.”

“What’s her story? She someone you rescued from a
rabid lawn gnome?”

“I told you about her. She almost ended up a zombie
because of me.”

Candy’s eyes go wide and she opens her mouth in
exaggerated surprise.

“Oh my God. That was your porn star? I thought I
recognized her. I take it back. Don’t punch her. Get me one for Christmas.”

“Forget it. The two of you together would be more
dangerous than the Kissi.”

Carlos comes over.

“You ready for another drink, little lady?”

“A shot of Jack, please.”

“What about your friend?”

“Just water for her.”

I look at Rinko. She waves to the Ludere from the
clinic sitting at a table of other blue-skinned blondes.

“Is Rinko still into drinking people?”

“That’s part of how we got together. Stopping her,
I mean. I got her the same potion I take so she doesn’t have to. She’s trying to
be good but it’s not easy.”

“I think she’d like to drink me.”

“She’d like to cut off your head and shit down your
neck.”

“I see why you like her.”

She pushes the button and makes her robot
sunglasses sing.

“I’m a sucker for the dangerous ones,” she
says.

“Did you just feel that?”

“What?”

“Like a little earthquake.”

“Maybe a tiny one-point-oh or something. So
what?”

“Nothing. I’ve been feeling them all night.”

“Maybe you were Downtown so long you’re growing
hooves.”

“Where did she come from?”

Candy looks around.

“Who?”

I point to a tiny figure walking across the room. A
little girl in a blue party dress.

“I know her. I saw her at the cemetery. Hey, kid.
Hey, little girl.”

I don’t see the knife until she’s already swinging
it. It’s a big brutal thing. Something you’d see in a slaughterhouse gutting
cattle. She giggles and runs at a balding middle-aged Sub Rosa businessman in a
gray suit that’s seen better days. He’s drinking a light beer and texting
someone. She runs at him from behind. He doesn’t stand a chance.

The little girl doesn’t go for him all thumbs and
awkward slashing like a civilian. She hits the guy like a tiny hurricane,
driving the knife into his kidneys, then his spine, and finally his heart. Ten,
fifteen times in a few seconds like she’s done it all before. It’s not even like
she’s mad. She laughs the whole time. And she knows how to use the blade. Not
straight into him like an amateur shithead so the tip gets stuck on bone. She
thrusts up so the blade slips between the ribs. Every shot is a kill shot.

I run at her but Mr. Businessman is already down,
leaking like a waterbed in a razor factory. The girl turns on me, still smiling.
Still laughing. I reach out to grab her and she swings the blade so fast I
barely get my hand out of the way. That’s all I need. Another prosthetic.

When I go in again, she grabs my human hand. Her
grip is unbelievable. I haven’t felt anything like it since the arena. She
swings the knife and I grab her with my Kissi claw. She screams and pulls away.
Not in fear. More like disgust. She isn’t laughing anymore and the fierceness
has gone out of her eyes. She’s still holding up the knife but it’s not
threatening. It’s like she can’t let it go. Like the knife is an extension of
her arm. She touches my Kissi hand again and shakes her head.

“You’re not one of his,” she says, and giggles like
I just gave her a pony for her birthday.

I feel another little earthquake.

The door bangs open. Bodies go down hard. Four
assholes cluster by the jukebox in masks and body armor. They’re supposed to be
scary but they look like high-tech ninja scuba divers. They sweep the room with
their rifles, looking for someone. I have a bad feeling who.

“You’re just in time for the bake sale, boys. Who
brought the cupcakes?”

All four of them have weapons, sleek rifles that
conform to the shape of their arms and bodies. The business ends crackle with
blue electric arcs. I’ve only ever seen those weapons one other place. In the
Golden Vigil raid on Club Avila last New Year’s Eve. Human weapons enhanced with
angelic tech.