The Getaway God (40 page)

She sits on the bed.

“I can come home?”

“Understand, this isn't an ordinary body. It's kind of a mess. If you come back you won't have any past or any ID. You won't be pretty, but you won't be any worse than me. And you'll be alive.”

“Yes,” she says. “Please. How will you do it?”

I take out the key and show it to her.

“It doesn't look like much, but I can use it to kind of possess you into the body.”

“I can't believe it.”

“I'll see you in L.A. soon.”

I go back upstairs and Samael takes me to where I left the Hellion hog in Hollywood. I just want to go home, but I have to go and see Julie. We have a lot to talk about.

I
SLEEP THE
whole next day with Candy curled beside me. When I dream it's about stars and churning clouds of gas and things moving through the void, shaping the new universe as they go. Sometimes I dream about the arena and how I'll never see it again, and in a strange way it makes me sad. But mostly, I don't dream at all and it feels good.

When I wake up, I open the curtains. The rain hasn't come back. The sky is still mostly clouds, but they're starting to break up. Patches of boring, flat blue L.A. sky flash by every now and then, looking great. The street in front of Max Overdrive is still wet, but the floodwaters are gone and it doesn't feel like we're riding steerage in Noah's ark anymore.

By the time I make it downstairs, Kasabian has cleared up his mountain of delivery-­ and frozen-­food boxes and deposited them outside in the overflowing Dumpster. We don't talk to each other, just nod because it's too strange to talk and risk that this is a dream and that it's still pouring outside and talking will wake us. I take the wet towels away from the bottom of the door, bring them upstairs, and hang them over the shower rod. At some point, all this silence is going to get old, but for now it suits me just fine.

A half hour later, Candy comes sleepily out of the bedroom in one of the silk shirts left over from when I was Lucifer. I'm on the couch. She sits on my lap and wraps her arms around me like she's going to fall asleep again. We stay that way for a few minutes, but I have to break the clinch when the pressure of her on my chest grinds bullets against bone.

She gets off me and says, “You should go see Allegra.”

“Yeah.”

“Today.”

“Sure.”

She goes into the little kitchen and does whatever magic ­people do to make the coffeemaker work. I suppose learning how to use it is one of the things she meant by not acting like I'm just passing through. I'm probably going to have to learn a lot of new things now that I don't have the Room anymore. At least the bike worked when Samael brought me back to Earth. It was a relief to be back and away from Mr. Muninn. I kept waiting for him to change his mind and smite me good, but I guess he's tied up organizing bus schedules to ferry a few billion souls and angels north. Good. A busy God is a happy God and it means I'm not on his mind. I'm going to give him a lot of space when he gets back to L.A. Maybe I'll send him a card next Christmas and see if I get a lump of coal back.

It's sometime in the late afternoon when Candy and I manage to get dressed. I pick up my clothes I dropped when I got back from Downtown. Put the body armor, the na'at, the Colt, and the black blade on top of the dresser. I don't know what I'm going to do with them now. I'm not fighting Qliphoth or elder gods or Hellions or High Plains Drifters anymore. What am I supposed to do with myself? Am I really just going to be a schmuck running a video store? At least the government money should be coming in soon. I solved their little end-­of-­the-­world problem. I should have asked for a half million in pennies so Candy and I could go surfing on it. But I'll happily take a check. Oh shit. I'm going to have to get a bank account. I hadn't thought of that. I wonder if my Vigil ID will be enough for a bank to believe I'm true blue or if I'll have to get one of Vidocq's crooked friends to set me up with a new identity. I should ask him anyway. Cindil will need one.

I check my watch. It's going to be a long day and I'm not looking forward to it.

There's a knock on the downstairs door around three. The sky is closing up again but it doesn't look like rain. I go downstairs and open the door. It's Julie and a whole football team of Vigil agents.

“Agent Sola. I thought it was a snow day and I could pick up my homework tomorrow.”

She doesn't crack a smile.

“This isn't about you, Stark. It's about Candace Jade. Remember her? The prisoner you helped escape? Don't tell me she isn't here because I know she is. Go and get her or I'll have her extracted by force.”

I look over her stone-­faced Pinkertons.

“You're fucking kidding me. I do your job for you, clear out the chop shops myself and stop the goddamn Angra, and you pull this?”

“She's an escaped prisoner. There are rules.”

“The Shonin wouldn't be happy with any of you right now. And he was a fucking monk. A holy man.”

“Stop stalling.”

“I asked him once if he worked for the Vigil or the world. He gave me the right answer. You loafer-­wearing shitbirds don't have a clue what the right answer is.”

Julie unbuttons her jacket. Puts a hand on her Glock.

“Now, Stark.”

The video-­shop door slams open. Candy comes running out in one of my coats. It's too big and she looks ridiculous. She has my Colt in her hand.

She yells, “Fuck,” but before she gets “you” out, Julie pulls her gun and puts six shots into her.

Candy drops the Colt and doesn't move. Blood pools under her. A lot of it. It drips over the curb and into the street. Flows away with the rainwater down into the sewer. Julie takes a ­couple of steps toward the body. I get in front and stick a finger in her face.

“Not if you want to live,” I shout. “Don't touch her. None of you.”

For thirty seconds it's a
High Noon
standoff. The Vigil punks try to stare me down, but none of them make a move.

Finally, Julie puts her pistol back in its holster and says to one of the agents, “You have video?”

“Yes, ma'am,” says the Pinkerton with the camera.

Julie waves to her posse.

“Back on the trucks. The tape will do. Washington doesn't need any more pixie corpses contaminating the facilities.”

Julie leads her agents to an ASV parked down the street. The asshole with the camera lingers for a few seconds. Gets some good footage of me crouched over Candy's body like a dumb animal.

When they're gone, I call Allegra. She says she and Vidocq will be right over.

Kasabian is back hiding in his room again.

A
ND THEN IT'S
Christmas. I'm at Bamboo House of Dolls and I'm drunk. The bar is as close to crowded as it's been in weeks. Vigilantes burned a lot of the other Lurker bars in town, or they flooded, so Carlos has a whole new clientele.

How many days has it been since the scene outside the store? I'm a little blurry on the matter. Anyway, it's the jolly time of year, right? And in a ­couple of days it will be exactly a year since I escaped from Hell, a place that, by now, might not exist anymore.

I'm back drinking Jack Daniel's. It's not bad, but it's not Aqua Regia and I can't go Downtown to get more. I'm down to my last carton of Maledictions. The world is closing in fast and I don't like it one bit.

People tried talking to me earlier, but I'm not in the mood, so now they're mostly leaving me alone. Except for Carlos. For once he's not tending bar. He hired Fairuza for the holidays. Turns out she can pour beer and whiskey in glasses as well as anyone, and she even knows how to make a ­couple of cocktails. Kasabian hangs around the end of the bar chatting her up at every opportunity. She even smiles back at him. I guess she's gotten over the Mason-­is-­coming-­to-­swallow-­our-­souls thing. Carlos is still pouring drinks, but I'm his only customer at the moment. I'm happy that the Sub Rosa stepped in and got the Lurkers released, but I don't want drinks from Fairuza because it makes me think about Candy's band and I don't want to go there right now.

Carlos and I are hunkered down at a table in the back corner of the bar, a bottle of Jack between us and two shot glasses. On the jukebox, Martin Denny is playing a tiki version of “White Christmas.”

“You are one morose fuck, you know that?” says Carlos. “You're literally sucking the entire concept of happiness from my body.”

“I've got a lot on my mind.”

“I know. I'm just saying that you're a holly jolly black hole and I thought you ought to know that.”

“Your advice is much appreciated.”

“That wasn't advice. That was an observation. If you want advice, it's to have another drink.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I concur.”

Carlos pours us both shots.

Vidocq and Allegra are at a table by the door. Cindil is with them. She doesn't look like Cindil anymore, but she doesn't look like the chop-­shop train wreck I put her in. Allegra has been using the divine light stones and other medical hoodoo to fix up Cindil's face and erase the scars. She's dyed her hair magenta. It looks good on her.

Manimal Mike, the Tick Tock Man, is at the end of the bar deep in discussion with Tykho, the head of the Dark Eternal vampire gang. Most vampires don't do Christmas, but here she is. I guess we all need our secret vices.

I packed up the last of Candy's things and put them in the storage room this morning. I put her guitar in last.

It's a good thing Carlos is having this sort of reopening party. Kasabian and I don't have enough cash to throw our own party. Even after saving this sorry rock one more time, the government welshed on paying me because I never did turn in those psych evaluation forms. A technicality, but isn't that what bureaucrats exist for? Max Overdrive needs money and I've lined up work. It might be a huge mistake, but it's one more favor I owe.

Carlos pours us another round and goes off to make sure that in all the merriment Fairuza is remembering to charge ­people for drinks.

I wonder if I should get rid of all the sheets and pillowcases too. Candy brought them with her when she moved in.

Word is that the Vigil is cleaning up the last
Der Zorn Götter
cells around L.A. What do you charge ­people with for trying to murder the world? I'm sure the Vigil will come up with something suitably creative and vindictive. I hope so.

I'm learning to use the coffeemaker. Turns out there are manuals for that kind of thing. I hope the wash-­and-­fold place opens again soon. I need to clean the blood out of a few delicates.

The Sub Rosa is doing double shifts this holiday season, springing Lurkers like Fairuza from federal pens and covering up for dying Gods, walking buildings, and all the other catastrophic hoodoo that's been going down in L.A. The Augur might be gone, but the Sub Rosa still have friends in high-­and-­mighty places. Tuatha is running things temporarily while the board of directors searches for a new scryer. Lots of luck. If any Sub Rosas come around looking for trouble, I won't hit them. I'll tell them the one thing that they won't want to hear. That they're Qliphoth. Just Eaters, Diggers, and Gluttons in designer shoes.

Brigitte comes in with a blonde. She waves to me. The blonde raises her hand to wave, but Brigitte gets between us and steers her to the bar.

On the plus side of things, Audsley Ishii has disappeared. I'll probably have to kill him sometime, but not tonight. Tonight is eggnog and reindeer games. Ho ho ho.

I pour another shot.

When I look up, Julie is standing by the table.

“Can I sit down?”

“You own me. Why not?”

“Don't complain to me. You're the one who wanted a favor.”

“According to Carlos, I'm the Krampus. A total Christmas sinkhole.”

“Is it because of Candy or because of me?”

“I lost a girlfriend and gained a boss. You tell me.”

“You didn't lose her. You just lost a version of her. I bet she's here right now. Isn't she?”

“You tell me.”

I owe Julie a lot. So does Candy. More than either of us can ever repay, but I guess I'll try playing second fiddle now that she's reopened her detective agency.

“I don't see her.”

“Good. That's the idea.”

She pours herself a drink in Carlos's glass.

“I hear through the grapevine that Wells might not go to prison after all. I put in my report about possession and mind control and someone back east believed me. They'll want your report too. To corroborate mine.”

“To help Wells?”

“You said you would.”

“I say a lot of stupid things.”

She holds up her glass. I clink mine against hers.

“I'll do it this week.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Yes, boss.”

The best-­dressed man in L.A. bellies up to the bar and asks Fairuza a question. She points to where I'm sitting and he heads in our direction.

I lean over to Julie.

“You can stay for this or you can leave. If you stay, it'll be weird. If you go, you'll be sorry.”

Julie squints at me.

“I hope you aren't going to write your reports in riddles like that.”

Samael reaches our table.

“Too late now,” I say.

“Too late for what?” says Samael.

“For her to avoid you. Now that you're here, please be nice.”

He beams down at Julie and puts out his hand.

“Hello. I'm Samael.”

“Another one-­name guy. Like Stark.”

He pulls up a chair and sits down.

“We do share that affectation, I'm afraid.”

I point at him.

“For me it's an affectation. For him it's just his name. He doesn't have a last name.”

“Everyone has a last name,” says Julie.