The Perdition Score

  “See you soon.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She closes the door and the noise starts up again. This time I really can hear her hitting the melody. It’s slow and creaky, but it’s there. It’s nice to see her so happy.

  Kasabian puts on gloves to hide his metal mitts and we head out a couple of minutes later. I look around at the movie posters on the wall and decide to put on Robert Mitchum’s face from Out of the Past. Kasabian rolls his eyes when he sees the glamour, but, once more, he’s too smart to say anything.

  THERE’S A DECENT, but not oppressive crowd in Bamboo House. Nobody says hello or bugs me on the way in, which is a nice change. I might have to wear faces more if it will keep the selfie-stick crowd at bay.

  Les Baxter is on the jukebox playing “Oasis of Dakhla.” Brigitte is standing near it drinking martinis with a woman I’ve never seen before. She’s shorter than Brigitte, with blond hair and the kind of dark eyes that inspire duels. I ditch Robert Mitchum. Brigitte waves when she sees us and Kasabian and I go over.

  “Where’s Chihiro?” she says when we get close enough to hear.

  “A new friend is teaching her some tunes. She’ll probably be here soon.”

  “Hello, Kasabian. How are you?”

  “Great, now that I’m with actual people and not stuck in the store with Johnny Buzzkill here.”

  Brigitte looks at me.

  “Are you all right? Are you feeling ill?” she says.

  I shoot Kasabian a look, but he’s looking at Brigitte.

  “I’m fine. Who’s your friend?”

  Brigitte loops her arm around the other woman’s.

  “Stark, Kasabian, this is Marilyne. All the way here from the wilds of France.”

  Marilyne smiles softly and offers her hand. Kasabian and I shake it. She gives him a slightly funny look afterward, but covers it well. His mechanical hands are hard to disguise, even when they’re wrapped in suede.

  “Nice to meet you both,” she says with barely a hint of accent.

  Kasabian has had a crush on Brigitte ever since she arrived from Prague, but from the way he’s looking at Marilyne, his affections might be defecting.

  “How do you two lovely ladies know each other?” he says.

  “Marilyne is friends with some of the producers of my new film,” says Brigitte.

  “How interesting. Are you in the movie business too, Marilyne?”

  “Not even remotely,” she says.

  “She’s a doctor,” says Brigitte.

  Marilyne looks at her.

  “Don’t be silly. I’m just a chemist.”

  “But you have a doctorate degree.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re a doctor,” says Brigitte insistently.

  Marilyne sips her martini, then shakes her head.

  “I just run a small lab, analyzing whatever the true doctors send to us.”

  Kasabian starts to say something. His pupils are the size of tractor tires. It’s true love and whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to be embarrassing for everyone.

  To cut him off I say, “What part of France are you from?”

  “Nothing exotic. I was born and raised in Paris. Have you ever been?”

  “No. I have a friend from there, but I’ve never been there myself.”

  “Yes, Marilyne. You must meet Eugène,” says Brigitte. “He’s the most French man I’ve ever met and he’s a chemist, like you.”

  “That sounds lovely,” she says. “This is only my second visit to the States, but I liked it enough that I came back and have decided to get my citizenship.”

  I cut Kasabian off again.

  “Good luck with that.”

  “If you ever need any help studying . . .” Kasabian says.

  “Thank you,” says Marilyne. “That’s very kind of you.”

  She looks back at me.

  “And what do you do, Mr. Stark?”

  Brigitte touches her arm and aims a wicked smile at me.

  “Don’t call him mister. It makes him uncomfortable. And don’t call him Jimmy. That makes him furious.”

  “Not furious. But only you and Chihiro get a pass on the Jimmy thing.”

  “Don’t let the tough-guy act fool you,” says Kasabian. “He loves being called Jimmy. Isn’t that right, Jimmy?”

  The jukebox changes to Arthur Lyman doing “Sakura.”

  “If you ever call me that again, I’m going to recycle you into Max Overdrive belt buckles, Tin Man.”

  Kasabian is on a roll, though, showing off for his new lady love.

  “Belt buckles. That’s a great idea. We need to get back into merchandising.”

  “And what do you do, Mr. Kasabian?” says Marilyne.

  “He runs my video store,” I say.

  “Our video store,” he says.

  “It’s mine because you’re technically dead.”

  “So are you.”

  “No. I’m just legally dead. Big difference.”

  Kasabian shrugs.

  “Maybe it’s really Chihiro’s store.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “I never quite imagined you as a shopkeeper, Stark,” says Marilyne.

  “She’s being polite,” says Brigitte. “I told her all about you. The slightly tarnished white knight.”

  “The schmuck who kills schmucks,” Kasabian says.

  I glance at the bar. This is more talk about me than I like around strangers, even friends of Brigitte.

  “I don’t do much of that these days. I’m just the monster who falls asleep at meetings.”

  “Meetings?” says Marilyne. “From what Brigitte told me, I find that hard to believe. What kind of meetings?”

  I glance at Brigitte.

  “It’s all right, James. She’s not Sub Rosa, but she knows all about your world.”

  “In school, my best friend and her family were Sub Rosa,” Marilyne says.

  I try to get my brain around that for a second.

  “You aren’t Sub Rosa, but you went to a Sub Rosa school?”

  “No. In France, Sub Rosa children go to ordinary school like the rest of us. It’s not until collège that they’re separated from the other children.”

  “It keeps them from being too insulated,” says Brigitte. “Is that the right word?”

  “Insular,” says Kasabian. “But it sounds good however you say it.”

  “How very sweet of you.”

  I can’t stand watching Kasabian doing Cary Grant, so I say, “I need a drink. Anyone else need one?”

  “I’m fine,” says Brigitte.

  “No, thank you,” says Marilyne.

  “Why don’t you fetch me something frosty, Jimmy?” says Kasabian. “I’ll keep the ladies company.”

  I head to the bar to keep from shooting him.

  Carlos already has a glass of Aqua Regia ready for me. I thank him.

  “Can I get a beer for Rin Tin Tin, too?”

  He looks past me at Kasabian making his moves.

  “Any kind in particular?” he says.

  “You have anything shitty in a can? Maybe you forgot it in your car on a hot day?”

  “I know exactly what you want.”

  He goes in the back and comes out with a foamy glass. It doesn’t look special to me.

  “What is it?”

  “Carbonated Alabama swill,” he says. “I keep it around for when the frat boys come in. They can’t tell the difference.”

  “Perfect. Thanks.”

  “You better get over there before he eats one of them.”

  I weave my way through the crowd and hand Kasabian his piss water. He takes a big gulp and doesn’t bat an eye.

  “I like your bar,” says Marilyne. “I’ve never been anywhere like it.”

  I look around the place for a second.

  “There isn’t another place in the world like Bamboo House of Dolls. That’s why we take care of it. Right, Brigitte? The first time I found out who she reall
y is was right here.”

  Brigitte sighs.

  “That’s right. We both fought monsters back then. I miss it.”

  “You fought what?” says Marilyne.

  Brigitte gives us both a coy look. I sip my drink, but she doesn’t say anything, so I ask, “You didn’t tell her?”

  “I thought I’d introduce her to you first. After that, anything I said about myself would seem mundane in comparison.”

  “Mundane is the last thing you are.”

  “Děkuji,” she says.

  “Brigitte, tell me. What’s your secret?” says Marilyne.

  “Later,” she says. “I’ll need another drink first.”

  “There’s Chihiro,” says Kasabian.

  I look over at the door and she waves to me. She’s with Alessa. Grabs her by the hand and pulls her through the crowd.

  It’s introductions all around when she gets there, then Candy says, “Have you told him about your movie yet?”

  “I haven’t had a chance,” says Brigitte. “But it’s a lovely part in a big production. The biggest part I’ve had since coming here. That’s how I met Marilyne, through the producers. Pieter Ligotti and his partners.”

  That name is familiar. It takes me a minute to come up with it, but finally I do. I was introduced to Pieter by Burgess and Sandoval when they dragged me out to the oil fields. That means Brigitte’s movie is being financed by Wormwood.

  The angel, the shooting at the food truck, and now this? That’s too many coincidences too close together. Now I know that someone is fucking with me.

  Candy comes over and puts an arm around me, but I barely notice. I don’t hear much of the rest of the conversation either. When I come back to Earth, Candy and Alessa are chatting with Brigitte, and Kasabian is laying on the charm with Marilyne. I go over and tell Candy I’m leaving.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I just need some air.”

  I say good-bye to everyone, put the Mitchum face back on, and walk back to Max Overdrive. I’m too restless to sit around or watch a movie, so I haul the bike gear and a flashlight around the side of the shop and go to work modifying the Hellion hog. It’s done by the time Candy and Kasabian come home and I’ve worked off enough nervous energy when they get there that I can act like a human again. But in the back of my mind I know that working for Abbot or not, I’m going to have to start killing people and it’s probably going to be soon.

  IN THE MORNING, I bring a cold twelve-pack of beer into Max Overdrive and set it on the counter. Not beer like last night’s sewage. This is good stuff. Candy is already at work. It’s just me and Kasabian.

  “What’s the occasion?” he says.

  “No occasion. We haven’t had a drink together in a while. I thought it was about time.”

  “Okay,” he says, more than a little suspicion in his voice.

  I open the pack and hand him a bottle.

  He pops the top with his metal mitts, but he doesn’t drink. He hands me the bottle.

  “You first, chief.”

  “Why do you immediately assume I’m trying to poison you?”

  “Because you’re you. Now drink.”

  I hold it up and drain half the bottle. Put it back on the counter with a flourish.

  Kasabian looks at me. Waves a hand in front of my eyes. I remain upright and extremely not poisoned.

  Finally, he says, “Okay. But I’ll pick my own bottle.”

  “Don’t strain yourself.”

  He takes one from the corner and opens it slowly, like it might be full of snakes on springs. He sniffs and takes a small sip. When his tongue doesn’t melt he takes a longer pull.

  “Just because it’s not poisoned doesn’t mean I trust you.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  I pick up my bottle and finish it. I’m not really much of a beer fan, but I can handle it if it’s the only thing around. Kasabian would get suspicious if I gave him beer and drank Aqua Regia. Kasabian, on the other hand, loves the stuff. He has four bottles by the time I finish two. I’m barely sipping my third when he cracks open his fifth. I can smell traces of alcohol in his sweat and his eyes tremble microscopically, too little for regular people to see, but I can pick it out fine. Kasabian isn’t smashed, but he’s officially DUI. Now I just have to keep him calm and focused.

  “Do you mind if we talk about Hell for a minute?”

  He sets down his beer and makes a face.

  “Oh man. And I was just starting to feel good.”

  “I don’t want a dissertation. Just a few questions.”

  “I don’t like seeing down there, man. I just don’t.”

  “Someone’s got to keep tabs on it.”

  He picks up his beer again. Sips.

  “Great. You do it.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Why am I always the lucky one when you want a weather report Downtown?”

  “Because you’re the only one that has access to the Codex.”

  “And you stuck that fucking peeper in my head. Don’t forget that. I don’t. The damn thing keeps me up at night.”

  I sip my beer.

  “Sorry.”

  He drains his beer and opens another.

  “First you leave me without a body, then you replace my eye with a Freddy Krueger marathon.”

  “I’d trade you the eye anytime if I could use it.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I tried.”

  “Try harder. You’re good at making up spells and stuff.”

  He’s starting to slur his words. He’s nice and toasted.

  “Maybe I can give you a break for a while.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I set down my bottle. At this point, he won’t notice if I stop drinking.

  “Not a long break, you understand. Give me the eye back for a half hour. I want to try something where I might be able to see Downtown for a few minutes.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to have to die a little.”

  “Oh fuck,” he says. “You’re going to do that blood ritual again, aren’t you? Who’s going to clean up the mess? Not me. And what if Candy comes home early and finds you passed out. She doesn’t need to see you like that.”

  The Metatron Cube ritual is one where I draw a mystical sigil on the floor, get down in it, and slice my wrists. It lets me talk to the recent dead, especially if they’re close by. This time, though, I want to try something else.

  “The Cube is strictly a backup. I think I have a work-around.”

  “What kind? If it hurts, I’m not doing it.”

  “Relax. It’s just a potion called Dream Tea. I used it once when I worked with Ishiro Shonin last Christmas.”

  “That four-hundred-year-old, walking, talking bag of bones you worked with at the Golden Vigil?”

  Kasabian looks suspicious again.

  “Wait—how is it you ended up with a Vigil potion?”

  “What do you think? I stole it.”

  “Oh good. You’re such a little Mary Sue these days I thought you might have paid for it. So, how does it work?”

  “That’s the great part. You just drink it and meditate.”

  “You can’t meditate.”

  “Yeah, but I can have some Aqua Regia and relax into it. It worked last time.”

  “And there’s no blood?”

  “Not a drop. There’s only one weird part.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “Here it comes.”

  “The only time I used it was when I was following a dead man into the Tenebrae. This time I’ll be on my own.”

  Kasabian finishes his beer and opens another.

  “And you might not be able to make it back this time—I get it. You’re doing this upstairs. If something goes wrong, I don’t want your bony ass cluttering up my sales floor.”

  “That’s fair.”

  So I head upstairs and he follows me, a little wobbly on his feet. He bangs off the
walls a couple of times, but makes it into the apartment without too much damage. He drops down onto the couch.

  “So what do we do?”

  I pour some water into a mug.

  “Like I said, I haven’t done it this way before. But think of it like pizza delivery. I guarantee to have the peeper out and back in your head in thirty minutes or less.”

  He shakes his head.

  “I don’t want to have to pry my eye out of your dead body.”

  “You won’t.”

  He thinks creaky booze thoughts for a minute.

  “I’m getting a bucket of water. If I think you’ve been gone too long, I’m dumping it on you.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “Wait here,” he says, and staggers downstairs. While he bangs around down there I get the Dream Tea out of an old suitcase full of other stolen goodies that I keep under the bed.

  Kasabian comes in with the filthy bucket we use to clean up downstairs. He fills it at the kitchen sink and carries it back to the sofa.

  I put the mug of water in the microwave for a minute. When it’s finished, I dump in some of the tea and let it brew or steep or whatever it is tea is supposed to do. When it looks done, I swallow the whole cup. It tastes like Swamp Thing’s bathwater.

  “If you die, try not to piss yourself,” Kasabian says. “The smell is hard to get out.”

  “Love you too,” I tell him, carrying a glass of clean water over to the sofa. “Now give me your eye.”

  “I hate this part,” he says.

  “You’ll get a lollipop if you’re a big boy.”

  First, I whisper a little hoodoo, pluck out one of my eyes, and drop it in the glass. It floats there like a deflated egg. Carefully, I pop out Kasabian’s peeper and put it in my socket. Kas flinches a little when it comes out, but doesn’t whine, and I’m grateful for that at least.

  With the eye in, I get up and walk around, trying to get it to settle into place. It doesn’t take long. As my vision grows clearer, I feel the familiar drunk sensation I had when I first used the tea. I stumble in the direction of the sofa, but don’t make it and have to sit on the kitchen floor with my back against the counter. Closing my eyes, I feel like I’m sinking into a bath of warm Jell-O.

  When I open my eyes I’m on a wide plain of dry packed earth. I know that if I walk in one direction I’ll get to Tenebrae Station and the ruins of a kind of ghost L.A. where restless souls too afraid to even haunt the crumbling streets hang out. In the other direction is a range of low mountains. I stumble in their direction, and before I’m halfway there, a door opens in the rock face. This is the door to Hell. Souls get a choice at this point. They can go inside, to a freak show designed to torture and torment them for eternity, or they can stay out here in the Tenebrae, with nothing but their shell-shocked brains and other hungry ghosts for company. In their shoes, I’d go inside. I’d rather be someplace than nowhere at all. But that’s me.