The Perdition Score

  “You should hear Alessa play sometime,” Candy says. “She’s awesome. Her old band toured with Skull Valley Sheep Kill. That’s Stark’s favorite band,” she says, leaning confidentially in Alessa’s direction. She smiles.

  “What’s your favorite album of theirs?” she says.

  “Plan Nine from Fresno. What’s yours?”

  “That’s a good one. I like Cannibal Holiday.”

  “That’s a good one too.”

  “Hey, maybe you saw her open one of Skull Valley’s shows,” Candy says. She turns to Alessa. “When did you tour together?”

  “It was just before we recorded our album. About eighteen months ago.”

  I shake my head.

  “Sorry. I wouldn’t have seen you. Eighteen months ago . . .” A quick flash of pain in my head. I picture the arena for a second. “I was out of town.”

  “Well, if you’re interested we have some live stuff on YouTube.”

  “What should I search for?”

  “‘Django’s Coffin.’”

  I’m starting to warm up to her. “Is Django your favorite western?”

  She shrugs.

  “My old girlfriend loved it. I like it, but I like The Furies more.”

  “Barbara Stanwyck. When she takes away Rip’s derringer and points it at him.”

  “It’s a good way to end an argument.”

  “I’ve ended a few that way myself.”

  “You should show me sometime.”

  “Sure. You, me, and Chihiro can go by the L.A. Gun Club.”

  She makes a fist and holds it out. I make one too and we bump.

  “Alessa plays surf guitar. She totally kicks Dick Dale’s ass,” says Candy. She holds up an LP that’s a bit battered at the edges. “Look what she gave me.”

  The cover is greenish, with a man holding a guitar case on a long stairway. A pagoda in the background. Printed on the front is RASHOMON. TAKESHI TERAUCHI AND THE BLUE JEANS.

  “Early-seventies Japanese surf rock. She knows all about it.”

  I get it now.

  “And you bought her noodles to join your band.”

  Candy picks up some chopsticks.

  “She brought a record, so I brought noodles.”

  “That sounds fair.”

  Alessa says, “It’s not quite that simple. Chihiro played me a recording of her band rehearsing. They’re not bad. They need work, but they’re not bad.”

  Chihiro. Good. Candy’s staying safe, using her new identity even while she’s trying to lure a professional guitarist into the clutches of her garage band. Maybe Alessa’s drug problem was worse than I thought. For a pro to want to work with Candy’s group, she must have burned some bridges with the local L.A. players.

  I look at Candy.

  “That’s great. You’ll be playing with Skull Valley soon yourself.”

  “Wouldn’t that be great?”

  Alessa picks up her chopsticks and pokes at her noodles.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she says. “We need to learn some actual songs first.”

  Candy sits back down at her desk.

  “Yes. Songs first. Then touring. See? She’s a total professional.”

  I nod.

  “Sounds like it,” I say. Alessa continues poking at her noodles. Even I can take a hint. She’s done with me being there. Candy looks at her. She’s done with me too for the moment.

  “Listen, I have to talk to Julie, so I’ll let you get back to work.”

  Alessa looks up and smiles, glad I figured out what’s what.

  “Nice meeting you, Stark,” she says.

  “You too.”

  I head to Julie’s office. The moment I’m gone they’re digging into their food, Candy talking excitedly through a full mouth. Alessa laughs at her and hums a staccato surf melody.

  I knock on Julie’s door. She looks up and nods. I go in.

  “How’s it going?”

  Julie shakes her head.

  “I’m glad I got myself a door. The Bobbsey Twins out there have been yammering for an hour.”

  “Chihiro gets a little nuts when the subject of music comes up.”

  “‘Nuts’ is the nice word for it. What are you up to these days? If this is a social call, I have a lot of work I have to do.”

  I take Abbot’s folder out of my pocket and drop it on her desk.

  “Be happier to see me. I’m bringing you business.”

  She opens the folder and picks up the photo.

  “Is he missing?”

  “That’s what Abbot said.”

  “Abbot? Thomas Abbot?”

  I look at her.

  “Happy to see me now?”

  “Happier. Do you have any background information on the kid?”

  “There’s some stuff on the back of the photo. His name is Nick, Abbot says. It might be a parent abduction, but I don’t know.”

  Julie turns the photo over and scans the information.

  “You don’t think he’s telling the truth?”

  “I don’t know that either. I just know that he went out of his way not to say what his relationship was with the kid or his parents. He just kept saying ‘my friend’ wants me to get you to look into it.”

  She turns the photo over and looks at Nick’s face.

  “Normally I’d be reluctant to go with a case with so little information and a cagey client, but—”

  “Yeah. It’s the augur asking. He’s got money and he’s got pull. It seems like one to take.”

  “And so we will. Thanks, Stark.”

  I always feel funny when Julie thanks me. She’s the friend who helped keep Candy out of that Lurker relocation camp so she could become Chihiro. Then she gave her a job. We’re both a long way from paying her back for that. Any case I can throw at her, I will.

  From the other room we can hear Candy and Alessa laughing. Julie holds a hand off in their direction

  “Can you have a word with her? I mean, this is supposed to be a place of business.”

  “Looks like she’s on her lunch hour to me.”

  “Lunch hour and then some.”

  “Look, you made it clear you didn’t want me involved with the agency. I’m not about to go out there and scold Chihiro for a noodle break.”

  “Point taken. Just do me a favor and look at your watch on the way out. Maybe she’ll take the hint.”

  “I don’t wear a watch.”

  “Right. Well, pretend. Stare at your wrist for two seconds.”

  I get up.

  “I’ll wrestle them to the ground and give them detention.”

  Julie gives me a curdled smile.

  “Late at night, if you ever wonder why you don’t work here anymore, remember this moment.”

  I open the office door.

  “I’ll tell Abbot you’re on the case when I see him Monday.”

  “Tell him to call me. It would be nice to discuss a fee.”

  “I’ll give him your number.”

  “Good night, Stark.”

  “Good night.”

  I walk over to Candy’s desk and make a big show of looking at my wrist.

  “What are you doing?” says Candy.

  “Looking at my watch.”

  “You don’t have a watch. You barely have socks.”

  “I’m supposed to be hinting about the time. Julie’s request.”

  “Oh.”

  Candy glances at Julie’s office.

  “I guess I lost track of time.”

  “It’s cool,” says Alessa. “I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss.”

  She gets up. Candy comes from around the desk and gives her a hug.

  “Call me tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Let’s figure out a time to get the whole band together.”

  “Great.”

  Alessa tosses her noodles into the trash and heads for the stairs.

  “See you around, Stark.”

  I give her a wave.

  “You too.??
?

  Candy comes over and kisses me hard.

  “Isn’t this the best thing ever? We might be an actual band with an actual guitarist.”

  “You’re a guitarist.”

  “I’m a guitar player. I know three chords. Alessa is a guitarist. Big difference.”

  “Well, I hope it all works out and you get to work together.”

  “Me too.”

  “You need a ride home?”

  She shakes her head.

  “I have tons of reports and paperwork to do. I’ll be here late.”

  “Okay. I might stop by Bamboo House myself. I’ll see you at home.”

  She sits down at her desk.

  “Tell Carlos hi for me.”

  “I will.”

  I start for the stairs and she blows me a kiss. I wink at her.

  I head for the Catalina parked around the corner and see Alessa smoking a cigarette on the corner. She turns and sees me.

  “You need a ride or something?” I say.

  “No thanks. I have a cab coming.”

  “Okay. Chihiro is pretty excited about working with you. I haven’t seen her this happy in a while.”

  “Chihiro’s cool. And her band is all right. I can work with them.”

  “Good luck. They’re a handful.”

  She takes a drag on her cigarette, blows out the smoke.

  “So am I.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Well, I’ll see you around.”

  “Good night.”

  I go back to the Catalina and get in. Candy is working late. My head is mostly better, but not one hundred percent. I can get drugs for it or I can do the other thing. A stab of guilt gets me in the gut. I don’t like keeping secrets, especially from Candy, but I don’t know if she’d understand this and I need it right now. Just until I can get myself together again. I’ll stop by Bamboo House later and bring home some food so the evening won’t be a total lie.

  In the rearview mirror, I watch Alessa get into a cab. It swings around and its headlights reflect into my eyes. Icepicks again.

  That settles it. I start the car and wait for whoever is hiding in the backseat to do something. When they don’t, I pull out and head south.

  About two blocks on, I hear a moan and pull over into the parking lot of a Spanish Evangelical church. I don’t say anything, waiting for the moaner—it sure sounded like a guy—to show himself. He doesn’t and I slip the black blade out of my coat.

  “Anytime now, sunshine. Kill me or get out.”

  Someone rustles around and slowly sits up. I turn halfway in my seat.

  He’s pale. Thin. Unshaven. Three days or more. He doesn’t smell that great either. He leans against the side of the door where his face falls into line with the blinking sign in front of a bodega. There he is, yellow one second, then swallowed in black the next.

  “How long did you know?” he says.

  I hear it in his voice. Now that I’m looking for it, I can smell it under his stink. “Fuck me. You’re an angel.”

  He purses his lips, half smiling and half embarrassed.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “Get out.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m a nephilim, pal. Half angel and half pissed off. I knew you were there the whole time, but I was waiting for you to do something interesting.”

  “Why not attack when you saw me?”

  “I was bored.”

  “You wanted me to attack you.”

  “That would have been more fun than this.”

  The angel shakes his head.

  “You’re not what I was expecting.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I came looking for an Abomination. A monster that acts violently on instinct.”

  “You came looking for Sandman Slim.”

  “Does he still exist?”

  I take a pack of Maledictions from my pocket, tap one out, light it, and blow toxic smoke rings in his direction.

  “If you came looking for Jack the Ripper, you came a couple of months too late. I’m a solid citizen now. Got a job. Eat my vegetables. Hell, I didn’t even steal this car.”

  “I came here for . . . would you mind rolling down a window?” he says.

  “Sure. How rude of me.”

  I roll down the driver’s side, letting the fogbank drift away to kill the weeds in the parking lot. Whoever he is in the back seems harmless enough, but I keep my knife ready.

  “What was it you were saying?”

  He coughs a couple of times. Winces. Drops his weight back against the seat and looks at his hand. There’s blood there.

  “If you’re going to bleed to death, please don’t get it on the upholstery. I just had it cleaned.”

  He points a bloody finger at me.

  “That’s more who I came looking for.”

  “For what?”

  He’s wearing a dirty trench coat. It looks new, but also like it’s been dragged behind a car. Sort of like the angel himself.

  “Who are you?” I ask him.

  “Karael. I came a long way to find you.”

  “Why?”

  He reaches into his dirty coat and I get the black blade ready. From an inside pocket, he pulls out a small ornate box. He leans forward to hand it to me, then falls back against the seat.

  “Have you ever seen one of these before?” he says.

  I glance at the box.

  “It’s very pretty. If it’s a hope chest, you’re one depressed fuck.”

  “Look closer.”

  I hold it up to the light coming in from the parking lot lights. The box is lacquered black wood rimmed with gold and ornate flourishes that I recognize instantly.

  “It was made in Hell. That doesn’t mean I know what it is.”

  “Open it.”

  I set the box on the passenger seat, well away from me. Pop the latch and push the top back with the tip of my knife. Nothing explodes. No poison gas or hungry ghosts. Inside the box is a padded compartment holding a glass vial full of a watery black substance.

  “Okay. I found it. What is it?”

  He leans forward again, groaning.

  “They need it.”

  “Who?”

  “The rebel angels.”

  I put the vial back in the box and look at him.

  “That makes you one of the good guys. How do I know you’re not gaslighting me?”

  “Listen,” he says. “I’m dying. There are many of us loyal angels left, but I’m not sure enough. If we fall, the rebel angels will bar all human souls from entering Heaven.”

  “What about the ones already there?”

  “I doubt they’ll last long.”

  “And this black ink is supposed to mean something to me?”

  “Black milk, it’s called. No human will enter Heaven as long as they have it.”

  The angel looks at his hands. They’re shiny with blood.

  “We’re near a friend’s clinic. You should let me take you.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  I’m not going to argue. Angels don’t take it well. “What am I supposed to do with this stuff?”

  The angel shakes his head.

  “I was hoping you’d recognize it. Find out what it is. Find out how to destroy it.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? I can’t get to Hell anymore. I’ve lost the Room. I’m as landlocked as any of these other mortal assholes.”

  He frowns at me.

  “You can’t travel to Hell. You can’t find the secret of the black milk.” He drops his head. “We were so afraid of you once. Abomination, we called you. Now look at you. When you were a monster at least you were good for something. What good are you now?”

  I ask myself that every night I get into bed with Candy. But I’m not going to tell this halo polisher about it. When I look at him, he’s staring straight at me.

  “Where are you going tonight?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Y
ou used to be an honest monster. Now you keep secrets from your friends. Your lover. Probably from yourself.”

  “If you know me so well you know I don’t take advice from angels.”

  “Not advice. Merely an observation. Before I came here, Father—Mr. Muninn—wanted me to tell you to follow your instincts. But do you have any left I wonder.”

  The clown is getting to me. I want to kick him out, but I remember being bloody and ready to die in the arena. And I can’t kick an angel out in the street, especially not near a church. For all their God talk, the last people alive who want to meet an angel are church types. Show them that Heaven isn’t all gossamer robes and harp recitals and they’ll hallelujah their lunch right into the toilet.

  “Look. I’ll get this stuff checked out, but I don’t know what you or Muninn expect me to do after that.”

  But when I look up, Karael is gone. Angels do that when they die. Blip out of existence like they were never there. I look at the box, close it, and put it in my pocket. Asshole angel that he was, he died to bring me this sludge. Black milk. I’ll show it to Vidocq tomorrow. Right now I have to get across town. I’m late and I can’t afford to miss tonight. It’s funny, though. Arguing with an angel, my headache disappeared. Now that he’s gone, I can feel it crawling back behind my eyes.

  I need the cure and I need it soon.

  For a second, I wonder about Alessa waiting for her cab. Could she be in on this? Was she there to distract me from Karael in the backseat? If there’s something more going on with her—more than playing guitar with Candy—I’m going to find out what. Until then, it’s time to get on the road. I start the car and head back into traffic, hoping that whatever kind of ectoplasm Karael leaked onto my seats will come off with soap. Heaven might be at war, but that doesn’t mean angels get to fuck up my car.

  HE COMES AT me low, puts his weight behind the punch, and slams it in under my ribs. I let him do it. I like the feel of the blow, my muscles screaming, the breath rushing from my lungs. I relax into the pain. It’s something real and tangible, and unlike the headaches, these punches, elbows, and kicks deliver a completely different kind of pain. The headaches make me weak at the knees. This Hulk Hogan stuff, I can grab on to and choke the life out of.