I look at Hesediel.
“I’ll dispatch the rebels,” she says.
“Then it’s a plan.”
We wait for the van to come up the hill. When it’s almost abreast of us, Candy guns the Unimog’s engine and plows into the side of the van, pushing it off the road. No one gets out for a minute. Then the passenger-side door bursts open and a Legionnaire lurches out. He swings his rifle at the Unimog.
Bill and I step out of the trees, but Candy blasts him with the Benelli before we can even take aim.
The van’s side door slides open and more Hellions stumble into the road, shooting in all directions. There are four of them, and none is in good shape. Bill shoots one and I get another. The other two freeze where they are when Hesediel comes out, her armor glowing in Hell’s dim light like it’s made of fire. When the two idiots get the idea that maybe it’s a good time to shoot, it’s too late. Their bullets bounce off Hesediel’s armor. She cuts one down with a single stroke of her Gladius. She swings again and cuts the other one’s arms off. His rifle tumbles to the ground and he falls against the van, his wounds seared closed by the Gladius’s burning blade.
I jump into the van while Hesediel and Bill watch my back.
The woman is pressed against the interior on the far side of the van, her eyes as big as weather balloons. I look her over for weapons and wounds. I don’t see any guns, but she has a cut over her left eye.
I aim the Glock at her.
“You can get out with me or let the angel drag you out.”
She puts her hands up and slides across the seat. I take her arm and help her into the road. She stumbles, a little wobbly after the crash.
I give her to Bill and kneel by the armless Legionnaire.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Tell Norris Quay to meet us at the Hollywood Bowl in two hours. If he doesn’t come alone, we’re going to barbecue Miss America and serve her with beans. Got it?”
“Two hours at the Hollywood Bowl.”
“What else?”
He looks down at where his arms used to be.
“He’s to come alone.”
“Who said you Legionnaires were all blockheads? Wait, it was me.”
Bill taps me on the back.
“We’d best be moving,” he says.
We pile back into the Unimog, shoving Miss America into the space behind the seats. Candy gets us turned around and we haul ass down the hill. Franklin is blocked with debris from looted houses, so we speed down Hollywood Boulevard to Highland and head north to the Bowl.
It occurs to me as we go that I don’t even know if Hell’s Hollywood Bowl is even there anymore. I should probably have checked that out. See? Thinking. It’s always my downfall.
The good news is that while half of its dome is caved in, the Bowl and grandstands are basically intact. The stage area is covered with dried blood in a charming variety of colors. A lot of Hellions, beasts, and who knows what else have been killed here for the cheering crowds. I wonder if the old arena is still standing. I feel a weird pang of nostalgia for the place. Sure, it was possibly the most awful place in the universe, but it was my most awful place. If it’s gone, I’ll miss it. I never even got to take a selfie there. Of course, I don’t mention any of this to the others, but I make a mental note that if we have enough time, I want to take Candy there. If she’s going to make me miserable at Disney World, she can be miserable for a few minutes at my old alma mater.
We stash the Unimog by the road beside the Bowl. Hesediel and I manifest our Gladiuses and hack our way through the fences and trees, clearing a path to the front of the stage. She takes a couple of steps back when my Gladius first comes out. I’m not sure she believed that I had one. Now that she does, I’m not sure she entirely trusts me with it. But she does her job and I do mine.
Bill and Candy bring Miss America, and we climb over stage junk until we’re backstage in the Bowl.
Bill looks back at the grandstands and grounds.
“Not a bad place for a meet. Lot of open territory. A road nearby.”
He points to the line of black, twisted trees on the hill overlooking the grandstands.
“They could put snipers up there.”
“Not if Quay wants Miss America back.”
“We’re really going to kill her?” says Candy. I can tell that she doesn’t like the idea. But I don’t want to sound soft.
I look hard at Miss America.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
She looks at our sorry group, terrified.
Candy goes over and puts a hand on her shoulder. The woman recoils and Candy moves away.
“What’s your name?” she says.
Miss America looks around.
“Holly,” she says. “Holly Cranor.”
I lean against a half-burned table.
“What did you do for Wormwood back in the world, Holly?”
“Nothing,” she says. “I wasn’t in Wormwood.”
“Then you joined when you got down here.”
“No. I’m not in Wormwood. I’m just friends with Norris.”
“You’re with Quay, but you’re not with Wormwood? That’s just a little hard to believe.”
“Norris says that people have to prove themselves useful to be in Wormwood.”
“And you’re not particularly useful yet.”
“Oh no. I’m useful. I work with Netzach and the other angels. Norris promised that I’ll be in Wormwood soon.”
“Sounds like true love,” says Candy.
Holly half smiles, not sure if Candy is kidding or not.
I say, “The stuff you do with Netzach, it has to do with black milk?”
She hesitates then says, “Yes.”
“They bring the raw stuff and you get them the refined product.”
“Yes.”
“How does it work?”
“I don’t know. Norris is very secretive about it. He promised to tell me all about it when I’m in Wormwood.”
Her eyes are steady but she doesn’t have sweat or a heartbeat for me to check. I go to Hesediel.
“What do you think? Is she telling the truth?”
“I think so.”
“Me too. Which stinks. I was hoping for more from her.”
“Mortals will believe many things if they think it will relieve their suffering, if even for a moment.”
“We just hate missing The Brady Bunch is all.”
Not a peep from Hesediel.
Tough crowd.
“Holly sounds stupid enough to hook up with Quay without even knowing what Wormwood is.”
Hesediel calls to Holly.
“Did you know the mortal Norris Quay when you were alive?”
“No. We met here. When things were getting bad. You know? He saved me.”
“Naturally.”
Bill and Candy come over. Bill keeps the Colt on her.
“If she’s not in Wormwood, we should let her go, right?” says Candy.
I shake my head.
“She’s not in Wormwood but she’s doing important work for them. And she’ll probably do even worse when she gets in.”
“Yeah, but she hasn’t done it yet. If Quay doesn’t show or does something stupid, I don’t want to kill her. She’s just scared and lost.”
“She’s in Hell. She did something to get here.”
“Still.”
I look at Candy and remember what a mess she was when Doc Kinski died. A bit lost and freaked out herself.
“We won’t kill her. But we can’t let her or Quay know that.”
Candy takes a breath.
“Thanks.”
Hesediel looks at me funny.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I simply didn’t expect compassion from the Abomination.”
“If you liked that trick, you should see me juggle.”
“How long do we have to wait?”
I check my phone. The battery is down
three quarters.
“Not long. Everybody relax.”
Candy finds a folding chair and brings it to Holly. She’s too nervous to actually sit. She sort of perches on it like a bird ready to take off at the slightest sound.
Bill and I have Maledictions. Hesediel moves to the other side of the room to avoid the smoke. Candy keeps an eye on Holly.
“If this all goes askew, it was good seeing you again, son,” says Bill.
“You too. But don’t worry. We’re going to make it.”
“You that certain?”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“I’m taking Candy to Disney World.”
“I hope you make it too.”
“I hope I survive it. I hate that mouse.”
I check my phone.
“Any minute now.”
We toss our cigarettes and everyone goes on alert. I get Holly to her feet and kick the chair away. Take her to the front of the stage. The others keep lookout behind us.
In a few minutes, Hesediel says, “There.”
She points at a figure moving through the grandstand halfway up the hill. He’s waving a piece of cloth like a white flag.
We wait. Let him come to us. Bill and Hesediel scan the tree line for shooters.
When he finally gets to the stage, Norris Quay says, “Holly, dear, are you all right? Have they hurt you?”
“No. I’m okay.”
She touches the cut over her eye.
“Except for the accident.”
Quay looks better than the last time I saw him. He was a broken-down old man then. Free of his body, he looks a lot more spry.
“Hell agrees with you, Norris. You look like a young Tony Curtis.”
“Don’t kid me. I look like an old man who’s been taking his vitamins.”
“Does that include black milk?”
He shakes his head.
“The black milk isn’t for us. But celestials can’t get enough of it.”
“You always find a profit angle, don’t you?”
He moves closer, around some broken stage lights.
“Don’t act surprised, Stark. It’s what we do.”
“What kind of odds are there on me killing you and Miss Cranor?”
“Less than you letting us go.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m going to give you everything you want. I’ll take you right to the source of black milk. Explain everything. What you do about it after that is your business. That’s if you promise to let me and Holly leave afterward.”
“Why would you show us black milk?”
“Because there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.”
“You’re that sure.”
“Quite,” he says happily.
“If you’re straight with us, we’ll let you go.”
He points at the stage.
“I want to hear it from the angel. They’re a bit more trustworthy than a murderer.”
I look at Hesediel.
“It’s agreed,” she says. “If you take us to the source, you will be free to go.”
He slaps his hands together.
“See how easy that was? Well, should we get started?”
When I let go, Candy takes Holly’s arm. I point with the Glock.
“Our truck is over there.”
“Yes. I saw it on the way in. A little small for all of us, don’t you think? I have a van out front. It’ll be much more comfortable.”
I look back at the others.
“The man has a point,” says Bill. “Any closer in the truck and we’ll all know each other in the biblical sense.”
I turn to Hesediel.
“He’s right.”
I call down to Quay.
“Same deal as before, Norris. Any tricks and you both die. Holly first.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Norris?” says Holly quietly.
“Relax, my dear. These champions of the oppressed will have what they want and we’ll be on our way soon.”
“If you say so.”
“I do, my dear. Now, let’s away, shall we?”
“Stop,” I say.
Everyone looks at me.
This whole thing might be the end of every human soul, but I have to know something and now.
“In case I have to shoot you later, tell me about Liliane. I get that she was working for you, but why sic her on Vidocq?”
Quay looks disappointed in the question.
“Do you think your friends are special? That they should be exempt from our work?”
“Is that all it was? Hurting my friends to get to me?”
“It was Liliane’s idea actually. We gave her Vidocq as a gift. Hurting you and your Merry Men was a bonus.”
“Wormwood should leave my other friends alone.”
He flicks something off his shirt.
“We’ll take that under advisement.”
QUAY LEADS US through the grandstands to where one of his black vans is parked. Holly walks with him. I hold my gun to his head. Candy, Bill, and Hesediel keep a lookout for an ambush. But nothing happens.
We make it to the van and everyone piles in, Norris behind the wheel while the others get in the back. I stay up front with my gun in his side. He starts the van and we drive back down Highland the way we came. Then we keep moving south.
We go all the way down Highland until it turns into South La Brea Avenue. Moving around the debris and burned-out cars, it’s a long, slow drive.
“Tell me, Norris. What’s black milk?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
“Is this where it’s manufactured?”
“In one sense, yes. In another, no.”
“Don’t be cute. I can still shoot Holly Golightly.”
“And then you’ll end up with nothing but a heartbroken old man for your troubles.”
“You said you’d tell us, so tell us,” says Candy.
“Are any of you history buffs?” says Quay. “No? I didn’t think so. Then you won’t be acquainted with the term Panzerschokolade.”
I keep the gun in his side.
“I know the word ‘panzer.’ It’s German for tank.”
“And chokolade is exactly what it sounds like. Chocolate. Panzerschokolade. Tank chocolate.”
“You’re feeding angels metal bonbons?”
“In a sense, yes. Panzerchokolade was a treat the German high command gave their tank drivers back during the war. It kept them awake for days. Made them brave. Even reckless, but able to accomplish remarkable things and win battles they should have lost.”
“You’re talking about speed. Black milk is speed for angels.”
He glances at me.
“The angel who paid you a visit on Hollywood Boulevard, what was her name?”
“Hadraniel,” says Hesediel.
“That’s it.”
He glances at me.
“Did she seem a bit different to you? Not like other angels you’d met?”
“Yeah. She was out of her fucking mind.”
“Oh, she was in her mind, but her mind had been transformed by Panzerschokolade into something more formidable than before. You must be acquainted with the word ‘berserker’?”
“Crazy fucking Vikings who worked themselves up into a screaming lather and ran straight into a fight. You’re saying that black milk turns angels into berserkers.”
“Precisely.”
Keeping my gun pressed into Quay’s side, I look at Hesediel.
“Does that sound right to you?”
“I’m afraid so,” she says. “Their strength and courage is unexplainable by any normal standards.”
I turn back to Quay.
“You’re keeping the war in Heaven going. Why?”
“One secret at a time, Sandman Slim. One secret at a time. Now, you wanted to know how black milk is manufactured.”
“Stop stalling.”
“The raw materials
for black milk are found only here in Hell. Isn’t that interesting?”
“Fascinating. Now I’ll win next time I’m on Jeopardy!”
He steers us around a line of overturned school buses. There are no bodies anywhere. All the dead Hellions and damned souls are in Tartarus.
“We use rebel angels to move the raw black milk to Earth, where it’s transformed from a poison into a miracle drug.”
“How is it done?”
“Geoffrey Burgess was about to cook us a new batch, but you ruined it.”
“I didn’t see any potions in his house.”
“Of course not. It hadn’t been manufactured yet. Think hard, Sandman Slim. I know that’s not your best quality, but it’s important.”
Slow as I am, I don’t have to think about it too long.
“It was Nick. Burgess had Nick and I fucked that up.”
Quay claps his hands on the steering wheel.
“See? You can put those brain cells to work if you try, try, try.”
“What does Nick have to do with anything?”
“Black milk is processed in their bodies. Poison goes in and Panzerschokolade comes out.”
He looks at me. There’s practically a twinkle in his eye.
“We milk the little bastards like cattle. Hence the term ‘black milk.’”
“You fucker,” sputters Candy. “You fucking fuck.”
“You’re every bit as eloquent as I would expect Sandman Slim’s paramour to be.”
I jab the gun into Quay’s ribs.
“There’s another kid missing back home. She’s more cattle?”
“Of course. Her family is nothing. This is their chance to move up in the world.”
“And join the immortality club.”
“Yes, we keep a small amount of processed black milk for ourselves. Any family that sacrifices a child is admitted to the program.”
No one says anything for a minute. We spot some broken-down hellhounds. Gears and metal limbs scattered across the road.
“Admit it. It’s a bargain,” says Quay. “Eternity for one brat. If it makes you feel better, the families are free to produce all the little tykes they want after that.”
“Are the new kids immortal too?”
Quay shakes his head.
“I’m afraid not. New kids mean new sacrifices. You see, shared secrets like this bind people together. It’s the foundation of Wormwood.”
“A ritual,” says Hesediel.
“See? The angel understands.”
“So I’ve been told.”