I wave a tired hand at him.
“Forget it. Wishful thinking. I should have known he’d keep the cabinet locked. Don’t want anyone sneaking nips during working hours, do we?”
“No, sir,” he says.
I can see the poor guy’s eyes and hear his heart pounding. He’d like to shoot me and dump me in the Pacific. I should ease up a little. He can’t help it if he chose a shitty career.
“Thank you. For the courtesy. I’ll be sure to tell the augur you’ve taken good care of me.”
“Thank you,” he says with the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice.
Now I’ve really confused the poor bastard. Time to shut up. I don’t want him to shoot the real Anpu the next time he stops by for tea.
A minute or so later Abbot comes into the room with a big quizzical smile on his face.
He says, “Charles. Did I forget a meeting tonight?”
“No. I just stopped by for a chat. Your men have been taking care of me. This one in particular. Be sure to give him a good performance review.”
Abbot glances at the security guy.
“Well, thank you, Charles. I’m sure we’re all grateful for your input.”
He looks at Mr. Security.
“We’re fine now. Thank you.”
“Yes, sir,” he says. Then to me, “You have a good day, sir.”
“You do the same,” I say in my most magnanimous voice.
As security hustles out, Abbot sits down. He stares at me.
“This is a new look for you, Charles. Do you have a cold coming on? Your voice sounds a little strained.”
“When you get kicked in the throat as many times as I have, it can sound a little funny.”
“Excuse me?”
He looks alarmed. No one around here can take a joke.
“Who kicked you?”
I do a little hoodoo in my head and the glamour fades away.
“Every dickless shit heel in downtown Dixie.”
When he sees my real face, Abbot drops back against the couch cushions.
“I should have known by the clothes. Charles wouldn’t be caught dead in those boots.”
“I’ve been thinking about upgrading my wardrobe. Do you have a tailor?”
“You couldn’t afford him.”
“Then give me a raise.”
He just sits there for a minute.
“You took a hell of chance coming here like that.”
“Relax. I walked right by your security guys. The riffraff on the streets aren’t going to recognize me.”
“The only reason you got on board is because the protective wards recognized you, even if the guards didn’t. If they hadn’t, you could have been hurt.”
“I’m already hurt. Another time more or less won’t make a difference.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” he says. Then, “I heard about the mess in Hollywood last night. I even saw bits and pieces of it on the news.”
“So, they did get video.”
“Everyone with a phone recorded you.”
“Goddammit. I didn’t think of phones.”
“How’s the arm?”
“You saw that too?”
“Footage of a burning man will get a bit of airplay.”
“Then I guess I don’t have to tell you that I lost Charlie Anpu.”
“I know.”
“Does Anpu know?”
Abbot shakes his head.
“We got lucky there. He had a fender bender on the way home, so that would have kept him occupied. And with a reputation like yours, no one is surprised about you having a street brawl with a Lurker.”
“Is that what people think? That it was just a Lurker?”
“Wasn’t it?”
I look at the handwoven rugs on Abbot’s floor. The flawless woodwork and exquisite golden fixtures around the room, and feel like a housefly on a hundred-dollar steak.
“Do you think I could have a drink? If I’m not being an asshole for asking . . .”
“Of course,” says Abbot. “And you’re not. Relax. I know things went off-kilter last night, but from what I saw on the news it wasn’t your fault.”
He goes to the liquor cabinet and pours us a couple of expensive whiskeys. Comes over and hands me one, then sits down again.
I actually meant would he mind if I had some Aqua Regia from my flask, but I’ll always take free alcohol.
I sip my drink. It’s smooth as a newly polished blade. But why did I ask him if I could have a drink? Why didn’t I just have one? This Citizen Kane world is getting to me. I’m like goddamn Oliver Twist begging for more gruel.
I look at Abbot.
“Maybe it’s better if everyone thinks it was a Lurker.”
“If it wasn’t, what was it?”
I take a gulp of his good stuff.
“It was an angel. But I don’t suppose Ivy League types believe in spook stories like that.”
Abbot fiddles with one of his cuff links.
“I’ll admit, an angel wasn’t my first thought. But if you say that’s what it was, I believe you.”
“Just like that?”
“The Golden Vigil believed in you. Why shouldn’t I?”
For a second, I want to kiss the son of a bitch.
He looks into his drink.
“The question is, why would an angel come after you like that?”
I reach into my pocket and hand him the box.
“Because of that.”
He sets down his drink and looks the box over. Opens the top, looks at the vial of black milk, then closes it again and hands it back to me.
“What’s so special about it?”
“It’s not the box. The black stuff. The angel wanted it back. She was very clear on the matter.”
“I saw. Do you know what it is?”
I could tell him what Vidocq said, but the fewer people who know anything about the stuff the better.
“No.”
He thinks for a minute.
“Do you think it was a coincidence that all this happened while you were following Charles?”
I put the box back in my pocket.
“Nope. He has a box like this too. That’s why he went to Musso’s last night. It’s where he picked it up.”
“Are you sure? A box like yours.”
“He was shit-faced and dropped it on the street. I got a good look.”
Abbot stares off into space again, wheels turning in his head.
“Charles and angels. You’re the expert. What do you think it means?”
“That it might not be Charles and angels. That you were right and it’s Charlie and Wormwood.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course not. But unless Charlie has a secret life, he’s not going to know a lot of celestials. Wormwood has contacts in Hell. That means they believe in angels, and knowing how they work, it probably means they’re in business with some.”
I shut up and let Abbot take that in. This time he’s quiet for a long time. Then he laughs in a bleak sort of way.
“I don’t know what to think about any of this. Mysterious boxes. Angels. Hell.” He pauses, then says, “How do you know they’re in business with Hell?”
“Because Geoffrey Burgess told me. Norris Quay runs their office Downtown.”
“Norris Quay?” says Abbot. “Norris Quay is dead.”
“Naturally. How else is he going to have a day job in Hell?”
He shakes his head. “You’re telling me to think like the Red Queen.”
“Who?”
“From Through the Looking-Glass. ‘Sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.’”
“She sounds like a smart lady.”
Abbot leans forward, looking intense.
“Let’s assume that everything you’ve said today is true. You were attacked by an angel. Charles is somehow connected to them and that proves he has ties to Wormwood, who also know angels and does business in Hell.”
br /> “You’re right on the money so far.”
“Wonderful. The thing is: What are we supposed to do with this information? I admit, I’m a little lost.”
“I spent eleven years Downtown, so I know the feeling.”
I finish my drink and set my glass on a nearby table.
“Oops,” says Abbot. He reaches over and hands me a coaster.
I put it under the glass.
“Sorry.”
“No harm done.”
He says it nicely, but I know he’s going to check for damage when I’m gone. He probably had this one custom-made in the Amazon. He’ll send a flunky to Brazil tonight to pick out a new one.
I cross my legs and get a look at my boots. They’re filthy. In all this glamour that makes me happier than it probably should.
“What I think we do right now is what you wanted me to do before. Recon work. I poke around and see if I come up with any new Wormwood connections.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to follow Charles? If something strange happens around him again, he’s not going to write it off as a coincidence.”
“Not Charlie. Someone else I know is connected to Wormwood. Geoff Burgess. Or Eva Sandoval. I met them with some of the other Wormwood heavyweights. I think I’d rather go for Burgess.”
“Why him?”
“I don’t like him. And why not? He’s as good a place to start as any. I’m just shooting in the dark here. If you have a better idea, tell me.”
“No,” says Abbot. “I don’t have any ideas right now. Fine. Do it until we have a reason to do something else. In the meantime, I’ll talk to my contacts and see what they have to say.”
“Great.”
“I’ll also have a word with our contacts in the police department. Let’s see if we can push any investigation about last night in the wrong direction.”
“I’d appreciate it, having the heat off for a while. And being able to wear my own face.”
He sits up. Finishes his drink.
“What are you going to do with the box?”
I scratch my burned arm through my coat.
“Hide it, I guess. Do you have any ideas where? Some supersecret Honeycomb hideout?”
“I know how to make business documents disappear. Family jewels and cash too. But this? I’m stumped.”
“Me too. Normally I’d hide it in the Room of Thirteen Doors, but that’s off the menu. I’ll think of something.”
Abbot nods.
“I was hoping we’d find some evidence that perhaps Charles was getting kickbacks or family favors for steering money to Wormwood. We’re in brand-new territory now.”
“L.A. always throws something new at you. That’s why it’s fun.”
“You think this is fun?”
“Maybe ‘fun’ isn’t the right word. Maybe ‘familiar’ is better. We’re moving from your side of town to mine.”
“Where the angels live.”
“And the monsters. They’re easier to get along with than angels.”
“The fact you know that is why I wanted you on my side,” says Abbot. He looks at his watch. “However, I have a Skype in a few minutes with some people who might have some additional insight into what’s going on. I’m afraid we need to wrap things up.”
I get up. Feel the weight of the box in my pocket.
“Good luck with the espionage, boss.”
We’re walking to the door when he puts a hand on my arm. Happily, not the burned one.
“Before you go, I wanted to ask you something. Have you heard anything about the investigation into Nick’s disappearance?”
“No. Aren’t you in touch with Julie?”
“Yes, but I was wondering if you might have heard some talk around the office. Maybe something she’s not ready to share yet.”
“No. But I can ask Chihiro if you want.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”
Abbot starts to walk me out onto the deck.
I say, “How hard is it to get a cab around here?”
“What happened to your car?”
“The angel murdered it.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll have my driver take you home.”
“I won’t say no to that.”
Abbot gets out his cell and makes a call.
One of the two security guys I met earlier is on the deck. He looks at me funny. Right. I forgot to put Charlie’s face back on. Too late now. My cover’s blown. I stand a little closer to Abbot, just to make sure everyone knows I’m in with the in crowd.
Abbot puts his phone away.
“It’s done. He’ll meet you at the end of the pier.”
“See you at the next council meeting.”
“Don’t worry about that. Keep up with your investigation. We can get by without you for a session or two.”
I head out. The driver is indeed waiting at the end of the pier. He holds the door for me and closes it when I get in. As much as I hate Abbot’s world, I could get used to this limo business.
I have the driver drop me on Sunset Boulevard by a bike shop I know. I’m still nervous about being in public in my face, so I put on a new one. The limo driver’s.
At the bike shop, I pick up handlebars, a front light, and some tools. It’s not that heavy, but it’s awkward to carry. I should have asked the limo to wait for me. It’s too late now. I hump the gear back to Max Overdrive.
Just an hour ago, I was floating on a custom-made cloud with free drinks and guys whose only job it was to watch my back. Now I’m sweating like a pig and dodging dog shit in the street. It’s a hard landing, coming down from Valhalla.
CANDY AND ALESSA are practicing in the storeroom. One of them is burning through “Miserlou” and the other sounds like she’s falling down the stairs with a boxful of cats. But she keeps playing. Good for her.
It’s after hours and Kasabian has the news on. They’re playing shaky phone footage of me getting my ass kicked, then the angel flying away. I change channels. It’s the same thing. Me down on one knee, then wings flapping into the sky. Everybody likes the part where I’m getting burned and pounded into SpaghettiOs, but no one bothers to show that I actually won the damned fight. I need a better press agent. Kasabian laughs quietly each time they show me falling, but he’s too smart to say anything.
I really hope Abbot can talk to someone about getting my mug off the screen.
Finally, the news gets tired of me and moves on to other local merriment.
Some shitbird shot up the crowd at a food truck selling upscale southern food. Fried chicken, grits, hush puppies, the whole bit. Nine people shot. Six dead. The cops don’t think the shooter’s connected to the truck or anyone in the crowd. They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. I wonder who the little creep had a grudge against. It doesn’t matter. It’s always the same thing with these guys. His girlfriend left him. He lost his job. He ran out of toothpaste. The news show puts up a yearbook photo of the guy’s face over the bodies in the street. I don’t need to see him. Ninety-nine percent of these guys are the same. They cruise along in a bubble of dude-bro privilege, then can’t stand it when the world lets them know they’re nothing special. Then everyone has to pay.
However, there’s something else that bothers me: I recognize the truck. I ate there once, out at the La Cienega oil fields when I got a note more or less commanding me to come out and meet the Wormwood board of directors. They really rubbed it in too. Made a party of it. Had a circle of food trucks. A dining room table. The works. That was the day where Burgess and Sandoval explained to me how the world really worked. How Wormwood Investments works. That’s what gives me a bad feeling about this particular shooting.
Is this a message from Wormwood? Did someone see me on TV and decide to put me on notice? Try to provoke me into doing something stupid? Did they send that fucking angel after me or are they just having a good time, setting up a massacre to remind me that I can’t eat a taco without lining their pockets?
Or am I goi
ng down a paranoid rabbit hole? Maybe the shooting is just what it looks like. One more asshole with a gun and a grudge having a bloody tantrum?
I’m going to make myself crazy thinking like this. I can’t function wondering if everything I do and everything I think is one big Wormwood mindfuck.
What would be hilarious is if I brought the massacre to them. Kill them all in one big Night of the Long Knives dance party. The only problem there is that I don’t know how many of them there are. I met a few of the higher-ups, but for all I know they could be like Abbot and his Sub Rosa contacts, meaning they’re everywhere there’s money or power to be sucked up. That’s the only thing that makes sense. How else could they function? They’re everywhere all the time, like evil bastard Pinkertons. We Never Sleep.
And here I am again. Staring down into a swirling, paranoid rabbit hole.
I go upstairs and check on the box. It’s where I left it in my coat pocket. I take it and put it in the bottom drawer of the dresser with my extra guns. It’s not any more secure than my coat, but if anyone goes for it while I’m home, at least I know I can shoot the hell out of them.
The worst part of all of this is that every part of my brain and body wants to go back to the abandoned high school and get down into the fight pit with some big bruiser with something to prove and no damned sense. But I made a promise to Candy and to myself, so I light a Malediction instead.
I’m standing by the window, blowing the smoke into the street, when Brigitte calls. We talk for a minute and she suggests something even better to do. I toss the cigarette out the window and go downstairs.
It’s quiet in the storeroom when I knock on the door. Candy opens it and smiles when she sees me.
“What’s going on, TV star?”
“Please. That’s the last thing I want to hear.”
“Poor baby. You need a drink. Why don’t we go to Bamboo House after we finish practice?”
“Actually, Brigitte is over there with a friend and I’m kind of climbing the walls. I might head over there now.”
“Okay. We won’t be too much longer. I’ll meet you there.”
“Great. You’re sounding good in there, by the way.”
“No, I don’t, but I appreciate the sweet lie.”
“Anytime, baby.”
“But I am getting better, don’t you think?”
“I do.”