The Getaway God

  “But you’re out there and I’m in here.”

  “I’ll get you out. I’ll make a deal with Wells. He needs me to work the 8 Ball. I’ll blackmail him to Hell and back if I have to, to get you out.”

  She smiles faintly.

  “That’s sweet.”

  I want to ask her about some of the other things she said the other night. Cursing Doc. Cursing me. But I don’t want to hear any of it again right now. We’re having a not-­totally-­fucked-­up moment and it feels so fragile. One wrong word could blow it away and I don’t want to do that.

  “I’m going to figure this out.”

  “I heard someone say Mason Faim is back.”

  “Ain’t life grand?”

  “At least he’s locked up too. I’d be a little distressed if I was in a cell and they’d put him up in our room at the Chateau Marmont.”

  She comes back to the bars.

  “Well, he doesn’t look so good right now. He tripped and fell into a wall a ­couple of times.”

  She smiles and wraps her arms around herself.

  “Did I say something wrong the other night? I can’t remember and you’re acting funny. What happened?”

  I shake my head.

  “You didn’t say anything. I’m just worried is all.”

  “If I said anything to hurt you, I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know.”

  “You forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “You’re lying, but that’s okay. Us jailbirds need the occasional hopeful lie.”

  She puts her hand up against the net and holds it there. I reach out for her.

  The cellblock door slides open and I pull my hand back.

  “Stark,” says Julie. “It’s time to go.”

  “Thanks for coming to see me,” says Candy.

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  “If I’m not out by Christmas, bake me a gingerbread man with a file in it.”

  “Baby, I’ll bake you a neutron bomb.”

  She stands at the bars watching until the door closes.

  I walk with Julie back to the empty office.

  “Thanks for letting me see her.”

  “Just remember. If anyone asks, you were talking to her about Mason.”

  “They really think she’s working with Mason?”

  “All Lurkers are suspect right now. If you’re not human, you might as well be an Angra.”

  “If any of those fuckers tries to hurt her . . .”

  “They’re all too scared of you and Wells to do that, but I won’t lie to you. Her chances of getting out of here get worse every day. Homeland Security is talking about renditioning captured Lurkers to camps out in the deep desert. The only way they won’t come for her is if I can make it look like she’s part of your work.”

  “I won’t forget this.”

  “I won’t let you forget. You’re going to owe me plenty before this is over.”

  “I already do.”

  “Just remember that when I reopen my detective agency.”

  She opens the attaché case and hands me my gun and other toys.

  Would someone be stupid enough to try and rendition Candy? No. That’s not going to happen. I’ll let the Angra in myself before that happens and I’ll go Saint Nick on anyone who gets in my way.

  As Julie and I come out of the office, Wells is going by with a gaggle of his pencil pushers. He stops when he sees us.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Marshal Sola?”

  “Yes, sir,” she says, and disappears like she never saw me.

  “How about you, Stark? Shouldn’t you be with Mason doing your job?”

  “I was just going in to see him.”

  “Did you hear what happened last night?”

  “Do tell.”

  He hands a thick manila envelope to one of his lackeys.

  “It looks like Mason tried to pull some pixie magic. Shut down our surveillance for almost an hour and locked himself in his cell.”

  “That naughty boy.”

  “That he is. There’s just one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He wrote a spell in blood, but the only cut we could find on him was a scratch on his little finger. And he had a black eye and some bruised ribs. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “Maybe he fell off his bunk.”

  Wells purses his lips like he’s thinking.

  “That’s what he said. I guess accidents happen. We just need to make sure they never happen again or we’ll have to transfer all the other prisoners out of this facility. You understand?”

  “Yeah. I get it.”

  “Are we done here?”

  “I was done five minutes ago.”

  Wells takes my arm and leads me aside.

  “Go in there and win today. The Shonin isn’t looking so good. He’s drinking that lousy poison book because you’re not coming up with the goods. Get something useful today.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Don’t work on it. Do it.”

  He lets go and moves off with his suits. I’ll give him one thing. He’s got quite a grip.

  EVERY TIME I walk into Mason’s cell I half expect to see one of the meat cathedrals. Pink light glowing off his smug face. Flayed guards hung upside down in narrow naves. It’s almost disappointing when the door opens and it’s the same flat fluorescent light as always. I think I’d prefer an Angra butcher shop. We’d be somewhere real, where the consequences of our games—­the ones on the table and the ones we’re playing in each other’s head—­are laid out, bare and raw, on cards made of skin and chips carved from bones. But no, we’re in a dismal cell, playing Old Maid like we have all the time in the world.

  Mason is at his table, handcuffs secured to the top again. He doesn’t seem to mind. He looks up and smiles when he sees me.

  Wells was telling the truth. Mason’s eye is black and the sclera is red from a broken blood vessel. He moves from his shoulders, like he has a stiff back. Well, my hand still itches a little from where I punched out the car window, so in my book we’re even.

  There’s a deck of cards on the table.

  “More poker?” I say. “I already beat you at that. Wait. I forgot. It’s all the Infinite Game. I’ll have to infinitely beat you again.”

  “These cards aren’t exactly what we should be playing with, but we can make them work,” he says. Then his voice goes raspy and guttural. “The game is called Take and Give.”

  Mason is speaking Hellion. I forgot that he could do that. Hearing it come out of his mouth brings back bad memories of him running Hell, me chasing Alice’s soul, and losing my arm.

  I speak Hellion back to him. Whoever is monitoring the room is scrambling for dictionaries and flipping on supercomputers for voice analysis, but they’re going to be shit out of luck.

  “A Hellion game? I never heard of it.”

  “Aristocrats played it, but you killed off most of the ­people who might’ve taught it to you.”

  “How does it work?”

  Mason cuts the cards, breaks the deck, and slides half the cards to me.

  “I take something from you and then I give you something. A card in this case. Hellion cards are more interesting, but we’ll just have to make do. You take something from me and give me something. The one with the most at the end wins.”

  “What am I giving and taking?”

  “Anything.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’ll get the hang of it. I’ll go first so you’ll see how it works.”

  He lays his hand on his cards.

  “I take your heart and give you . . .”

  He draws a card.

  “A three of s
pades. Your turn.”

  “That’s it? That doesn’t tell me anything.”

  “Just try it.”

  I keep waiting for him to laugh in my face and explain the real game, but he just sits there. I draw a card.

  “I take your lace doily and give you . . .”

  I throw down the card.

  “A two of diamonds.”

  “See? It’s easy. I take your eyes and . . .”

  He draws a card.

  “Give you an ace of clubs.”

  I take a card.

  “I take your bullshit and give you a nine of hearts.”

  “Fun, isn’t it?”

  “It’s fucking ridiculous.”

  “I take your arrogance and give you a jack of hearts.”

  “How do we know who’s won? How do we add up the points?”

  “I’ll show you when we get through the deck. By the way, the winner gets to take one of the loser’s fingers. Your stunt last night is what reminded me of the game.”

  “The guards won’t let us have knives.”

  “Then the winner will just have to gnaw off his prize.”

  We play a few more hands and the game doesn’t make any more sense than when we started. I can’t find a pattern in the taking or giving. Mason is tossing out numbers, body parts, places, and animals. There’s nothing I can do but follow his lead.

  “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

  “Did you always know what you were doing in the arena? Just keep going.”

  I draw a card.

  “I don’t believe you about Candy, by the way.”

  “Believe what you want. You heard what she said.”

  “Whatever you drugged her with, it scrambled her brain. That wasn’t truth coming out. It was paranoid hallucinations or something.”

  “She’s a creature that needs shelter. Her doctor friend, Kinski, died. You were convenient. Don’t mistake refuge for love.”

  “I take you trying to mind-­fuck me and give you a six of clubs.”

  “You should take this more seriously. Remember sweet Alice? Thinking about her let me beat you once before. All these little ­people you think you care about now are ruining your concentration. Don’t make the same mistake you made eleven years ago.”

  We run through a few more nonsense hands. I’m not going to win. I have to salvage something from this.

  “Tell me about Blackburn.”

  “The late great. What about him?”

  “Why did you kill him?”

  “Did I?”

  He takes my soul and throws a five.

  “Saint Nick sure did. And I know there’s not another Saint Nick because you have too big an ego for that.”

  “The reason for killing Blackburn should be obvious. Without the Augur, the Sub Rosas will panic and split into factions, attacking each other. Of course, I’ve been busy. How do you know it wasn’t my friends who killed Blackburn?”

  “Der Zorn Götter? Forget it. I’ve seen their hoodoo and it would take more than that to get to the Augur.”

  “If anyone needed to get to him.”

  “An inside job? Ishii is an asshole, but he’s better at his job than that.”

  “Play,” he says.

  “I take your sense of satisfaction and give you a queen of spades.”

  “Now you’re talking,” says Mason. “Of course, what if Ishii was Saint Nick? For a few minutes, I mean.”

  “Possession? I don’t buy it. One of his ­people would have noticed if he showed up for lunch with a chain saw and twenty feet of intestines.”

  “I was just throwing out hypotheticals. No. Ishii isn’t a good candidate at all. No. You’d want someone who can come and go and get as close to Blackburn as they want.”

  “Tuatha?”

  Mason rests his hand on his cards for a minute before moving. His heart is beating faster.

  “Poor dear. Having your soul ripped out the way Aelita did to her, well, you’re never quite right in the head again.”

  “You made Tuatha kill her own husband?”

  “I take your disbelief and give you a four of diamonds.”

  He throws down the card.

  “I didn’t say Tuatha was made to do anything. We were just speculating on the best subject for a possession. Besides, the key is in Hell.”

  “But you know who has it. And you could get a message to them.”

  “If you say so.”

  “If Tuatha did it, where’s the body?”

  “You’re not playing.”

  “I take your lies and give you a ten of hearts.”

  “The Blackburns have a lovely mansion,” he says. “You’d be surprised how well these modern garbage disposals deal with bones.”

  I look at Mason, trying to read him. The light is shitty in here and I can’t get a good look at his eyes. But his heartbeat is up and he’s not sweating. It’s not fear that’s getting him excited.

  I say, “What are the chances she’d ever remember doing something like that?”

  He draws a breath. Moves his wrists in the cuffs where they’re rubbing the skin raw.

  “Who knows? Besides, now that I think about it, it was probably me. I’ve killed so many they tend to blur together.”

  “You’re really having fun, aren’t you?”

  “The time of my life. You know, in Tartarus I was adrift. Truly going mad. All I wanted was some sense of control. And now I have it and it feels great.”

  He draws a card.

  “Now that I think about it, yes, I did kill Blackburn. I’m sure of it. Still, you might want to ask Tuatha about the clogged kitchen plumbing. Terrible timing too. While she’s planning her husband’s funeral and all.”

  “All these lies. They’re obvious and boring.”

  “Is our biblical flood boring?”

  “You’re not claiming credit for the rain, are you?”

  “No. That’s the Angra. Just their approach brings calamity. Can you imagine what it will be like when they arrive?”

  “It’s like you’ve got Tourette’s. All the shit that comes out of your mouth.”

  “I take your fear and give you the king of spades.”

  “I take your never seeing daylight again and give you a deuce of clubs.”

  “Tell the lovely Ms. Fortune to count her nightgowns. I bet she’ll find one missing. Covered in blood and down the drain with her hubby’s guts. Your turn.”

  I don’t want to believe him, but he seems to be telling the truth. Maybe he meant what he said. Tartarus made him even crazier than when I put him in. He talks like a suicidal Hellion. Does he want me to kill him or does he want to kill himself? I’ll tell Wells to put more guards on him.

  “You think you’re coming on like the Devil, but you sound more like a bawling brat.”

  “That’s something else you took from me,” Mason says. “My chance to become Lucifer and move my legions against Heaven.”

  “Heaven would have destroyed you. I saved your life.”

  “Thanks oodles. I take your humanity and give you a four of spades.”

  I keep trying to make sense of it all, the game and Mason. What does he really want? My brain vapor locks. I can’t think of what to bet.

  “You’re not doing very well today,” he says.

  “You said there weren’t any rules in this infinite crap.”

  “Like life, there are always rules. They are just not necessarily logical. But you’re even less logical than usual.”

  “I think you just made up this game as payback for last night.”

  “Does that mean you forfeit?”

  The cell door opens and the Shonin shuffles in. If a skeleton can look more skeletal, that’s how he looks. Blackened skin flakes off his face. His hands tremb
le and he has trouble walking in a straight line. He stops and leans against the wall. I go over to him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You need to stop this foolishness. Your personal feelings for the girl and your past with Mason are making you unfit for work. You should go. Let me play him.”

  “Even if you’re right, he won’t play you. This whole thing is to show me up.”

  “I’ll play him,” says Mason.

  The fucker always did have good hearing.

  “I mean, if you’re incapacitated. Besides, the game is almost over. There’s just a few more hands.”

  “Let me finish,” says the Shonin.

  He takes a step toward the table and his legs give out. I grab him by the shoulders and lift him up. He’s just bones and robes. He weighs nothing. By the time I have him up, the cell door is open and guards are coming in, their guns drawn.

  The Shonin punches me in the shoulder. It’s so feeble I wouldn’t have known it happened if I hadn’t seen it.

  “Put me down.”

  I set him on his feet.

  “I’ll finish with the book,” he says. “I’m learning great things. But you must play the game. I can’t do both.”

  “Go and lie down, old man. Let me handle this.”

  The guards help the Shonin out, locking the door behind him.

  “That was dramatic,” says Mason. “He’s even more pathetic than you and Muninn. Always running to help the older gents. Those daddy issues run deep.”

  “You know if you call the Angra, they’ll kill you too.”

  “All those L.A. good vibes you’ve picked up have made you afraid of death. But death is what you and I do.”

  There’s only one thing I haven’t tried.

  “Forget it. I quit. You win.”

  Mason cocks his head like he’s waiting for me to say something else. He sighs and pushes his cards away.