“Why are you asking about Mr. Babylon?” said the sharkskin suit.
Giselle didn’t miss a beat. “I just got to town. I’m a Marilyn and I heard that Mr. Babylon liked to work with the best people. Well, I’m the best.”
“Are you?” said the suit. “What’s his story?” he said, pointing the gun at Coop.
“He’s a Flasher. He’s good, but not as good as me. Do you know Mr. Babylon? Could you introduce us?”
The suit pointed the gun back at Giselle. “Never heard of the man. No one around here has. In fact, neither have you. Do you get me?”
“Completely,” said Coop. “We’re sorry to have upset you. And we certainly don’t want to trouble any nonexistent criminal kingpins.” He took Giselle’s hand. “Let’s go get that Slurpee you were talking about.”
The suit lowered the gun and they started out of the bar when he said, “Wait a second. You have a picture of Mr. Babylon? Who the hell are you?”
Coop turned around as the suit brought the gun back up and fired. He pushed Giselle out of the way and caught the blast square in the chest. A scream went up through the bar. Behind Coop, part of the wall was missing, the edges red hot. Coop felt Giselle beside him as she pulled out a tranq pistol and shot the suit in the neck. He collapsed before he got off another shot. Giselle ran over and pulled the guy up by the collar, talking to him rapidly. From the back of the bar, the werewolves in the nice suits were pushing through the crowd. Coop didn’t need an introduction to know that the suit and the wolves were there together. They closed in fast on Giselle.
Coop reached into his pocket and started throwing diamonds and cash into the air. The crowd dove for the loot as he grabbed Giselle and pulled her to her feet. They just made it out the door before Coop ran out of cash and rocks. He could just make out the wolves struggling toward them, trapped in the middle of the grabby, giddy crowd.
He couldn’t help himself. “Good doggies. Stay!”
They headed straight for the escalators and ran down most of the thirteen floors. Giselle grabbed Coop to keep him from sprinting through the lobby. When they hit the exit, they began running again, straight up the ladder and onto Hollywood Boulevard. Coop slammed Catherine Monvoisin’s star shut, and they stood there trying to catch their breath. An off-duty Spider-Man from the Chinese Theater down the block stared at them.
“Annual star inspection,” said Coop. “This one is A-OK. Say Hi to Aunt May for me.”
He and Giselle walked back along the Boulevard to her car by the Pantages. “You doing okay?” said Giselle.
“No.”
She stopped. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“I lost my Vin Mariani.”
She shoved him hard enough to rock him back a few steps. “That’s for being such an asshole.” Then she came over and hugged him. “And this is for taking the shot for me. How did you know it was a hex gun and not a regular one?”
“Babylon shot me with one just like it. You know, that might mean they know each other.”
Giselle gently stepped back out of Coop’s arms. They looked at each other a little awkwardly.
“Yeah. He does,” she said. “When he was all goofed up from the tranq, I got him to give me an address in Laurel Canyon. Want to go check it out?”
“Why not?” said Coop. “But the DOPS owes me about a billion dollars in cash and rocks. Are there expense forms for that kind of thing?”
Giselle reached into her purse and handed Coop a card. “This is my business American Express. If you don’t abuse it, you can use it until we get you reimbursed for the cash.”
“Can I buy some new clothes with it?”
“At this hour?”
“The Roosevelt has a twenty-four-hour place for high rollers who get Fatburger on their French cuffs. I was going to stop there.”
She nodded and gave him a brief smile. “Yeah. After we check out the address you can get some things. Just don’t go nuts.”
“Thanks.”
They got into the Honda and headed for Laurel Canyon. As they passed a yellow Prius, it did a U-turn and began following them.
An hour earlier, Jerry was by a Dumpster in an alley next to a bodega on Highland Avenue. A gray-haired wino with a bottle of Aquavit cradled in his arm was asleep on a flattened cardboard box. Jerry looked around, but didn’t see anyone else nearby.
“Excuse me,” he said to the sleeping drunk. “Excuse me.”
The old man opened his rheumy eyes and stared at him without moving. Jerry took another look around, hoping that maybe there was a concierge or docent who would tell him what to do. When none appeared, he turned back to the drunk.
“I’m looking for a place called Jinx Town. Do you know anything about it?”
“Never heard of it,” said the old man.
“Oh. I was told I could find it here.”
“Do you have anything?”
“What?” said Jerry.
In a surprisingly clear voice, the old man said, “Do. You. Have. Anything?”
“Oh. Right.”
The old man rolled his eyes.
Jerry took an old-fashioned movie theater ticket from his pants pocket. It was orange, grubby, and worn, like someone had found it in the gutter after a hard rain. Charlie, the drywall boss, had given it to him, and Jerry wasn’t sure if he wanted to give it to a dirty alley drunk. He handed it over. The old man tore the ticket in half and gave one of the pieces back to Jerry. He put it back in his pocket.
Without another word, the old man rolled over and slowly pulled himself onto his feet. He went around to the far side of the Dumpster and, laying all his weight on it, pushed it a few feet, revealing a hole in the wall. It was about three feet high. The old man waved for Jerry to go inside. He peered into the dark, but couldn’t see anything.
“You going, boy? I haven’t got all night,” said the old man.
Jerry had come too far and had taken too many chances to chicken out now. His broken ribs ached as he got down on all fours and crawled inside. At the entrance, the old man cleared his throat and held out his hand. Jerry took out a five-dollar tip and handed it to him. After inspecting it for a few seconds, the old man nodded and waved Jerry inside. Once he was in the hole, the old man rolled the Dumpster back into place.
Jerry closed his eyes and opened them. There was no difference in the pitch dark. He crawled for a few feet, then felt the space open up. Holding his hands out, he took a few tentative steps forward and touched something that felt like a wall. He ran his fingertips across it and hit something solid. A doorknob. Jerry twisted it and stepped through.
He was in a towering mall full of shops and restaurants. People and things sort of like people, but not quite, strolled by with bags and drinks. Charlie hadn’t been lying or high after all. Jerry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He’d made it all the way to Jinx Town. He brushed the dirt from his hands and knees and started walking.
Jerry went slowly, astonished by everything he saw, but trying not to look like one of the gawking hillbillies who crowded the streets of Hollywood overhead. Still, it was hard not to stare. When anyone, human or not, caught his gaze, Jerry lowered his eyes and walked on.
After making a complete circuit of the bottom floor, he got onto one of the escalators, went up a floor, and started walking again. Jerry wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. For now, it was enough that he’d made it this far and proven to himself that magic and the kind of people who lived with it every day were real. He wasn’t sure how he was going to prove that to anyone in his father’s congregation, but he’d worry about that later.
When he wasn’t people watching, Jerry window-shopped cluttered stores like Swank Skull and Witchateria. From what he could tell about a place called Terror Management Therapy, it seemed to sell a combination of dungeon equipment and office supplies. The staplers growled at him through the window and a ghost took dictation in a ball gag and manacles.
He went up a few more floors, moving quickly past
the wet and dry ones, up to a dark floor near the top of the mall.
Jerry stared into the moonlit distance trying to figure out where he was. He hovered around the guardrail overlooking the rest of the mall, wanting to venture into the dark, but for the moment happy to be near the light. But he knew Caleximus wouldn’t want him to come this far just to have his balls shrivel up. And if Tommy ever found out that he’d turned tail . . .
After a few deep breaths, Jerry got up enough nerve to move. He turned to walk into the dark . . . and ran straight into two horned mall cops.
“Are you sure you belong here, kid?” said the shorter of the two. Jerry froze midstep. What would Dad do now? he wondered. Instinctively, he reached into his shirt and pulled out his Caleximus pendant, holding it up so the horned mall cops could see. After a moment, the short cop looked at the tall one, who gave a nod.
“Okay. You have a nice day, sir,” said the short cop, and they both walked on. Jerry didn’t give them a chance to change their minds. He trotted into the darkness and whatever lay under the wan moon.
In fact, what lay beyond was a lot like what he’d seen below. Stores. Bars. Restaurants. There was a pretty girl at a cart giving out free samples of something. He thought about going over, but then caught a glimpse of her fangs. His gut did a backflip in a combination of fear and exhilaration. She’s a vampire, he thought. A real live vampire.
Jerry sat down by a fountain across from a store called Profondo Rosso. It seemed to be some kind of specialty butcher shop, with strange cuts of meat hanging in the window. Jerry didn’t look too closely at them . . . especially after he noticed some of them looking back at him. Water splashed on his pants and left red stains. He wiped it away and smelled his fingers. That’s not water. A switch got thrown in Jerry’s brain. Maybe this was a mistake after all. He’d wanted to prove the magic world was real, and he’d done it. Much more thoroughly than he’d ever imagined. There were other things he wanted, other things he’d come to see, but he couldn’t think of a single one of them right now. All he wanted to do was get back to the old drunk and go home.
When he stood, someone touched him on the shoulder. He would have liked to believe that the sound that came out of him was manly, and not the squeak of a dog’s toy, but he knew the sad truth of it.
He turned around to see that a group of six little girls in pigtails and gingham dresses formed a semicircle around him. “Hi,” said a redhead at the center of the group. “What’s your name?”
He stammered a couple of times before he got it out. “Jerry,” he said.
“Hi, Jerry,” said the redhead. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes. It’s my first time.”
“Really? So, you’re not meeting anyone? Nobody here knows you?”
His gut prodded him again. “Uh, yeah. Friends are in the butcher shop.”
“Fibber,” said a girl on the end. Jerry felt like he was being grilled by a bunch of Lizzie Bordens masquerading as Girl Scouts.
The little girls giggled and whispered to each other. “Why don’t we show you around?” said the redhead.
“Thanks,” said Jerry, suddenly wishing he’d listened to his balls earlier when they wanted to leave. “But I was just going.”
“But you just got here. And there’s so much more to see.”
“Thanks, but I really should be getting home.” Jerry started to get up and the little redhead pushed him back down harder than any little girl should have been able to.
“Ow,” said Jerry. “Wow. You’re really strong. What’s your name?”
“Pudding Tame. Ask me again and I’ll tell you the same.”
The little girls giggled, showing their fangs. Jerry couldn’t decide whether he wanted to run or faint. Running seemed pointless, but if he fainted he might look too much like a picnic lunch.
“Please don’t eat me,” he said.
The girls burst out laughing.
“That’s zombies, silly. They’re two floors down. Should we introduce you?”
“No?” said Jerry, not sure what to answer anymore. It was like he was taking his SATs all over again. He’d wanted to run then, too.
“Here’s the thing, Jerry,” said the redhead. “You only get to leave if you can come up with something better than that pretty throat of yours.”
Jerry pulled out his Caleximus pendant. The redhead frowned. “What’s that?”
“It’s a Caleximus thing,” said a brunette next to the redhead. “I’m not sure. I think they’re some kind of metal band.”
“Didn’t they play with Slayer on their last tour? They sucked,” she said, and all the little girls laughed.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Jerry,” said the redhead.
“I could beg. Just don’t tell my dad.”
The redhead sat down next to him on the fountain. “That sounds fun, but not quite enough.”
“I have money.”
“And I have an AmEx black card.”
“Wow. Even my dad doesn’t have one of those. You must have a really good credit rating.”
“An eight-fifty. What’s yours?”
Jerry started to lie, thought better of it, and said, “About a six.”
The redhead smiled. “You’re cute for a scaredy cat.”
“That’s me. The scarediest cat ever.”
The girl on the end said, “Enough with this stiff. Let’s drain him and go try on shoes.”
“Wait,” said Jerry. He hesitated for just a second. What he was contemplating was a sin of the highest order, but wouldn’t Caleximus reward him for his resourcefulness when the time came? And he really, really wanted to be alive for that. For anything, really. Jerry reached into his jacket and pulled out the silver ceremonial dagger he was supposed to use to kill the black boar. Giving away one of Caleximus’s relics was a big deal, but so was being a juice box for a bunch of pint-size brides of Dracula. He handed it to the redhead.
She held it up and light from across the mall threw a reflection onto her pale face. “Is this real silver?” she said.
“Yes. And full of dark power. It once belonged to our lord . . .”
“Yeah, yeah,” said the brown-haired girl. “It’s not a George Foreman grill, so don’t oversell it, pink boy.”
The redheaded girl nodded and handed the blade to a blond girl. “Not too shabby, Jerry. You just might live long enough to improve that credit rating. Now, why don’t you scoot back home to Grandma’s house before us big bad wolves eat you up for supper?”
He got up. “I will. Thanks. I’m going now.”
“Hit the bricks, loser,” said the brown-haired girl. “We still have to find dinner.”
Happy not to be turned into a flesh Popsicle, Jerry very slowly made his way through the crowd of little girls, trying not to turn his back on any of them and, realizing that was impossible, jerking his head from side to side trying to look at them all at once. That cracked the girls up. When he was clear of them, he ran for the escalator.
“Pussy!” shouted one. Fleeing, Jerry knew that he was in no position to argue the point.
Just as he passed a bar, a man and woman came running out. He wondered if they were running from another gang of moppets when he recognized one of them.
“Coop,” he whispered. “Coop.”
He took a few steps back and let the couple pass. They ran down the escalator, and after a moment’s pause, Jerry went down after them. They slowed as they crossed the lobby, and so did Jerry. When they went out one of the side exits, he waited a few seconds and followed them. They were climbing a ladder when he came out. When they were out of sight, he went up after them, pushing open a trapdoor at the top of the ladder, where he was shocked to find himself on Hollywood Boulevard.
Coop and the woman were half a block ahead, heading east. Jerry got as close to them as he safely could and when they crossed Highland Avenue, he darted down the street, jumped into his mother’s yellow Prius, and tore around the corner onto Hol
lywood Boulevard. Or, rather, gave chase as quickly as a Prius would allow. He followed the two of them, always keeping half a block behind, until they reached a darker section of the Boulevard. When Coop and the woman got into a Honda Civic and drove off, they headed the wrong way. So he held his breath, hoping there were no cops around, and pulled a fast U-turn.
Maybe Dad and the others won’t believe me about Jinx Town, but they’ll have to believe this.
TWENTY-FIVE
LAUREL CANYON PERCHED DIRECTLY ABOVE LOS ANGELES, one of the most expensive collections of winding hills and valleys in the country. Luckily, there were roads that twisted up and down the tortured ridges, or the only things that would have been there were hippies, backpackers, prairie dogs, and the occasional mountain lion dining on the aforementioned hippies, backpackers, and prairie dogs. Unfortunately, because of those roads and the billion-dollar real estate, the most common life-forms were douche bags, plastic surgeons, fading film producers, and labradoodles. Laurel Canyon had a long and colorful history, which is much too complex to go into here, except to say that it’s long and colorful, and that what’s in the history books was almost entirely wrong. The books go on about Indian tribes, the Spanish, the local wildlife, the local fauna, yet somehow leave out the inhabitants of Lemuria completely.
Lemuria was a large and ancient island nation in the Pacific, similar to Atlantis, but with better sushi and Wi-Fi. When Lemuria, also like Atlantis, sank (following a series of explosions from one particularly disastrous experiment aimed at using volcanoes to power Lemurialand, an amusement park that went bankrupt in a year because Lemurians were a dour people who left fun to those Atlantis creeps), the survivors sailed to what would someday be called Los Angeles. Finding the flatlands boring, the Lemurians settled in the canyons, which were much more like their island home. Not a people to leave well enough alone, they immediately began terraforming the land to make it even more like Lemuria. Although they were a scientifically advanced civilization, they weren’t big on seismology. After a few years of shifting hills, diverting underground rivers, and generally screwing around with the surface and substrata of the canyon, one afternoon they became intimately acquainted with a large fault line that cut straight through the canyon and swallowed the Lemurian survivors and most of their sprawling castles.