Aloha From Hell (26 page)

Medea walks to the curb and swings out her arm like a maître d’.

“I won’t stop you, but remember this. When your final judgment arrives, I won’t come for you. You’ll be the one who comes to me, and of your own free will.”

“So no hug good-bye?”

I pull the door closed and turn the ignition. The Geo coughs a few times, but the engine finally catches. Medea knocks on the passenger window and I push the button to lower it.

“We’ll see each other much sooner than you think,” she says.

“Super. You bring balloon animals and I’ll hire clowns. It’ll be a party.”

I steer the Geo around the wrecked van. The frat boy on the curb finally figured out someone to call. Blood runs down his forehead and drips onto his phone, but he looks relieved. There’s a siren in the distance.

I turn right at the corner and steer the Geo onto the freeway.

T
HINKING ABOUT DEATH
makes a ride go by fast. Thinking about your own death—even if it’s supposed to be temporary—makes it fly by like a cheetah with a jet pack>

You’d think that with all my connections to the celestial sphere, I’d have a better handle on death. But I don’t know anything. I didn’t die in Hell and since then I’ve lived through every kind of attack, abuse, and humiliation Hellions, humans, and hell beasts could pile on. After you’ve been shot, stabbed, slashed, burned, and almost zombified and survived it all, death gets kind of abstract. It’s like valentines and diplomas. Something other people have to deal with. But now it’s my turn to ride the pale horse and I have serious reservations about it.

Every day I walk down Hollywood Boulevard and see civilians making themselves crazy worrying about the meetings they’re late for or did they put the rent check in the mail or is their ass starting to sag and I think, “I’ve seen the creaky clockwork that turns the stars and planets. I’ve gotten drunk with the devil and body-slammed angels. I’ve seen the Room of Thirteen Doors at the center of the universe. I know the taste of my own blood as well as you know your favorite wine. I’ve seen so much more than you’ll ever see. I know so much more than you’ll ever know.” And then it hits me like a runaway semi. I don’t know anything that matters. Here I am thinking how much better and smarter I am than all the stuffed-shirt meat puppets wandering L.A. and I remember that there’s a billion people who haven’t done a tenth of the things I’ve done but who know the big answer to the big question: What happens when you die? I’ve seen fragments of it. I stood in the desert of Purgatory with Kasabian after he died and before Lucifer brought him back. But that doesn’t count. That was someone else’s death and Purgatory was just a projection of the afterlife created by my spell. Not the real thing. I’ve seen death a thousand times, and almost snuffed it myself, but I’ve never made it through all the way, and that scares me.

Are sex and death connected? Hell yes. They’re the two things in the world you can’t explain. You only know them by experiencing them. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have asked Mustang Sally if I could trade this death trip for having to relose my virginity at the crossroads. Easy. Any fun girl would be up for that. Instead of driving to my doom in a mom’s powder-blue shit wagon, I could be back in Hollywood, stumbling down the street with a grin, a beer, and a frustrated boner, trying to lure drunken dollies into a night of black-magic freeway lust. But no, I didn’t think of that and now I’m stuck on a backed-up interstate with what Medea said about Alice banging around in my head and wondering what this steering wheel is going to taste like when my face smashes into it at a hundred miles an hour.

I
T HAPPENS ON
West Adams as I’m closing in on the crossroads underpass at I-10 and Crenshaw.

The light bar on top of a cop car flashes in my rearview mirror.

Maybe he’s looking for someone else.

His sirenn">His bleeps twice.

“Pull over.”

The cop’s voice comes out of the car’s bullhorn sounding like a bigger and angrier version of the robot in Candy’s glasses.

“Pull over.”

The one time I don’t steal a car this is what happens. That’s the lesson for tonight. Anytime I try to do something like a regular person, I get fucked for it. Never again.

I slow down, but I don’t pull over. Every nerve in my body is vibrating, telling me to jam the accelerator and leave these shitbirds in my dust. But I can stomp this accelerator from now until the sun burns out and there still won’t be any dust. This three-speed rowboat would lose a drag race to a crippled monkey on a Big Wheel.

I pull over and cut the engine. The patrol car stops behind me. The driver aims the car’s outside spotlight at my side mirror, blinding me. I unclamp the angel a little and its eyes cut right through the glare.

Two cops in the car. Both male. One is young and wiry with a close-cropped flattop. He’s more excited than he should be at a simple traffic stop. Probably a recent cop school graduate.

The driver, the one getting out, is heavier. A bit of a donut gut, but he’s got at least fifty pounds of muscle over his partner. The older cop showing a young pup the ropes. Shit. I’m probably one of his life lessons. Any other night, this
Romper Room
scene would be playing out somewhere else. I should have pulled over when I saw the lights go on.

I roll down the window. The cop comes up on me sticking close to the car. Smart. If he came in wide, I could reach for a weapon and shoot before he had a chance to get his gun out. Sidling up like he is, I’d have to turn around in my seat to get a shot off and he’d put six slugs in the back of my head before I could say, “Ouch.”

The cop has his flashlight out, held in an underhand grip so he can swing it like a club. He shines the light in my face then lowers it a few inches, leaving me temporarily night-blind.

“Evening, sir. Did you know that your left taillight is out?”

“No, I didn’t. Thank you. I’ll get it fixed first thing tomorrow.”

He’s unmoved by my diplomacy.

“May I see your license and registration, please?”

“This isn’t my car.”

“Whose is it?”

“A friend’s. He’s a priest.”

“Is he? May I see your license, then?”

Here it comes.

“I don’t have a license.”

The light goes back into my eyes. I turn my head this time so I won’t go blind. When I look back, the cop has backed away a little from the car. He’s lowered the flashlight and his other hand is resting lightly on the grip of his gun.

“Have you been drinking tonight, sir?”

“Nope.”

“Please step out of the vehicle.”

“I told you already. I don’t have a license. None. No bank account. No credit cards. No insurance. No library card. No magazine subscriptions. I’m legally dead, so technically I don’t need a goddamn license.”

His hands close on the pistol grip. His breathing and heart rate are rising, but his mind is calm and focused. I can’t read it, but I can get a feel, and he’s all concentration. The young cop could do worse than learning from this guy, but I don’t have time to compliment either of them on their keen professionalism.

“Step out of the vehicle, sir.”

He says it with a lot more gusto this time.

I say, “Listen, man.” But that’s all I get out. The cop goes flying over the hood of my car and into the weeds on the other side.

I get out. Josef is there with his perfectly coiffed Nazi hair.

“Why are you wasting time with these people? Kill them and go on,” he says.

“I wasn’t going to kill them. I was going to knock their heads and lock them in the trunk of their car.”

“You enjoyed killing Kissi so much before, but when you had nowhere else to go, you asked us for our help. Now we’re on the same side and you won’t kill a couple of humans who would happily shoot you.”

I flick the burning Malediction butt at him. He looks more surprised at that than he did when I cut off his head.

“You and your whole race were off floating around in the universe like dust. You wanted my deal. And I killed Kissi before because you’re unreasonable psycho fucks and you were on Mason’s side.”

I look over at the cop lying in the weeds.

“These guys I could have handled without anyone having t thone havo go to the emergency room.”

Which reminds me.

A door opens and slams. The rookie cop is out of the patrol car, his gun cocked and ready. Josef heads right for him.

“Stop where you are!” the rookie shouts. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

Josef is almost on him.

“Stop!”

The rookie fires twice. Exit wounds punch fist-size holes out of the back of Josef’s designer shirt, but he never stops moving. I can hear the rookie’s neck snap from all the way over here. I go over to the curb to check on the older cop. He’s unconscious, but his heart is beating.

“Get away from him and do what you came here to do!” shouts Josef.

He heads for me, but he’s been shot and he’s a little slow. I get to him first. Squeezing his throat with one hand and his balls with the other, I flip him up and over the front of the cop car. He rolls and smashes the windshield. Before he can scramble off, I grab his ankle and spin, tossing him into the back of the Metro. He bounces off it and takes a swing at me, but he’s off balance. I slip his blow and punch him in the throat. He falls to his knees.

“Don’t ever just walk in and take over a situation I have in hand. Understand?”

He nods, trying to remind his throat how to breathe.

“And don’t tell me how to do what I do. I invited you here, but it’s still my tea party. It might not look like it to you sometimes, but I know what I’m doing. Got it?”

Josef nods. Resting his elbows on the Metro, he pulls himself to his feet. He’s still unsteady, so I lean him back against the car, playing concerned dad now that the kid’s been put in his place. The truth is I don’t know what I’m doing two-thirds of the time, but I’d never admit that to a Kissi. What I need to do is calm Hermann Göring down.

I say, “You’re going to get to do a lot more killing soon. And against a lot more fun and interesting opponents than these two. When it’s over, you’ll have Hell and your own kingdom again. That is if you don’t get trigger-happy and Fuck. Up. Everything. Do you know where Eleusis is?”

Josef nods.

“When I get Downtown that’s where I’m heading. Wait for my signal there. Got it?”

“Yes,” he says. If his eyes could walk out of his head, they’d march over here and strangle me with my own intestines.

llsr="#000I take his hand and drop Traven’s car keys in them.

“Do you remember the hotel where you came to see me?”

“Yes.”

“Drive this car over there and leave it on the street. Leave the keys under the driver’s seat.”

He looks at the keys like I just shoveled dog shit into his hand.

“Why would I do that? I’m not your errand boy.”

“Because it’s not an errand. It’s a loose end and loose ends are what ruin plans and get people hurt. Understand?”

He takes the keys and gets into the Metro.

Before he closes the door he says, “Go to Hell.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

As he heads out I check on the older cop. His heart and breathing are on the low end, but steady. I take the car keys off his belt and go back to the patrol car.

Inside, I reach across the laptop bolted between the seats and unhook the mike from the dashboard.

“Officers down at the corner of Adams and Eleventh Street. One is alive but hurt and the other is pretty much dead. For the record, I didn’t do either one of them, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you who did.”

The cop’s communication unit crackles. I look for an off button but can’t find one, so I kick everything on the dashboard until the noise stops. While I’m in Hulk mode, I punch the shattered windshield out of the way. The safety glass comes out in one piece. I shove it across the hood and let it fall on the side of the road.

Sorry, boys. I really wanted both of you to go home tonight. But sometimes pianos really do fall from the sky and sometimes you’re the Coyote and catch it in the teeth. I’ve been there plenty of times. If I see you on the other side, I owe you a drink. If not, maybe it’ll help knowing I’m about to do something that’s really going to hurt.

I start the patrol car and the Crown Vic’s V-8 engine screams. This is what I need for a Black Dahlia. This is the right way to leave, like Vidocq likes to say,
le merdier
. I slam the car into drive and floor it, smoking the tires and fishtailing down the street before I get hold of the thing. Suicide is still a goddamn scary idea, but burning rubber in a cop car at least makes it a little more fun.

Crenshaw is up ahead.

Candy flashes in my head. Red-slash eyes in black ice. Mad-dog teeth in my shoulder. Yes, I’m leaving you for another woman, buacrer womat she’s dead and it’s only for three days and I’m coming back. I promise.

Shut up. Not the time for that. I push her back with the angel.