Killing Pretty (39 page)

They both laugh.

“No,” says Sandoval. “Wormwood is only for important ­people.”

I remember a man I once met. They said he was the richest man in California.

“I bet Norris Quay was part.”

Burgess picks up his whiskey and sniffs it.

“He still is. Our man in Hell, scouting for new investment opportunities.”

I copy Burgess and finish the rest of my drink.

“So, all the White Lights killing ­people, Vincent and McCarthy, Tykho's crazy Nazi past, the battle for death, all those poor semidead slobs caught in limbo, all the ghosts destroyed in the club—­all that meant nothing?”

Sandoval picks pieces off my chicken with her fingernails. Swallows them.

“Not nothing,” she says. “They were each a factor in an investment decision. Think of it this way. There is war in the Middle East and there are pirates in Somali that seize oil tankers. They both affect the price of oil, but that's all. There's always been war and there will always be pirates. No one particular thing is special. But if you understand the markets, there's always profit and power to be had no matter who wins.”

“The simple point is, Stark, there's nothing you can do or not do that won't benefit us,” says Burgess. “Live. Die. Fight for truth, justice, and the American way, put down a zombie hullabaloo, or drown in a bottle. Your actions since your return have made you an investment factor. Even showing up here today made me a few shekels. Kominsky over there thought we'd have to send a riot squad after you.”

Burgess shouts to someone down the table.

“Here he is, Pieter. Don't forget to pay up.”

Pieter, a fat young man in a Caesar haircut, looks up.

“Don't bother me. I'm eating.”

The crowd laughs quietly. I don't.

I say, “But Vincent killed McCarthy. You're not going to live forever.”

“Please,” says Sandoval. “We're not naive. We hedged the hell out of that fight and came out fine.”

“Because we always do,” say Burgess. “And there are other roads to immortality that we're exploring.”

“Why are you telling me all these things? Did you bring me out here to kill me?”

“Of course not. You're much too valuable. We just thought it was time for you to know who you've really been working for all this time.”

“You're not part of the Golden Vigil, are you?”

“Who knows?” he says.

“No. You'd tell me if you were. You're fucking with me to see what will happen.”

“We just want you motivated and interesting.”

“Did you have anything to do with Mason killing Alice or sending me to Hell?”

“I wish we'd seen that one coming.”

“When you lived . . . well, it's our job to spot a good investment,” says Sandoval. “We've had our eyes on you for almost twelve years now. Your exploits in the arena did well for us.”

Burgess says, “Of course, we had to adjust our strategy when you kept winning.”

“I hope you don't mind that we rigged a few of your fights. I mean, you had to lose sometimes to keep ­people betting. But don't be too mad. We were the ones who suggested to Azazel that he give you the key to the Room of Thirteen Doors. You weren't his first choice.”

“So really, you owe us,” Burgess says.

“You sicced the county on us, didn't you? The fucking eminent domain.”

Burgess holds up his hands.

“Guilty as charged.”

“You were getting too comfortable. The market was slumping,” says Sandoval.

“And we're the ones rescinding county's order, so calm down. You did enough for us getting Vincent and McCarthy together.”

“Rescind Julie's order too.”

“Of course.”

My head hurts. I wonder for a second if they put something in my drink. No. They said they weren't out to get me, and as insane as they are, what profit would there be for them?

“Do either of you have an aspirin?”

Burgess calls down the table, “Does anyone have an aspirin?”

Lots of shrugs and shaking heads.

“Sorry,” he says. “We don't really get sick.”

Sandoval says, “Technically, we do. But we have ­people who do it for us.”

“A sort of Dorian Gray situation,” says Burgess. “Surely you know that story.”

“That's a movie I've seen.”

“Excellent.”

I look around at Geoffrey Burgess and Eva Sandoval, at their friends, the food, and oil pumps. All the miserable trappings of their astonishing power and wealth. I haven't eaten much today. The whiskey is dancing around in my stomach.

“Thanks for lunch. Can I go now?”

“Of course. No one is keeping you here,” says Sandoval.

“Okay. Then I'm going.”

I get up and start walking.

“Safe driving,” she calls.

“Yes. Remember to take your vitamins,” Burgess yells. “We want you bright-­eyed and bushy-­tailed.”

Before I go around the first set of oil pumps, I turn and give them all the finger. More laughter and applause.

Black smoke coils up into the sky and blows down Stocker Street. I walk to the shoulder of the road.

The Crown Vic is on fire. Fully engulfed. Don't bother calling an ambulance. The patient cannot be resuscitated. I stare at it for a ­couple of minutes.

It's a mild day. In the midsixties. My head and my arm hurt. I wish I'd brought some of Allegra's pills along. I start walking to Hollywood.

I'm not more than a few hundred feet down the road when some genius starts honking at me. I flip him off and keep walking. He honks again. I reach under my coat. Maybe I can scare him away with the Colt.

I turn and sitting a few feet away in a red 1960 Ferrari 250 GT is Thomas Abbot. He's as young and handsome and posh as ever. I want to hate him, but I'm too tired.

He rolls down his window.

“Need a lift?”

“How did you know where I'd be?”

“Wormwood isn't the only one keeping tabs on you. Get in.”

I consider it and decide that if Abbot wanted me dead too, he could have just run me over.

I go around to the passenger side of the Ferrari and get in.

“Nice wheels.”

“Awesome wheels,” he says.

He rolls up his window and hits the accelerator. The car takes off like a rocket and he pilots it like someone who's been doing it for a while.

“Did you burn my car so you could give me a ride back?”

“No. But I saw who did it.”

“Who?”

“Audsley Isshii.”

Some ­people seriously need to get a new hobby.

“I wonder why he didn't wait till I was in the car before he lit it up.”

“Because I told him I'd be upset if he did that.”

“Thanks. Why?”

“You did a good job with Death.”

“You think?”

“Of course. ­People have started dying in droves. They estimate almost a hundred thousand since last night.”

“I haven't watched the news since yesterday.”

“You ought to.”

“That's what my boss says.”

“Speaking of bosses, have you had a chance to reconsider my job offer?”

“Honestly, no. It's been an eventful few days.”

“I can match and beat any offer anyone else makes you.”

“Why do you want me so much?”

“I just told you. You handled the Death case so deftly.”

“And because Wormwood is so hot for me.”

“That too.”

I think about it as we drive.

“How's Tamerlan Radescu doing?” I say.

Abbot glances at me.

“All right, I suppose. Why do you ask?”

“What I mean is, is Radescu on your payroll?”

“No. He came around offering his ser­vices, but I don't have any use for a Dead Head. How did you know about that?”

“He was heading to your boat when I was leaving.”

“Ah, right. He and my father were close, but we're not. He's turned into a mean old bastard. I don't need that around.”

I nod, wishing I could see his eyes so it would be easier to tell if he was lying.

My arm throbs.

“If you were right there, why did you let Isshii burn my car?”

“I wouldn't have if you'd been one of my employees. It would have been my obligation to step in.”

We drive for a while longer.

“Do you have any aspirin?”

“In the glove compartment.”

I find the bottle and dry-­swallow four pills.

“Give me twenty-­four hours,” I say.

“That's fair. Where should I drop you?”

“My boss's place so I can tell her about the car. It's in Silver Lake.”

“Let's go.”

I spend the rest of the drive wondering who's started killing ­people again.

A
BBOT DROPS ME
outside of Julie's building and heads off to do important Augur stuff, like sipping drinks on his yacht.

I head upstairs. Julie must have the security cams on because Candy meets me at the top of the stairs.

“You look terrible. What are you doing out of bed?” she says.

“I'm fine. I just need to sit down.”

She pulls a chair over by Julie's desk and I drop down into it.

Julie pushes her coffee my way. I drink some and nod thanks.

“She's right, Stark. You don't look good. What do you need that we couldn't talk about on the phone?”

I take the keys to the Crown Vic out of my pocket and slide them across the desk.

“Here are your keys. You'll probably be getting a notice from city impound. Maybe a junkyard.”

She takes the keys and drops them in a drawer.

“Where's the car?”

“What's left of it is out on La Cienega. I had to get a ride back with a friend.”

“Who?” says Candy.

“Thomas Abbot.”

That gets Julie's attention. She writes something down on a yellow legal pad.

“I'm torn here, Stark. Despite all the time you didn't listen to my orders and went off on your own, you did a lot of the heavy lifting when it came to solving this case. You handled some very dangerous ­people and helped reinstate Death to his rightful place. And your information helped to shut down the White Light Legion. Congratulations. You really put the agency on the map.”

Candy reaches over and squeezes my hand.

“Thanks. Just happy to be part of the team, boss.”

“With that in mind, I have a ­couple of announcements. First, Chihiro isn't an intern anymore. I'm hiring her full-­time.”

I look over at Candy. She's practically beaming.

“That's great news, babe. You deserve it.”

“Also, Stark, you're fired.”

“What?” says Candy. “Why?”

“For all the reasons I listed before. You never listen to anybody. You lost me a perfectly good car. You lied about where Vincent's heart was and you interfered with a Vigil raid. Plus, I'm sure there are a dozen other things I don't know about.”

“At least a dozen,” I say. “Two things, though. First, what did you think was going to happen when you saddled me with a cop car? Second, don't take any of this out on Allegra. If you give her a chance, she'll be a great tenant.”

“It's all right,” says Candy.

“Yes, we talked the other day while you were out,” says Julie. “She's moving in at the end of the month.”

I get up and take out a Malediction.

“By the way, I got your eminent domain called off.”

“How?”

“Don't worry about it.”

I walk to the stairs, turn back to her.

“There's just one more thing.”

“What?” says Julie.

“Vincent is dead.”

“Then who's Death?”

“I have no idea. See you around.”

W
E SPEND THE
night at the Beat Hotel and move back into Max Overdrive the next morning. I'm still walking wounded for a ­couple more days, so we schedule the reopening and Candy's new-­job party for the weekend.

Carlos gets there first and sets up a sound system. I thought he was just bringing a boom box with some Martin Denny and Les Baxter. Candy is thrilled. I'm happy she's happy, but plan to spend a fair amount of time outside smoking.

A little after six, Allegra and Vidocq are the next to arrive. They have Brigitte with them.

“Let me see your arm,” says Allegra.

I flex a few times as she pokes, prods, and does generally uncomfortable doctor stuff to me. After a few minutes she seems satisfied.

“You're almost back to your old self. I'm just concerned about you healing so slowly. Have you taken any drugs? Eaten anything different? Changed any habits?”

I think about the chicken and whiskey with Wormwood, but that can't be it. I was already fucked up when I got there.

“The week is up. I can't sidestep anymore. Maybe that's it?”

“I'm glad it's gone,” says Candy.

She yanks a hair out of my scalp, shows it to Allegra. It's gray. She looks at me.

“Piss Alley always charges you more than you think it will. I think sidestepping was eating my life force or something. Anyway, it's over now.”

“Good thing too,” says Allegra.

“I just missed shadow walking so much. I guess it's really gone for good.”

“You're stuck here with us groundlings.”

“Sounds like it.”

“You realize what this means?” says Candy. “We're going to have to get a car. You can't steal them forever and I have a respectable job these days.”

“You stick to the respectable stuff. As long as I have the black blade, I can get any car I want. Besides, how are we going to register a car? We don't exist.”

“Maybe the Augur can help?”

“Why would the Augur help you?” says Vidocq.

“You didn't tell them?” Candy says.

“I was going to do it tonight.”