Queen of Angels (13 page)

Darkness is die home that when you go there you wont admit you know it.

22

West Comb Two had a reputation. It was common among citizens of the shade to hold a stereotyped view of comb dwellers: staid respectable always calm and dull. But West Comb Two north of Santa Monica overlooking Pacific Palisades, one of the most expensive and exclusive combs in LA, was the locus of LitVid industry workers as well as the comb of choice for all propmedia creators. It also happened to be the neigh- borhood of employment agency executives and actors, those who sold their images and personalities for LitVid Handa queer translingual pun derived first from manipulation through Spanish mano to the English. When you were Handed, you were given royalties for whatever your ghost dida computer generated image usually indistinguishable from the real thing. Some of the Handed retained choice of use, face or body rights; others sold all. Few LitVids chanced real actor performances or even am pearances now much less real settings; the LitVid entertainment sector and even much of the documentary sector was in the control of the multitalented unseen gods of the machine image. Consequently the Handed were by and large rich enough and with sufficient leisure time to do whatever they chose whether it was ramp up into eloi status and play endless law yabber with pd and courts or engage in experimental politics. West Comb Two was home to some of the strangest therapied and naturals in LA. Every city had to have such, even a city whose elite shunned destructive eccentricity. Employment agency executives loved to shed their longsuit broker images by associating with the Handed and other therapied and natural extremes. Mary Cboy had dealt with a good many citizens of this comb, especially in her early years in the pd. Rookies were often assigned to comb patrol here because the work was rough the demands huge and the physical dangers minimal. What was more, these comb citizens had considerable power in government; dealing with them required delicacy and diplomacy. Had she not already known, Mary would have guessed Ernest was leading her to West Comb Two; she did not yet dispel the possibility that Goldsmith himself was kept in hiding here. Ernest met her on the combs first foot in a ten-hectare esplanade beside the combs lower reservoir. He sat at a water-side table watching spotlighted fountains take on abstract and fantasy shapes: tonight they were duplicating the stolid dark tower images seen on AXIS transmissions. Three longsuited men surrounded Ernest, all comb citizens all mild transforms. To her eye they appeared to be high level agency execs. They appeared reasonably normal but instinct and empathy told her their interiors were a maze of customization. Prime candidates for legal triple century extension; possibly eloi. Very likely they were augmented mentally as well as physically. Oddly she felt uncomfortable around this variety of transform. She would never in her entire life earn as much money as they might amass in a month. No names, Ernest said by way of introduction. Thats agreed. Agreed. One of the men brought up a palmsized security slate and read out the pd equipment on her person. Deactivate and hand it all over, please. She removed her lapel phone and camera. The man took it and studied her face from the distance of a few feet, his eyes ice blue and startling in his smooth brown skin. Lovely work. Youre not augmented. If you ran with us and didnt waste your time with pd you could change whatever you wanted. Anything. Mary agreed that was possible. Employment agency executives were given much less leeway in many respects than other classes of executive, however; their financial records were swept weekly. The attrition for top executives within any given three year stretch was more than a third. Their lives were not easy. So how could these keep up appearances and run radical games sheltering Hispaniola illegals? Kilter here. The blue eyed man detached himself from his two companions and waved his index finger around one shoulder. Ernest and Mary should follow. Mary glanced back at the remaining two and saw that one was now a woman. Anger mixed with increased concern. Very expensive deceptions had been played. Expensive and illegal; she should have expected nothing less. They were probably not west coasters or comb inhabitants at all. Suddenly she smelled the dirty east, Raphkind refugees, crumbs from the spoiled feast. She focused on the blue eyed man, paying Ernest no attention at all. He didnt mind. He had warned her and he was right; she would have to be very discreet. The blue eyed longsuit ordered a transport for them and a blocky white cab arrived on a slaveline. These cabs could fit into most of the combs' expressways. traveling in three dimensions along the propulsive tracks. Automatic, comb monopoly, unregulated by recently passed metro law; no records. Where comb citizens went was their own concern. Having inserted his card the blue eyed longsuit could tell the cab what to do and he ordered its windows opaque and its map display turned off. Well be there shortly, he said. Ernest was right, M Choy. Youre really quite entertaining. She had no trouble meeting his eyes. He turned away after sufficient time to prove the contest was juvenile. The cab stopped and they disembarked into a rear apartment service way. The addresses had been sprayed over with Day-Gb orange paint. A view through a distant open airway told her they were about a kilometer up the side of the comb. They were on the west face overlooking blue Pacific. Since the comb segments swung about day and night she could not use angle for clues. Besides she had agreed and would keep her agreement; the challenge was more than she could ignore, however. This way, please. The bongsuit stepped up to the rear door and it opened. Inside were three blacks: two men, one immensely fat, the other shorter bull necked and more muscular, face like a little boys; and an amazonish woman. They lounged before a broad picture window overlooking the northwest, the minute blocky galaxies of lights below West Comb Two and the Canoga Tower clear through the cool still late evening air. The tall athletically handsome woman stood, hair cut close to her skull broad shoulders draped in a handmade flame red and yellow cotton print dress that hung loose and graceful to her feet. The blue eyed longsuit kissed her on one cheek. Again no introductions were made. You have questions, the woman said with sharp disdain. We are bored. Brighten our evening for us. We are told Ernest is a wonderful artist and that for our meeting with you, he will donate a piece to our cause. Mary looked around the room and slowly smiled. Ernests ingenuity impressed her more each month. All right, she said. You are from Hispaniola? She wants to know about Colonel Sir, the large woman said to her companions. Tell her what you know. Because of Colonel Sir, there is no home in Hispaniola, said the immensely fat black man. He wore a gray and brown print cotton longsuit urbane and tropical at once. You tell that to your missy. He gestured for Ernest to pass the word along to Mary as if she might need plain English translated. The faith is weak, the shrines ignored; like all the others, Yardley he plays at being Baron Samedi, but he is not. We thought he was a noir blanc, black white man, black in his guts, but he is a blanc de blanc, white clear through, and now Hispaniola is blanc. The fat man again made his lip curl appraisal. This woman is not black, he said matter of factly to Ernest and the large woman. Why does she want to look black? She fools nobody. Ernest grinned at Mary. He was enjoying this. She likes the color. You say theres no faith on Hispaniola, Mary said. Tell me why. When Yardley came in, there had been five years of oppression from blancs in Cuba. Five years they had torn the island between them and killed the houngans, burned the honfours and banished the loas. They knew where the power lies, who the peoples follow. Like trying to kill an anthill. Then, heavens to glory!as always happens, rose a from within, Haitian, General De Franchines, man of vision, man of honor, and he made pacts with the kings and queens and bishops, turned mobs into armies and burned out the Cubans. But the USA blancs they support the Cubans and the Dominicans, so General De Franchines hired Zimbabwe soldiers and brought in an English gunman, once knighted by King Charles, and this gunman, he sees the sweet land, the opportunity, he has a plan. He turns on De Franchines, he turns the people against our general, he becomes general but never calls himself that, and he fights in the field like a soldier. He is a good soldier and the Cubans they flee and the Dominican egalistes, they take refuge in Puerto Rico and Cuba, and the USA they recognize this Colonel Sir who puts his rank before his knighthood. Maybe before his manhood too. The fat man smiled at Mary, an ingratiating fey smile unexpected in the bulk. He wore six thick plain gold bands on his right hand. Colonel Sir John Yardley, hero to the people. Maybe to us, too, back then. We were children, what did we know. He brought money and doctors and food. He taught us to live in century, and to please our visitors who brought more money. He taught us to be concerned with comfort and medicine and machines. That is how he made Hispaniola white. Now the people they pay lip to the gods but they do not feel them, they do not need them, they have white money and that is better. What is Yardley like in person? Mary asked. The large well dressed woman said something in Creole. His mansion is a little house near Port-au-Prince, the fat man said quietly. He fools you with his modesty. He lives behind the big mansion where be meets all the foreign dignitaries, and he makes sure you know where his bed is. His women they are all blanc but one, his wife, she is a princess from Ic Cap. Cap Haitien. I still love her like a mother, despite her love for him. She has a powerful spirit, and she gives it to Colonel Sir, and the spirit tells him how to make Hispaniolans love him, all of them. So they still love him. Mary shrugged and turned away from the fat man and the large woman, looked at Ernest. He tells me what I already know, she said softly, except when he colors it with his own politics. The fat man jerked as if slapped. What? What? Youre not telling us anything we cant learn in a library, Ernest said. Your libraries must be wonderful. You dont need us, then, the fat man said. Colonel Sir is not the man he used to be. Do your libraries tell you that? He uprighted the economy, he brought in work and factories, be made our youths into soldiers and gave our old people homes. He made the courts just and the Uncles The police, the large woman said. He made the police into protectors of the islands. He built resorts and made the beaches clean, and he rebuilt the palaces and made museums and even filled them with art. Who knew where the money came from? It came, and he fed the people. But he is not the same now. He does not get the commissions now. The world, they are on to him now. Your President is dead by his own hand. Perhaps it should have been a silver bullet, like Christopbe! Your enthusiasm, the large woman warned the fat man. Anyway, he is bitter, the fat man concluded with a nonchalant wave of his ringed hand. Do you know anything about Emanuel Goldsmith? The poet, the fat man said. Colonel Sirs wordmaker. Colonel Sir uses the poet. Tells him he loves him. Pfaah. The fat man raised his big arms high, shook his jowls at the ceiling. He said to me once, I have a poet. I do not need history. Would he give shelter to this man, if he became a refugee? Mary asked. Maybe yes, maybe no, the fat man said. He plays the poet along like a fish. But maybe he believes what he says. If anything happens to the poet before he finishes his great work on Colonel Sir, Colonel Sirs spirit vanishes like a snuffed candle. So maybe no, he cares little for the poet; maybe yes, he worries for his future in history. Mary frowned, puzzled. There is no poem about Yardley, she said to the fat man. Ah, but there will be. Colonel Sir hopes that there will be, so long as the poet is alive. Would Yardley protect the poet even if he was ordered to return him to the United States? Mary asked. Who will order Colonel Sir? The fat man considered this for a time, chin in hand, rings knocking heavily against each other as he tapped his fingers on his cheek. Oh my. Once, maybe, when there were commissions. But now there are no commissions. He might do some things, in honor of past friendships, but not that. What did you do for Yardley? The fat man leaned forward as much as his girth would allow. Why do you want to know? Simple curiosity, Mary said. I was a gobetween. I sold hellcrowns. Colonel Sir sent me around the world. Mary stared at him for a moment then looked down. To Selectors? Whoever would buy them, the fat man said. Selectors limit their activities to this country. So far. They were not a very big market. China, United Korea, Saudi Arabia. Others. But this is not what youre interested in. Lets talk about the poet. I need to know a great many things, Mary said. You are a public defender in Los Angeles. Why do you need to know about any of this? You are not federal. Id like to ask the questions, Mary said. Is Yardley sane? The fat man pouted dubiously and spoke to his colleague in Haitian Creole. You are going to Hispaniola to see him therapied? Is that it? Mary shook her head. He was once the most sane man on Earth, the fat man said. Now he hunts us down, reviles us, calls us butchers. Once we were useful to him. He has thrown us aside and so we are here, sheltered like pigeons in a cote. He shrugged magnanimously, enormous shoulders undulant. Perhaps he is sane. He is not the same kind of sane he used to be. The large woman stood suddenly and faced Mary as if angry, expression stern. You will leave now. If you make it so that these people are hurt, we will hurt you, and if we cannot get at you, we will hurt this man. She pointed to Ernest, who grinned cheerily at the theater. Marys face remained blank. Im not interested in you, she said. Not right now. Leave now, said the large woman. The blue eyed longsuit showed them the door, escorted them to the cab and returned her phone and camera. The cab opaqued its windows and took them to another level, then stopped. They disembarked and found themselves still a kilometer up into the comb, in a largely empty undeveloped neighborhood, cavernous and windy. Finding a wallmap, they located the nearest shaft and walked toward it along inactive, unmoving slides. Youre really going to band over artwork? she asked. You got it. That was my bargain. Riding a free comb express down, Ernest shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. Most fun, be said. Anything useful? Mary grabbed him by the shoulders and stared him straight in the eye. They broke up in