The Perdition Score (23 page)

“I'm talking about the massacre at the fried-chicken truck.”

He laughs briefly.

“Yes, that was us. I wasn't sure you'd recognize the truck. You were so preoccupied last time you saw it.”

“And the kids in Malibu?”

“Of course. Teddy Osterberg wasn't one of us, but he wanted to be. This was our way of bringing him into the fold.”

“Where did they get the Dixie?”

“I don't remember.”

“Charlie Anpu?”

He eases back into the chair. Crosses his legs.

“Charles does enjoy his pills.”

“What's black milk?”

He ticks it off on his fingers.

“Two parts gin. One part vermouth. A dash of bitters.”

This is a waste of time.

I flick the na'at once more, putting it straight through Burgess's skull. Leave him dead in his chair and head downstairs.

Part of the security team is already back by the pool, sweeping the grounds.

I go to the front window. Get out the Colt and fire four shots through the glass. The pool guards sprint around the side of the house. The ones in the front burst in through the front door. I'm already headed out the back, not climbing the sidewall this time, but the one in the rear.

I drop into a neighbor's yard and climb out a street over. If they see anything out the window, all it will be is Geoff Burgess strolling across their backyard in the middle of the night.

I keep the glamour on while I circle back to where I parked my bike. I should have known Burgess wouldn't come around. But I know someone who I think will. I gun the hog and head to Brentwood.

B
Y THE GATES
of Anpu's walled community, I wish for the millionth time in a month that I had the Room of Thirteen Doors back. Now I have to do things the hard way.

These gated communities used to have guards at the gate. Now it's all key cards and surveillance. I blow that out with some hoodoo and knock one of the gates loose enough to squeeze through.

Anpu's place is on a cul-de-sac a couple of blocks up from the entrance. I could break in, but instead I ring the front door. And keep ringing it.

A couple of minutes later a voice comes through an intercom.

“Who the hell is it?”

“It's me.”

“Who the hell is that?”

There's a camera lens on the intercom. I step in front of it so Charlie can get a good look at Burgess's face.

“Geoff? What's wrong? Come in.”

The door buzzes and I go inside.

I wait in the foyer, and a minute later, Charlie comes stumbling down the stairs in a bathrobe.

“My God, Geoff. You look awful. Why are you dressed like that?”

“It's a long story. Let's go to your office.”

“All right,” Charlie says, and I follow him into a room off the front hall. Inside, he closes the door and turns to me.

“Now. What's the emergency?”

I let the glamour fade. It takes Charlie's sleepy eyes a few seconds to catch on to what's happening.

“Oh, dear God.”

“God's got his hands full, Charlie. It's just you and me.”

I push him into a chair. He stays put.

I put my hands in my pockets.

“Geoff Burgess is dead. I killed him about an hour ago.”

“Oh God.”

“Stop saying that and pay attention.”

“Yes. Of course. What is it you want?”

I sit on the edge of the desk.

“What's black milk? And be careful. I'll know if you're lying.”

Charlie squints, like the question hurts.

“Youth. Freedom from disease and time. Immortality.”

This garbage again.

“I know immortals, Charlie. None of them are happy about it.”

“They aren't us, are they? We have plenty to do and we'll have all the time in the world to do it.”

“Because of black milk?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

I take out the syringe. Charlie holds on to the arms of his chair like it's a lifeboat. I bring it over to him.

“Don't ask where I got it. It's from your car, shithead.”

I don't even think he hears me.

“Is that undiluted?” he says.

“Very.”

His eyes are wide. I don't think I've seen anyone this scared since catching my reflection in a dentist's mirror.

“Please keep it away,” he says. “It's poison.”

“I know. What makes it not poison?”

He looks at his lap.

“I can't tell you.”

“'Cause Wormwood will kill you?”

“Something like that.”

“What do you think I'm going to do to you?”

He seems stumped at that.

“Besides,” I continue, “what do you care? You people are always bragging about your branch office Downtown. Maybe death will be great. Puppies and candy and you on Santa's knee forever.”

He looks at me. “It's not death. It's other . . . things.”

“They'll go rough on you.”

“Worse than you can imagine.”

“Worse than when I get bored and stick you with the needle?”

He stares across the room. I follow his gaze and see a liquor cabinet.

“Want a drink, Charlie?”

“Very much.”

I take out my flask of Aqua Regia.

“Try mine.”

He looks terrified. I unscrew the top.

“It's not poison. See?”

I take a big gulp. Hold the flask out to him.

“You don't have a choice, Charlie.”

He takes a sip. Gags. Tries to spit it out.

I put my hand over his mouth until he swallows. That sends him into a coughing fit.

I get down close to his face.

“Good?”

His wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his robe.

“You drink that?”

“Everyone drinks it Downtown. How's damnation looking to you now?”

“No one is afraid of damnation anymore. You fixed that.”

“Well, yes and no. There's still some dispute over the matter.”

“Yes. The angelic war,” he says. “We know everything that happens down there. Whether Heaven opens or not, we'll be fine.”

“What does that mean?”

He wipes his mouth again. I slap his arm down.

“I asked you a question.”

“I've already said too much.”

“What makes you think I won't torture it out of you?”

He shakes is head.

“I've seen your prospectus. Torture isn't on your list of major assets.”

“Maybe you're right. But I can be damned clumsy.”

I take out the na'at, extend it into a spike, and let it go. It drops through his foot, pinning it to the floor. He tries not to scream.

“Oops.”

I pull out the na'at. Wipe the blood on his robe and put it away.

“You're right. That wasn't as much fun as it should have been. You know anything about PTSD, Charlie?”

“No.”

“Apparently, I have it. A doctor friend is going to give me pills.”

“Congratulations,” he says, folding onto his foot.

I pull a cloth off a nearby table, knocking a Tiffany lamp and some other expensive junk onto the floor. Toss the cloth to Charlie. He wraps it around his oozing foot.

“What's the magic word, Charlie?”

He squints again.

“Thank you.”

“Good boy.”

He rocks back and forth in his chair. His heartbeat sounds like Tommy Ramone with a hot poker up his ass.

I take another hit of Aqua Regia and put it away.

“Speaking of pills, what do you know about Dixie Wishbone? As your attorney, I advise you not to lie.”

“If you've been in my car, you know the answer to that.”

“Yes, but what do you
know
about it? Its effects.”

“I know it can unbalance some people.”

“‘Unbalance' is a nice word. Did you unbalance those kids in Malibu?”

He rocks harder in the chair.

“It wasn't me.”

“Who was it? Burgess?”

“Maybe. I don't know. I just gave them the pills. It was Eva's idea.”

“Eva Sandoval?”

“Yes. The witch.”

“Was going after me a power play? Is she trying to knock Burgess off his throne?”

He looks up at me.

“Who knows what goes on in that woman's head?”

“But you gave her the pills.”

“I already said so.”

“Just trying to be clear.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Count on it.”

He looks around the office, then back at me.

“Don't and I'll tell you everything. I'm your inside man.”

“Great. How do you make black milk not poison?”

He does the pained squint again.

“I'll answer everything but that.”

I flick his foot with a finger. He groans.

“I don't have to torture you. I can tie you to that chair and set fire to your palatial estate.”

“Go ahead. Anything you can do pales compared to what happens if I tell you more about black milk.”

I look at him hard. Charlie gets uncomfortable and looks at the floor.

I crouch so I can see his eyes.

“I think I got it, Charlie. Wormwood's not going to torture you. They're going to kick you out. And when you get to Hell, you'll be just another sucker up to your eyeballs in shit.”

His nod is almost imperceptible. I stand again.

“Then I'm not going to get much more out of you, am I?”

That does it. He breaks down crying. Big wet sobs and snot running down his face. Things weren't supposed to go like this for a sharp guy with the inside line on eternity.

“Has anyone set odds for me killing all of you?”

He looks up at me with wet red eyes.

“Y-yes.”

“Are they good?”

He shakes his head.

“There are too many of us. You don't know all—” He doesn't finish the sentence because I slash his throat with the black blade.

“I could have killed you quick, Charlie. But you're responsible for those kids in Malibu and I want you to have some time to think about that.”

He holds his throat with one hand and the armrest of the chair with the other. It's not going to help. He won't stay upright much longer.

I close the office door on the way out. His keys are in a crystal candy dish on a table in the hall. I have to try several keys before finding the one for the office. Jam it in the lock and break it off. Then go to the garage and get into the Rolls Phantom. The garage-door remote is on the dashboard. I push the button and drive the Rolls gently out of the cul-de-sac. I'll sneak back in for the bike later.

Repairmen and a couple of rent-a-cops are by the broken gate when I get there. The one working gate is open. The cops wave the Rolls carrying Charles Anpu straight through. I wear his face all the way home.

The Rolls I leave on Sunset so the authorities won't have any trouble finding it. Before I get out, I think about all that cash in the trunk. Half a million would buy an awful lot of tamales. But it's Charlie's money and that makes it Wormwood's money.

I go across the street and bark some Hellion hoodoo. The Rolls explodes into a million-dollar ball of fire.

It takes a while to get a cab back to the clinic. I want to say that I feel totally righteous and beatific about what I did tonight. But the sad truth is, a little part of me thinks about the money all the way down Sunset.

T
URNS OUT
C
ANDY
and Allegra never got hold of Kasabian last night. It's probably for the best. His idea of a crisis is when a customer is a day late returning a video.

Just before dawn, Allegra and I roll Vidocq to her Prius in a wheelchair she had in the back of the clinic. I move him into the backseat, then back into the chair when we get him home.

Allegra and I lay him out in bed. She stays with him while I help Candy make coffee. It's a good way to give them some alone time. We hang around in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil.

“Did you find out anything last night?” says Candy.

“A lot, but nothing that's going to cure Vidocq.”

“Is there anyone else you can talk to?”

“Again, a lot, but after what Charlie Anpu told me, I don't think anyone in Wormwood is going to come clean.”

She picks up two jars of ground coffee.

“Would Allegra want French roast or Colombian?”

“I don't think she wants anything French right now.”

“Shit,” says Candy. Then, “What are we going to do?”

“I need to find an angel.”

“How are you going to do that?”

I don't answer her right away. I wish the goddamn water would boil.

“Stark? How are you going to do that?”

“I wish I knew how to get back the angel that attacked me at Musso's.”

“Let's assume you can't. What then?”

The kettle whistles and Candy turns off the flame.

I brush some bread crumbs off the counter.

“If the angels won't come to me, I'll have to go to the angels.”

“You mean Hell. How are you planning on getting there?”

“I have no idea.”

She scoops the Colombian into a coffeemaker and pours in water. Hits the on button. I don't know if she's mad at me
for bringing up Hell or for making her think of ways to talk me out of it.

She looks at me.

“I'm coming with you.”

“I don't even know if I can get there. And you got sick the one time you went.”

“A lot of that was shock and being scared out of my mind. I'm over that now.”

“I don't know.”

“The last time you went down there alone you didn't come back for a hundred days. I thought you were dead. I swear, if you do that to me again, I won't be here when you get back.”

I don't need any tricks to know she's telling the truth.