“To the Phlegethon, Mr. Kelly,” Mammon says.
Sinkholes and fault lines slice up the streets, making them impassable. Kelly cuts down La Brea and takes a roundabout route through residential streets and apartment-building parking lots to the 101.
Mammon tells Kelly to head south. The breakdown lanes on both sides of the freeway look like sets from old driver’s-ed films. They’re a solid mass of twisted and burned-out vehicles.
In regular Hell, the Phlegethon is a river of fire that flows and ebbs like water. The flames are just a light breeze from on board a barge. You don’t get burned unless you’re in direct contact with the river.
The Phlegethon does double duty in Hell. It’s one of the big five rivers, so it carries a lot of traffic, mostly barges, passenger boats, and freighters. It’s busy enough that it needs docks, buoys, depth markers, and all the other Moby-Dick bric-a-brac I don’t understand. This is Hell. Why get artisans to make all that stuff when you have millions of dead souls lying around? Down the length of the Phlegethon, the damned float in the eternal fire as channel markers and buoys showing depth readings. Entire docks are made from spirits lashed together. There’s similar creativity in this Hell. The freeway guardrails and the median fence in the center are staked-out souls. The reflectors separating the freeway lanes are the heads of souls who’ve been buried up to their necks in Hellion concrete. What happens if you blow a tire down here? Hellion AAA probably comes out and ties a few souls around your axle so you can get to a damned garage.
“So, who are you?” I ask Kelly.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Tell him to talk to me. Tell him he doesn’t ever need your permission to talk again.”
Mammon says, “Talk to him, Mr. Kelly. Talk to him to your heart’s content. But first take this exit and merge left.”
Kelly says, “I’m Master Mammon’s servant and resident human. I do whatever he asks, from talking about my life to performing whatever tasks I’m instructed to do in a way that best exemplifies human habits and behavior.”
“I told you he was a bore,” says Mammon. “You remove creatures like this from their environment and they wither. He might still be interesting if we let him loose as a killer down here like you.”
“I wasn’t a killer until I got down here.Édown hex201D;
Mammon makes a dismissive gesture with his good hand.
“Just because a baby spider hasn’t bitten anyone yet doesn’t make it any less of a spider.”
Kelly steers us down the fire road. Mammon occasionally tells him to change lanes or follow a road that splits off from the main one. We’re driving for at least an hour but we don’t seem to be anywhere yet. If Mammon is leading us anywhere but Eleusis, I’m going to tie him to the back bumper and drag him to Mexico. If I can find it.
“What makes you so special that of all the souls down here, you rate being handed off to a general?” I ask Kelly.
“I don’t know, sir. Stark, I mean. I’m sorry. It’s a wretched habit to break.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
“There are so many people down here more accomplished than I. I’ve accomplished nothing compared to some I’ve met.”
“Don’t be so modest, Mr. Kelly. Mr. Kelly was a murderer, and after some practice he became quite adept. More than even his pursuers knew,” says Mammon. “But it was only dumb luck that kept you unincarcerated after those first few, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Master Mammon. Just as you say, sir.”
We drive for what feels like another hour. Every now and then I see a flash behind us, like a light going out or a reflection off a mirror, but when I turn there’s nothing there.
I’ve driven the 101 south to San Diego a hundred times, but I don’t recognize this road at all. We could be driving to Oz or right into a trap.
“We’re getting off here,” says Mammon.
I look around, trying to get my bearings. All the road signs have been torn down or hacked to pieces. More of Lucifer’s paranoia or just another example of L.A.’s ever-expanding nervous breakdown?
The exit sign has been torched and lies in a little slag heap at the edge of the road. I swear I see another flash behind us, but then I’m bracing myself against the dashboard. Kelly takes the exit too fast and has to tap the brakes hard when we come to a hairpin curve. That’s when Mammon stabs me.
I should have stripped the fucker down at the palace, but the angel in my head felt sorry for all the maiming and frying I did. I went easy on him and this is what I get.
The inverted-cross medal he’s been wearing comes apart and the lower half is a razor-sharp golden blade. He was probably going for my neck, but when Kelly hit the brakes, it ruined Mammon&>
Mammon pulls the knife out of my face and slashes me in the shoulder before I can turn and grab him. He stabs me a second time in the cheek before I can pin his good hand. I have one hand braced on the roof as we turn under the freeway. Mammon lunges at me and buries his teeth in my hand that’s holding him. I pull back reflexively and he gets his hand free. He swings the blade at me as the car fishtails, but ends up slashing Kelly’s arm.
Kelly screams and we plow through a guardrail and down an embankment. The car flips and rolls. When we stop moving I’m not sure which way is up or down, but when I elbow open my door, my foot touches the ground, so I’m guessing we’re right side up.