“You agreed to the compact but don’t believe in oaths, do you?”
“No. People do what they’re going to do.”
“Yet you’re trusting me with your life.”
“Believe me, if there was any other way to do it, I would. But you’re smart enough to see an opportunity when it takes a dump on your lawn.”
“For a chance to have our own tabernacle I’d make a deal with the Devil himself.”
“You’re a regular Phyllis goddamn Diller.”
She doesn’t look at me but I can tell she’s pleased with herself.
Brimborion knocks a minute later.
I yell, “Hold on a minute,” and look at Deumos.
“You’re wrong. You know that? I don’t think you mean to sell snake oil but your church is a New Age wet dream. There’s no Hellion fairy godmother who’s going to overthrow big bad Daddy and fix this mess.”
When she smiles it’s like she feels sorry for me.
“How is it you’re so sure? Because you’re the great and powerful Lucifer?”
“Because I’ve had drinks with God. The real one. He’s broken into so many pieces He couldn’t lead a high school field trip. And trust me, lady, He doesn’t have a backup plan. We’re on our own.”
She pats me on the arm and angles around to get to the door.
“You let me worry about Hellion souls and you worry about your impending death. I have one more stipulation, by the way.”
“What?”
“I want to be there tonight. I can supply you with fighters and medical help but I want to be there so that whatever happens there are no misunderstandings between the two of us.”
“You got it.”
I open the door and she steps out into the hall.
“Is there anything else?” Brimborion asks.
“Take her back downstairs and get her anything she wants. And keep a low profile yourself. Things are going to get weird in a little while.”
“How weird?”
“Duck-and-cover weird. Take the lady downstairs. She can fill you in.”
Brimborion wants to ask more questions. Deumos takes his arm and leads him away.
The Hellion hog rumbles to life. I slip out the back of the hotel and head north on Rodeo Drive. There’s always a pang of nostalgia here. Once upon a time I got into a kaiju smackdown with Mason’s attack dog, Parker, and almost burned the street to the ground. But that was almost a year ago and I’ve forgiven it for being so crowded with rich assholes. And for being so flammable.
I blow up Sunset heading north. My burned hand aches from working the throttle but that’s just how it is.
Off the Boulevard, the road is a mess. Earthquakes tore up the asphalt. Fires melted what was left, and when it cooled it was like a lava bed, full of frozen waves and sudden dips. There aren’t a lot of repairs going on up here. No percentage. There’s nothing but scorpions and lost Tartarus ghosts out this way.
People don’t go where I’m going for fun. It’s not smart to take the direct route, so I turn off the main street onto winding two-lane roads that circle scorched hills and abandoned movie-mogul estates before dropping off into hidden canyons. It’s midnight in a coal-mine dark out here except for the bike’s headlight. I open up the throttle and the roadbed shakes and cracks under my wheels. Lines spread around me like thin bolts of black lightning. The edges of the road sag. Chunks break off and fall into the dark. Most roads north of Hollywood are suicide roads, streets so fucked up by underground blood tides and quakes that they could collapse into sinkholes at any minute. This is my way of keeping things interesting for whoever is following me.
I’m working from the idea that coming out to no-man’s-land will encourage my assassin to make his or her move. And being in the boonies will give me a better chance of running the hell away without any freelance shooters or red leggers in town taking potshots at me when I go down. I might have spooked my assassins by not lying down and dying. If I give them a head start on the deed, let them get to me half dead, maybe it will encourage them to come out in the open to finish the job.
That’s the idea. Truth is, I’m not even a hundred percent sure that I’m being followed. I hope I am. I better be. I don’t want to have to do any of this again. I’ll know soon enough.