“I’m afraid we’re plain old Tenebrae. Tell me you’ll help us.”
I reach into my pockets for a Malediction and remember I gave my last one away. Anyway, Cherry wouldn’t want me smoking. Dried-out corpses are perfect kindling.
“If Teddy Osterberg collects the dead, he could be connected to the girl and I know the girl is connected to Saint James. I’ll check him out. Maybe I can help both of us.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t get too choked up. I’m mostly doing this for me. If I can get to King Cairo first, I’m going after him. I’m going to hurt him dead. I’m tired of people trying to kill me. Downtown. Up here. It’s getting aggravating.”
She makes the whispering sound that might be a laugh.
“You know what they say. All the birds come home to roost. The past catches up with us. And you have quite a past, Sandman Slim.”
“Philosophy from a corpse. Are you sure you aren’t Greek?”
She turtles her head back into the hole.
“I’ll see you soon. Don’t forget me.”
“That’s not likely.”
Cherry disappears into the dark. There’s a rustling and crackling of old bones as she turns around and crawls back the way she came. A homeless corpse living in a coffin squat. How desperate do you have to be to live like that?
I catch a cab at Hollywood and Sunset and have it take me to the Chateau Marmont, the traditional crash pad for showbiz and well-heeled assholes from around the world. John Belushi OD’d there. Jim Morrison crabbed around the outside windows on acid. Hunter Thompson drank by the pool, and a few months back, I played bodyguard to the other Lucifer while he stayed in his secret suite upstairs. Now that I’m the black beast of the forest, the room is mine. I think.>I slam my back against the roof a few times and manage to raise the crushed metal a few inches. When I have enough room to move my legs, I kick out the driver-side door, slide out, and run around to Candy’s side. Her door is jammed so tight that I can’t even get a good grip. I climb on top and drive the black blade through the roof, slicing it and prying it open like a sixty-thousand-dollar oyster. Candy looks up at me through the hole.
“This is what you mean by ‘trust me’?”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’m developing what are called trust issues.”
“I’m sure Allegra knows some good shrinks. Reach up your hand and I’ll get you out of there.”
We get a ride into Hollywood in a station wagon with a family from Houston. I agree with them that we’re damned lucky to walk away from an accident like that with just a few scratches. Luckier than the pickup that went off the overpass and crashed onto the street below. They drop us on Hollywood Boulevard near Allegra’s clinic, and when I try to give the dad some money he waves it off.
“I’m sure you’d do the same for someone stranded. Just pass the good fortune along.”
Candy and I look at each other and I know we’re thinking the same thing.
Who knew people not playing angles or hustling something still existed. I thought they’d died out with the triceratops. I feel funny now. A little dirty. Like maybe I contaminated their car with bad luck. I wonder if they would have given us a ride if they knew I was the Lord of the Underworld. What’s funny is I think they would have.
Nice people are fucking weird.
Carlos is sitting up in a plastic chair in the clinic reception area. His arm and shoulder are still bandaged and smell of aromatic oils and potions.
I sit down next to him.
“Hey, man. I’m really sorry to get you mixed up in my shit.”
He laughs, patting his pockets.
“When haven’t I been mixed up in your shit? I met you on the day you got back from Hell, remember?”
“I guess so.”
“Yes so. I knew something like this could happen. It’s called a calculated risk. And now it’s happened and I’m walking away. It’s like I got a measles shot. I’m immunized. Nothing bad will ever happen to me again.”
“I’m not sure it works like that.”