Career devil worshippers are Dungeons & Dragons freaks that never grew up and still believe that if they had just one superpower they’d be the belles of the ball or prom king. On the one hand, I want to FedEx them hot cocoa and a pile of self-help books. And on the other hand, I want to use them ruthlessly for whatever I can squeeze out of their service bottom carcasses. Maybe when I have more time, I can play Dr. Phil and get them to do an honest inventory of their collective psychoses. Right now, though, I’m on a timetable and I don’t have time for tea and sympathy. Maybe the best thing I can do is show them what Hell is really like. Make them copy the entire Oxford English Dictionary onto three-by-five cards. Stamp them. Date them. Put each word in a separate folder and file it. Then take all the words out, burn them, and start over. Do it until I say stop and of course I never will. They’ll use up all the ink in the world and all the paper in the western hemisphere. Some will slit their wrists with a thousand paper cuts. Others will get cancer from the ink fumes or go snow-blind from the scanner. Welcome to Hell. It’s just like high school but with more boredom and entrails.
I don’t know if Samael put them there, or the hotel, but the bedroom closet is full of suits and expensive shirts and shoes. I toss my ripped shirt on the bed and pick out a purple one so dark it’s almost black. Samael wore shirts like this because the color hid the blood seeping from an old wound. The Greeks and Romans considered it the color of royalty and that wouldn’t appeal to Samael’s vanity. No. Not one bit.>The cabbie whines when I hand him a hundred but is all smiles when I let him keep an extra fifty. I don’t answer when he asks if I want a receipt.
Inside, the desk clerk’s face is streaked with plenty of sin but he’s nothing special. He looks at me like I’m there to empty out the trash cans in the lobby. I still have the Glock in my pocket if things go wrong.
“Hi. I have a standing reservation. The name is Mr. Macheath. I’d like my special room.”
He frowns and types something into the computer.
“We don’t have a note saying you’d be stopping by, and according to the annotation you don’t even look like Mr. Macheath.”
I crook my finger at him. His name tag says CHARLES.
“Did you ever hear of the concept of low profile?”
He looks me over.
“That’s extremely low profile.”
I lean in closer. I’m so sick of dealing with pissants.
“You listen to me, you little fuck. The last time I was here, some people upset me. Like you’re doing right now. I locked them in my suite with a horde of zombies. I don’t know what the place looked like after I left—and it better be clean when I get up there—but I bet not good. Does that sound at all familiar, Chuck? Because if it doesn’t we can role-play right here. I’ll be the zombie pulling out your intestines while you watch. Then, and only then, when you’ve gotten a good look at your guts decorating the lobby like Christmas ornaments, only then will I kill you.”
To seal the deal I take off my glove and put my Kissi hand over his. He yanks his hand away. I swear, this gimp arm is turning out to be the best party trick in history. Better than chasing girls around when you’re five, trying to make them touch your scabs.
Charles edges over to the computer and types in something.
“Very good, Mr. Macheath. And how long will you be staying with us?”
“Until I leave.”
“Of course. You remember the way to the room?”
“Second star to the right, then straight on till morning.”
“Excuse me?”
“Top floor. Grandfather clock.”
I take the elevator up. I’m a little surprised to see that the hall is exactly the way it was the first time I saw it. Since the night I locked Koralin Geistwald and her clan in here, I’ve always pictured the place as a Playboy Mansion slaughterhouse. I hold my breath, open the front of the grandfather clock, and step through.
The suite is perfect. Like nothing ever happened. Clean and bright and full of brand-new Architectural Digest furniture. The kind that under any other circumstances would reject me like a dime-store kidney in a billionaire’s back. I guess they gave up trying to clean brains and eyeballs out of the old furniture and brought in new stuff. And I have the place all to myself until Amanda and her demonic brownnosers get here. Saying the place is a step up from the Beat Hotel is like saying Jean Seberg was pretty. I should take some phone shots and send them to Kasabian. THANKS FOR KICKING ME OUT. DON’T WORRY. I’VE LANDED ON MY FEET. But even I’m not that much of a bastard.
Samael was alone a lot when he was up here the last time. I don’t know how he did it. The place is so huge it echoes when I walk around. I need to treat it like that library Downtown. Build myself a little vacation home in one part of the room and stay there. Over by the giant flat-screen. I’ll bet my hooves and horns this place has every channel and every movie ever made on tap. With a little fixing up I could get used to the place. Maybe there are some earthly perks to being Lucifer after all.
I wonder if they miss me in Hell yet? And if enough people know about it to matter. Semyazah can hold things together, and if he has troops rounding up red leggers, it’ll keep them too busy to think about offing themselves. Or me. I’d still like to know who made those crank calls. But I’m not worried. There’ll be more. Maybe the hotel can tap my phone so I can trace them. I’ll have to remember to ask.
Watching my back has left me exhausted. I want to find Saint James and I want to kill King Cairo and Aelita. Not necessarily in that order. After shooting Carlos and spilling good whiskey and the stunt on the freeway this afternoon, I want to put the hurt of all time on someone. Saint James included. Throw Blackburn in too in case he switched the hit from Saint James to me.
I take a couple of pictures with my phone and e-mail them to Candy. Let her see what she’s missing. So much for not being a bastard.
I dial Traven.
“Hey, Father, with all the diabolical stuff you studied, have you ever met real-life, honest-to-God devil worshippers?”
“No. I don’t think I have.”
“You should come over. I have some stopping by. You’ll see how lame the Devil’s minions are. Maybe it’ll make you feel better about Hell and things.”