The Perdition Score (Sandman Slim 8)

WE HIDE THE Unimog along a bend in the road in Griffith Park out of sight of the mansion. Then we wait. Candy stays behind the wheel with the engine running. The rest of us wait in the trees.

An hour or so later, Bill sees something moving below us. He takes out his telescope and surveys the road.

“One of them vans is coming.”

I move up next to him.

“You sure it’s just one?”

“My eyes work just fine. It’s one.”

“Then let’s get ready. Remember, we leave one of the guards alive to tell Quay what happened.”

“What if there are angels?” says Bill.

“Them we kill. Right?”

I look at Hesediel.

“I’ll dispatch the rebels,” she says.

“Then it’s a plan.”

We wait for the van to come up the hill. When it’s almost abreast of us, Candy guns the Unimog’s engine and plows into the side of the van, pushing it off the road. No one gets out for a minute. Then the passenger-side door bursts open and a Legionnaire lurches out. He swings his rifle at the Unimog.

Bill and I step out of the trees, but Candy blasts him with the Benelli before we can even take aim.

The van’s side door slides open and more Hellions stumble into the road, shooting in all directions. There are four of them, and none is in good shape. Bill shoots one and I get another. The other two freeze where they are when Hesediel comes out, her armor glowing in Hell’s dim light like it’s made of fire. When the two idiots get the idea that maybe it’s a good time to shoot, it’s too late. Their bullets bounce off Hesediel’s armor. She cuts one down with a single stroke of her Gladius. She swings again and cuts the other one’s arms off. His rifle tumbles to the ground and he falls against the van, his wounds seared closed by the Gladius’s burning blade.

I jump into the van while Hesediel and Bill watch my back.

The woman is pressed against the interior on the far side of the van, her eyes as big as weather balloons. I look her over for weapons and wounds. I don’t see any guns, but she has a cut over her left eye.

I aim the Glock at her.

“You can get out with me or let the angel drag you out.”

She puts her hands up and slides across the seat. I take her arm and help her into the road. She stumbles, a little wobbly after the crash.

I give her to Bill and kneel by the armless Legionnaire.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Tell Norris Quay to meet us at the Hollywood Bowl in two hours. If he doesn’t come alone, we’re going to barbecue Miss America and serve her with beans. Got it?”

“Two hours at the Hollywood Bowl.”

“What else?”

He looks down at where his arms used to be.

“He’s to come alone.”

“Who said you Legionnaires were all blockheads? Wait, it was me.”

Bill taps me on the back.