There are two Venices I know about and one of them is a hotel in Vegas. The other is an L.A. beach where pretty girls walk their dogs while wearing as little as possible and mutant slabs of tanned, posthuman beef sip iced steroid lattes and pump iron until their pecs are the size of Volkswagens. This Venice is pretty damned far from those. This is the old fairy-tale Venice with Casanova, plague, and Saint Mark’s stolen bones, meaning it’s a high-quality hoodoo copy. Hopefully without the plague. It’s not as big as a real city and there’s a vaulted roof over our heads, so we’re probably still in part of the old L.A. River system.
Every few yards, there’s a dock with a couple of steps leading up from the water. The golem stops at one and Lucifer and I get out. There must be a couple of hundred people down here. People and other things. Big-shot Lurkers and civilians laugh and chat with heavyweight Sub Rosas. They can talk shit about each other behind the others’ backs, but when it comes right down to it, money is the one true race and everyone down here is the color of greenbacks and as tall as mountains.
Lucifer checks his tie and gives me a quick once-over like maybe I’d changed into clown shoes during the boat ride. He nods and says, “Let’s get a drink.”
I’m a little surprised that the total fucking ruler, grand vizier, and night manager of Hell can just walk into the place without us getting mobbed like he was back at the hotel. But of course, people like this don’t do that kind of thing, do they? If Jesus, Jesse James, and a herd of pink robot unicorns strolled in walking on water, this bunch wouldn’t even look up. I wonder if Lucifer had his tailor make my jacket too tight to wear a gun on purpose because I’m genuinely inspired to start shooting things just to see if anyone jumps.
A golem in a white waiter’s jacket comes by with a tray of champagne. Lucifer takes one glass and hands me one.
“No guzzling tonight. You’re on duty, so you get to sip politely.”
“Don’t worry. These golems all need a good moisturizer. I’m not drinking anything that might have dead-guy skin flakes in it.”
“Don’t worry. They’re all certified as hypoallergenic.”
“It’s coming back to me why I fucking hate the fucking Sub Rosa.”
When the costumed corpse that brought our drinks turns away, he bumps my shoulder, and his tray and the rest of the drinks crash to the ground. A few dozen heads turn in our direction. So, that’s what it takes to get their attention. Wasted booze. A tall, heavyset guy pushes through the crowd. He’s big, but not fat. Like maybe he was a cop or a boxer in some former life. He sticks out one hand to shake and the other goes to Lucifer’s shoulder.
“Mr. Macheath, it’s good to see you. Please forgive me for the mess. It’s so hard to get really good subnaturals now that they’re so popular.”
Lucifer shakes the guy’s hand warmly.
“It’s no problem, Simon. You should see the kind of help I have to put up with at home.”
The big man laughs. Not a big L.A. suck-up laugh, but a small relaxed one. His heartbeat isn’t even going up that much. He’s got some juice, being this relaxed around Lucifer.
“Simon, I’d like you to meet an associate of mine.” Lucifer half turns to me while keeping an eye on Simple Simon. “This is James. You probably know him as—”
“Sandman Slim,” says Simon. He puts out his hand to me. I shake it, but don’t say anything. I’m not exactly sure what kind of performance Lucifer wants from me tonight, but I’m guessing it isn’t bright and cheery.
Lucifer smiles.
“Be nice and say hello, James.”
“Hello.”
“I’m really happy you could make it tonight. I’ve heard so much about you, James. Or do you prefer Sandman Slim?”
“Stark. Just Stark.”
Lucifer says, “James, this is Simon Ritchie, the head of the studio doing my little movie.”
“Have you cast him yet?”
“Cast who?” asks Ritchie.
I nod at Lucifer.
“Him. Your star. Do you have a Lucifer yet?”
“Not yet. You can probably imagine he’s a hard part to cast.”
“No shit.”
I look at Lucifer.
“You must have a lot of actors Downtown, Mr. Macheath. How about Fatty Arbuckle? Maybe you can put him on work release for a few weeks.”