Hollywood Dead (Sandman Slim 10)
ll worry about that later. Got to keep my head clear and get through the next twenty-four hours. After that, whatever happens, I’ll be home and alive. Hell, if it comes down to it, I can get a sleeping bag and bed down here in the Room, which, now that I say it, sounds incredibly depressing. I wonder if I can squeeze some money out of Sandoval for finishing the job early. Then maybe I could get my old room at the Beat Hotel. A bathroom, a bed, and clean towels that don’t stink of Wormwood corruption would be fine with me. And I’d be back in Hollywood full-time. It’s not exactly an ambitious plan, but the world is coming at me hard and fast. One step at a time is all I can handle right now.
At the moment, however, I have to figure out the rest of my night. I’m not ready to go back to Sandoval’s place and I’m sure as hell not going to Bamboo House. Kasabian is right. There’s a fine line between looking in on your ex and stalking, and I’m right on top of it. What’s depressing is that even Donut Universe is useless to me right now. But I have one more alternative, and it’s not a bad one at all.
I STEP INTO a shadow and come out due west of Max Overdrive.
Sure enough, it’s right where I remember. Because the entrance faces north, Flicker calls the place the Devil’s Door. The drive-in is surrounded by a high black wall covered in flames and horned dancing girls. There are eyes over the entrance and teeth around the edges so that when you enter, it’s like you’re diving right down the Devil’s gullet.
I go through another shadow and come out by the concession stand. It’s all overpriced drinks and expensive popcorn that you’re happy to pay for because all the money goes back to keeping the last old-school drive-in in L.A. open for business.
On the screen, Alan Ormsby is chewing up the scenery as he mock-marries a corpse from the local cemetery. The movie is Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things and Alan’s blushing bride will be snacking on his guts before the honeymoon is over. It’s a beautiful print of one of the first color zombie movies ever made. I wonder where she found it.
It’s wall-to-wall cars below the screen—a full house. There are even a few rented hearses in between the sports cars and SUVs. About half the crowd milling around the food stand is in makeup and filthy zombie rags. That’s why it takes me a few minutes to recognize her. She’s in zombie drag too, talking to an undead ballerina and a cowboy spinning a lariat made of vertebrae.
I don’t know Flicker’s real name and I don’t know anyone who does. I know she’s Chinese. I know she comes from heavy Sub Rosa money. And I know that she doesn’t talk to her family anymore because they don’t approve of the kind of hoodoo she practices. But she’s one of the best at what she does and this drive-in is proof of that.
Out of habit, I get a hot dog and watch the movie for a few minutes. It really is a glorious, noble mess, with a spooky ending that makes you want more, but I’m glad they never made a sequel because it could never be this good.
When Flicker’s zombie friends shamble back to their car, I wander over to her.
“Hi, Flicker. I love what you’ve done with the place.”
She looks at me and does a little double take.
“Stark? I heard you were dead.”
“Still am, Flicker. But just a little.”
“I guess that’s better than the alternative.”
I give up on the tasteless hot dog and toss it in the trash.
“I’m working on getting completely undead with a necromancer in Beverly Hills.”
She swivels her hips and shoulders a little when she says, “Beverly Hills? My. Isn’t that a little uptown for you?”
“Tell me about it. I get a rash just saying the words.”
She takes my arm and leads me around the back of the concession stand, where it’s quieter. When we get there, she says, “Aside from being dead, how are things?”
“Could be worse. At least I’m at the movies.”
She smiles. I point to the screen.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.”
She leans on the wall next to me.
“Thanks. It seemed like the right thing to do with my waipo’s money.”
“I’m sorry to hear your grandma died. You must have been close.”
“She’s the only one in the family I could stand to be around. We were besties the last few years of her life.”
“How did your folks take you using your inheritance to reopen the theater?”
She rolls her eyes to the heavens.
“They were furious when she left me everything. Then when I blew it all on repairs, a new screen, and a new parking lot, they officially cut me off.”