Devil Said Bang (24 page)

“Shouldn’t you be off somewhere playing Ragnarok?”
I say and turn back to the room. “You know when she’s not with you bastards
Cruella de Vil here is hot to murder God. How’s that for a grudge? Makes me seem
downright reasonable.”

Aelita is another goddamn angel. Not a fallen one
like Lucifer but one of God’s more recent rogues. Because God let a nephilim
bastard like me live, Aelita’s decided the old man has gone senile and needs to
be put out of His misery. She used to run the Golden Vigil, God’s earthbound
Pinkertons, with a U.S. marshal named Wells. The Vigil is dead and I haven’t
heard anything new about Aelita until this minute.

Blackburn moves between Aelita and me.

“Stop this right now, Mr. Stark.”

“Kill him. Fucking kill him, Blackburn,” screams
King Cairo.

I grab the cantaloupe-size crystal ball off
Blackburn’s desk and throw it at the ceiling. Shattered glass and smashed
plaster rains down on Cairo.

“Fuck!” he screams, but he doesn’t dare do anything
without the Augur’s permission.

I recognize a few faces in the crowd.

Tuatha Fortune, Blackburn’s wife. She’s a
brontomancer. A thunder worker. A decent bronto can ride the storm clouds to
find lost people and objects. A pro one can use lightning as a weapon. There
must have been some heavy storms lately because Tuatha looks as green and worn
as a civilian on chemotherapy. Some kinds of hoodoo take more out of you than
others.

There’s Nasrudin Hodja. He’s a Cold Case. A soul
merchant. From an old world Sub Rosa family. Like ante-fucking-diluvian old. His
family might be oil and media barons these days, but buried in their vaults are
ancient Sub Rosa relics traded along the Silk Road a thousand years ago.

L.A.’s Sub Rosa mayor lounges on a purple silk love
seat surrounded by bodyguards. Richard William “Big Bill” Wheaton the Third. He
dropped “the Third” for the last election but you always knew it was there, like
he’s the king of merry old England and everyone needs to know how many of him
there are.

Near Big Bill a guy sits with his hands folded
neatly in his lap. He’s in a suit sharp enough to cut diamonds and has a
manicure that would make the pope jealous. He’s not Sub Rosa and he’s on edge
enough that I don’t think he’s ever seen so many in one place before. Or maybe
he’s spooked because a crazy guy just broke in firing a gun.

At the rear of the place is a girl with a shaved
head and a lot of tattoos. I’d swear I know her from somewhere but I’ve known
more than a couple of tattooed girls over the years. She has thick scars on her
neck and the side of her face is like one of those women you hear about who get
hit with acid by a psycho ex-lover. That means I don’t know her. I’d remember
those scars. You have to admire Sub Rosa who keeps their wounds. When you can go
to a hoodoo clinic like Allegra’s and have them healed in an hour, you know this
girl loves her scars more than she loves being beautiful. Good for her.

I look at Blackburn and flick open the na’at.

“Why did you send goons after me tonight? They
busted into a public place and started shooting. Civilians got hurt.”

King Cairo laughs like I told a great knock-knock
joke.

“Of course, Cairo. They’re your assholes. Aren’t
they? I should have known by the Wishbone shakes. No wonder they couldn’t hit
anything they aimed at.”

Aelita says, “They attacked you because they
thought you were the other Stark. He didn’t carry guns or use profanity. He was
a refreshing change until he murdered the mayor’s son.”

“That ring-tailed choirboy? I don’t believe
it.”

“Believe it. We have witnesses.”

She folds her hands on the desk and gives me a cold
smile.

“Maybe he got bored acting like a sane man and was
trying to be more like you.”

“Or maybe you just made the whole thing up to kill
me piece by piece like you’re doing with God.”

“Your doppelgänger made a lot of enemies.”

I take out a Malediction and light it. If you went
by the gasp from the crowd you’d think I was skinning a deer on the Persian
rug.

“I should have let Mason kill you.”

She sips her tea and puts it down.

“What a strange thing to say. You saved us angels
to keep the gates of Hell closed and now here you are. Hell itself. You saved
this world from horror only to return as the embodiment of horror.”

“Guess the God-killing business doesn’t pay well if
you have to wet-nurse these ankle biters.”

“I go where I’m needed.”

Cairo has inched his way closer behind me. I flick
the na’at at his feet. He dances back a step. He looks like a prancing idiot but
he’s a dangerous son of a bitch.

“If the hit squad in the bar were legit Sub Rosa
security, why did they take off their brands?”

Cairo clears his throat.

“New security policy. Some of the boys got God.
Thou shalt not mark thy body or some such. Anyway, praying calms them, so I
encourage it.”

I shove Blackburn into a chair, say “Stay,” and
walk over to Aelita.

“Is that the idea? You resurrect the Golden Vigil
with a bunch of inbred junkie berserkers? Kill ’em all and let God sort them
out.”

I turn to the room.

“Is that what the Sub Rosa is about these
days?”

“Like God, the ways of the Sub Rosa are
mysterious,” says Aelita. “But in the end, they’re for the good of all humanity,
Sub Rosa and civilian alike.”

Someone makes a break for the door. A woman wearing
a blue fur coat. She looks like a plush toy. I snap out the na’at like a whip,
grab one of her ankles, and lift her off the floor. Drop her down on a bunch of
blue bloods still holding their teacups.

“Next person that runs, I take their head.”

I retract the na’at and lean on the desk. Aelita
rolls away from me a few inches.

“What about the freaky little girl with the knife?
Is she part of your good works or are you running a thrill-kill day-care
program?”

“Is the great Sandman Slim afraid of a ghost
child?”

She makes a
tsk-tsk
sound.

“Don’t concern yourself with the girl. We’re
dealing with her.”

“Deal faster. She killed someone tonight. A Sub
Rosa who stopped in for a drink. Not bothering anyone. Playing with his damn
phone.”

“If you’re so frightened, why not come in under the
synod’s protection? Our psychics tell us that things aren’t going well in Hell.
We can protect you from your enemies in this world and the celestial
realms.”

“A two-for-one sale. How much?”

“Nothing you need. Burdens really. Give me the
singularity and the Qomrama Om Ya and you’ll officially be under the Sub Rosa’s
protection.”

So that’s what the Magic 8 Ball is called. It
sounds like a Hellion sneezing.

“I survived Hell. I think I can survive
Hollywood.”

“Then just the Qomrama.”

“Why don’t you try possessing me again? Then I’d
just hand it over.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar.”

“I’ll get it from him.”

Cairo finally means business. He reaches into his
velvet coat and pulls out two gold knives. Long curved saw-tooth blades, the
kind that hurt going in but hurt worse coming out.

“Hey, Chuck Norris, have you been listening to your
boss? Tell him who I am these days.”

She raises her eyebrows and speaks to Cairo.

“He’s the Devil in the flesh. The vile thing that
stands before you is the new Lucifer.”

“Ha!” yells Cairo in that hoarse voice. It’s hard
to tell if he’s really laughing or not. Everything out of his mouth sounds
sarcastic.

“If he’s Satan then I’m Spider-Man.”

He charges. He’s fast with the knives but I’m
faster. I pull the na’at. I want him hand to hand. He slashes at my stomach.
It’s an easy parry. With the other hand he goes for my leg, trying to slice the
femoral artery. I twist out of the way and rabbit-punch him. He goes down on one
knee, and when I think he’s going to fall, he slashes straight up with one hand.
The blade scrapes sparks off my armor. I look down at my ruined shirt. Cairo is
up and grinning. He looks puzzled when he sees the armor and I kick him in the
chest. He goes ass over elbows across Blackburn’s desk. Aelita is fast too. She
rolls the office chair back out of the way and Cairo lands on the floor.

I go around the desk and get Cairo in a choke hold
from behind, not because I need to but because I really want to choke this
guy.

“First off, I’m not moron enough to carry the 8
Ball or the singularity with me. Second, I just bought this shirt. You owe me
twelve dollars.”

Cairo hangs onto my arm like a life raft in a
storm, so it takes him a minute to grasp the situation. He reaches into his
pocket and pulls out some bills. They’re all high denominations. I take the
lowest.

“This is a twenty. I don’t have any change. Is it
okay if I go ahead and keep it?”

Cairo gurgles.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I throw him on the floor. He goes for a knife. I
put the steel toe of my boot into his balls and he curls up like a kitten.

Heavy footsteps down the stars toward the parlor.
Ten of Cairo’s security punks fan out across the doorway. They’re holding the
same rifles as the bunch at Bamboo House. The parlor crowd doesn’t like being
between a kill squad and an armed loon. A few grumbles. A couple of cries. But
no one is dumb enough to run.

I lower my arm and let Cairo go wild and free like
a ferret returned to the wild. With him out of the way, everyone in the room can
see Lucifer’s armor. A few in the know recognize it and mutter personal
protection hoodoo. Good timing.

I let the darkness flow out of me, across the
floor, up the walls, and across the ceiling, making sure the hit men at the door
are the first to be swaddled all comfortable in the nothingness. In a moment,
thorn vines and tentacles wriggle up from the void. Wrap around people’s legs.
When the screaming gets good and loud, I raise my arm to manifest the Gladius
and become the only bright thing in a universe of darkness. The Light
Bringer.

“I didn’t ask to be Lucifer but I am and that’s the
end of it. If any of you still doubts it and has the sand, you can come after
me, but remember one thing. I run this particular horror show, and if anyone
lays a hand on me, my friends, my bar, or my store, I’ll drag you Downtown and
make you into my own personal amusement park. It starts like this.”

The dark snakes up and around Cairo’s men. A couple
actually have time to scream before black tentacles shoot down their throats,
cutting off their breath. The room shrieks as all ten men are dragged down into
the void.

That’s my cue to exit stage right. I’m not going to
get anything more out of this useless bunch. When I make it to the front door, I
turn off the dark. No need to kill everyone. They know not to let their
Chihuahuas piss on my lawn.

“Wait a minute. Hey.”

I’m almost at the first of the house’s protection
spells when the woman’s voice catches me by surprise. I turn and there’s the
scarred girl coming outside. She has her hands up in front of her.

“Don’t hurt me. I’m just here to tell you
something.”

“Who are you? Why would you want to talk to
me?”

“I’m Lula Hawks. I don’t like Cairo or his thugs. I
don’t trust that Aelita woman either. And I don’t like where the Sub Rosa are
headed. I might be able to help you find your double. Maybe the crazy little
girl too. Can you do something about her? She’s hurt an awful lot of
people.”

“If the kid doesn’t work for Aelita, then she’s not
my problem. If you know something about Saint James, tell me. If it pans out
I’ll owe you one.”

She comes a couple of steps closer like she doesn’t
want anyone inside to hear her.

“Do you know a Tick Tock Man called Manimal
Mike?”

“Never heard of him.”

“He knows a lot of things. He might be able to help
you.”

“Why would he?”

“You own his soul.”

Good reason. She writes something on a piece of
paper. Hands it to me and I look it over. It’s an address in Chatsworth.

“Don’t tell him I sent you. Or that you know me at
all. Good luck,” she says, and goes back inside the abandoned hotel.

I put the paper in my pocket. Walk through the
wards and into the street where the Augur’s mansion is just another anonymous
shit shack in a neighborhood full of them.

A block away a gray-haired homeless guy, not much
more than a pile of rags with a face, puts out his hands for spare change. He
smells like Four Roses and death. I’m the Devil. I don’t save people or souls,
my own included. I reach into my pocket, pull out Cairo’s crumpled twenty, and
drop it into his hands.

“You might buy a sandwich along with the jug,” I
say, knowing he’ll never do it.

I walk on. I want out of this dead zone and back to
the Beat Hotel. I’ve got no girl, no home, a gun I hate, and I have to beg a
talking head on a dog’s body for pocket money. Still, I wouldn’t trade lives
with anyone back at Blackburn’s.

I
ride
the Hellion hog to the Beat Hotel to change shirts and pick up some gear. I made
a mess tonight but I think I’m still following Wild Bill’s advice. Pick and
choose your fights. Carlos got shot by someone gunning for me, so this is the
fight I pick. I hope the shooter was one of the sons of bitches I dragged
Downtown tonight. Maybe I’ll get Semyazeh to send their souls to Wild Bill’s bar
and make them lick his floors clean every night for the next thousand years.

Should I call Candy and tell her I’m okay? She’s
probably pissed that I sent her away. If I got us both locked up in the Sub Rosa
Sing Sing, she’d be pissed about that. If I said forget about your girlfriend
and run off with me she’d be pissed in a whole different way. I can’t win. Maybe
I should have stayed Downtown. At least people missed me when they thought I was
dead. Punching Cairo and morons like him is a lot easier than being a person.
I’ll stick to that for a while.

K
asabian has conspicuously not given me a key to Max Overdrive so I
jimmy the back door with my knife.
Across 110th
Street
is playing on the video monitor when I come in. Kasabian
quickly closes the browser window on his laptop. Porn is my guess. Maybe
something with Brigitte. He’s a little obsessed ever since he found out I know
her. He casually sips a beer when I come into the bedroom.

He says, “How’s life back under the big black
sun?”

“I almost got killed by a ninja hit squad and I
crashed a Sub Rosa synod.”