Devil Said Bang (30 page)

Traven sips his mineral water. I probably shouldn’t
have said that last part. I spooked the poor guy again.

“I guess I finally saw the famous Via
Dolorosa.”

“Yes. After you returned to Hell, I decided I
couldn’t just read about all this arcane knowledge and do nothing with it. I had
to act. I had to learn to make use of it. How do you think I did?”

“You freaked out the Devil groupies pretty well, so
good choice of ways to be scary. Just don’t try it on crackheads knocking over a
gas station. It’s a little slow for that.”

Traven smiles his tired smile.

“I’ll remember that.”

“Where does a nice academic like you pick up tips
about something like the Dolorosa?”

He hesitates. He runs a hand through his hair.

“I found it in a sixteenth-century book of Baleful
magic.”

I nod.

“You know that’s illegal, right? You’re an outlaw.
Jesse James with a dog collar.”

“Thank you,” he says. “What are you going to do
now?”

I wish I had a Veritas. It would help me answer the
question. Muttonchops left his tarnished silver coin on a coffee table. I pick
it up with my Kissi hand.

“You’re going to help me decide. Kill King Cairo or
talk to Teddy Osterberg about the girl and Saint James?”

I flip the coin high in the air.

“Call it, Father.”

“Heads,” he says.

“Always an optimist.”

The coin hits the floor and I put my boot down on
it.

It’s heads.

“You win. Which is it?”

“Go talk to Teddy Osterberg.”

I go back to the buffet.

“You didn’t care what the second choice was, did
you? You just don’t want to make it easy for me to kill Cairo?”

He shrugs.

“Damned as I am, murder is still a hard thing for
me to condone.”

“Like I said, you can’t help being a good guy.”

“Not yet.”

I wonder if Samael left any Maledictions
downstairs.

“You don’t happen to have a cigarette on you, do
you?”

Traven shakes his head.

“I don’t smoke.”

“I was hoping you’d started.”

I go back to the food and pick up the Aqua Regia.
Set it down and pour myself some black coffee.

“Seeing your world. It’s frightening but exciting,”
Traven says.

“Thanks, but the truth is I’d rather you cracked
the books. I need information from someone I can trust. Is there a way into Blue
Heaven? And what’s the Qomrama Om Ya? I know it’s a weapon and Aelita wants it.
But that’s all. Maybe you can find out why.”

“If you think that’s how I can be of the most
help.”

I go to the window and look out in the direction of
the Hollywood sign. It’s going to take some time to get used to being home.

“Hey, Father. Is it me or did the sky turn
green?”

Traven comes to the window.

“When did that happen?”

“I don’t know. What kind of fucked-up poison is
this city spewing to turn the whole sky a different color?”

“I heard a strange story on the radio on the way
over. They say that Catalina Island has disappeared. There was no earthquake, so
it didn’t sink. It’s simply gone. And everyone on it. Almost four thousand souls
are missing.”

Killer ghosts and missing islands. That sounds an
awful lot like Aelita but where’s the percentage in killing off tourists? It’s
not going to get her any closer to offing God. Unless He’s vacationing off the
coast of L.A. under an assumed name. Does God have a secret yacht full of
bathing beauties?

It’s a fun thought but I don’t think Mr. Muninn is
the sunbathing type.

I
ride
the Hellion hog along the Pacific Coast Highway into the hills above Malibu. I
figure that with a Gumby-colored sky and radio tall tales about Catalina as the
new Atlantis, no one is going to pay attention to the bike. Manimal Mike has a
garage. I’ll ask him if he can set me up with a set of plates. These
cardboard-and-Sharpie ones are only convincing if you don’t actually look at
them.

As I hit the crest of the hill, my phone rings. I
park the bike and answer. It’s Candy.

“Holy hell. Where are those pictures from?”

“My new digs,” I say. “I decided that if I’m stuck
being Lucifer, I should live like him.”

“Can I come over and see them?”

“Later. Right now I’m in Malibu seeing a guy who
collects corpses like other people collect comics.”

“You know the most interesting people, Mr.
Macheath. Call me when you get back. I want to come over and break some of your
new stuff.”

“I think I can squeeze you in. Don’t eat before you
come over. I have enough food to feed the Crusades.”

“Later, Bruce Wayne.”

“Later, Major Kusanagi.”

Teddy Osterberg’s place is a rolling green estate
at the highest point of the Malibu hills. This area likes to dry out in the
summer and burn even when it doesn’t go brown. You can tell Teddy’s place hasn’t
had so much as a campfire in a century. It takes a lot of money and manpower to
keep a spread this big green all year. A lot of company for a recluse.

The house is a turn-of-the-century Gothic hulk.
More like a bank than a house but with a view to West L.A. one way and
practically to Japan the other. There’s a white Rolls-Royce Phantom convertible
in the circular driveway. I knock on the door. A few seconds later, I hear
footsteps and the door swings opens.

I recognize him immediately. Teddy is the civilian
at the synod with the nice suit and the Michelangelo manicure. He’s dark with
sin signs but he comes from old money, so he was probably born prestained and
has been piling it on ever since.

I turn and point up.

“Mr. Osterberg, does that sky look green to
you?”

“Hmm,” he says like a guy who’s seen much stranger
things. “It certainly does. You must be Mr. Macheath. Please call me Teddy.”

He puts out his hand and I shake it. The door is
only open wide enough for him to stand in, so I push past him and go inside.
I’ve gone from annoyed to pissed that Traven sent me up here instead of going
after King Cairo and I’m prepared to take it out on Teddy.

He doesn’t say anything as I go in. Just stands by
the door for a minute and then closes it, locking us in a big foyer as silent as
a tomb and as clean as an operating room.

“I was surprised to see you open your own door.
Malibu people usually have out-of-work B-actors standing at attention all day
hoping someone comes up the drive.”

“I’m sure some do but I don’t keep a staff. It’s
just me up here, so door opening is a skill I’ve had to master all on my
own.”

The foyer is dark but there are dim lights on in
the other rooms. I’m going to need night-vision goggles if I want to see
anything interesting without starting a bonfire. What I can see in the dimness
is an unlit chandelier over an oval space. A sweeping staircase to the second
floor. A slice of a dining room and living room off to my left. Tables around
the edges of the foyer are dotted with sculptures made from bones. Birds. Dogs.
Flowers. Teddy is sort of an abattoir Tick Tock Man. It’s good to see he has
something to while away the long days and nights all by his lonesome.

Teddy says, “I don’t usually have guests in the
house.”

“So I hear.”

“What I mean is, it’s a bit rude of you to barge
in, even if you are one of Amanda’s friends.”

“I’m not Amanda’s friend. She’s way too low on the
totem pole for that. This isn’t where I want to be today, so I really don’t care
if you’re put out. I also don’t see any tributes or signs that you’re part of
Amanda’s world. Where are the sacrificial virgins and inverted pentagrams?”

I caught Teddy off guard. He laughs nervously and
keeps his hand on the doorknob.

“You won’t find any virgins around here, and as for
tribute to Lord Lucifer, I keep those in my private rooms. They sometimes upset
the few guests I have over.”

“Any I can see?”

“Nary a one.”

“Nary? And you called me rude.”

I walk around the room taking a closer look at the
sculptures. They’re strange little things. Intricate and crude at the same time.
I think some of the bones might be human.

“Who maintains the grounds if you don’t have a
staff?”

“People come and go. I find if you keep any crew
around too long, they get bored and the work gets sloppy. A steady flow of new
faces coming through keeps everyone on their toes.”

That’s the first thing he’s said that sounds like
the rich asshole I was expecting. He doesn’t like me inside his castle. It’s
more than me being rude. His heartbeat is up and his pupils are constricting
under the strain of maintaining his calm.

He says, “The truth is, I value my privacy more
than I value a pristine lawn. Now, how can I help you, Mr. Macheath? Amanda said
you were visiting temples around California and had some questions about my
collection.”

Good work, Amanda. Maybe I’ll keep your kid out of
the fire after all.

“I do. First off, what exactly is it?”

“Ah, definitions. Always a good place to start.
Most people who know about the estate say I—meaning the family—collect
cemeteries. That is wrong. In fact, it’s backward. We collect ghosts. We’re a
ghost sanctuary in much the same way that there are sanctuaries for wolves,
tigers, and other endangered creatures. The cemeteries are the outward part of
the work. Ghosts need someplace to live and most enjoy familiar places.”

“They don’t haunt the house?”

“A few try. I have a service for that. A team of
Guatemalan witches comes by once a month and touches up the spirit barriers.
They’ve been dealing with Mayan ghosts for five hundred years, so I think they
know what they’re doing. I love my ghosts, but like the family cats, they’re
outside, not inside friends.”

“How many dead friends live here with you?”

“I have no idea. Would you like a tour?”

“Why not?”

He looks relieved that he can finally get me back
outside.

We walk around the front of the house to where a
pristine golf cart is parked in the shade. I slide in next to Teddy and we head
out into the wilds of his estate. I’m wearing the same shirt I had on when
Amanda was over. I hope it’s dark enough to keep light from glinting off the
armor. I don’t want to have to explain it to Teddy. Though I shouldn’t have to
explain anything to a guy who uses skeletons like model kits. It’s a funny hobby
for someone who comes off so reverential when talking about the dead.

“Amanda tells me you’re a high roller in the local
temple. How’s that working out for you?”

Teddy shakes his head.

“Dear Amanda. She has all these fantasies about
getting my little clan involved in the day-to-day drudgery of it all again.”

He turns to me quickly.

“I hope I’m not being offensive, you being from a
temple yourself.”

“No. God’s a drag. The Devil’s a bore. The only
people worse are the ones who run the temples. They think everyone should be on
their hands and knees scrubbing the floors right along with them.”

“Well put,” says Teddy.

I wonder how Deumos is doing. Has anyone murdered
her yet? I don’t know how long it will take Buer to design and build her temple
but I bet it won’t be fast. Merihim and his crew will sabotage the project.
Someone might blow the whole thing up the day it opens. That’s all Hell needs.
Another martyr. I wonder if Deumos is counting on her fairy goddess godmother to
protect her. That’s not a bet I’d take but then I’m surprised she and her church
have lasted this long. Maybe they’ve got some angels on their side that don’t
have horns and tails.

There’s a crowded subdivision of stone minimansions
up ahead. A metal gate out front just says
PARISH
. Which parish it is fell off a long time ago. It’s an old New
Orleans cemetery with its aboveground tombs hauled all the way up this hill like
Fitzcarraldo hauled his boat.

“So you didn’t spend your summers at Satan
sleepaway camp burning Bibles and pissing on crucifixes?”

Now that we’re on his turf, Teddy seems more
relaxed. He takes out a black Sobranie cigarette, puts it in his mouth, then
takes it out again without lighting it.

“I spent my summers here or with my father or
grandfather scouting new haunted places in need of protecting. I’m polite to
Amanda and her crowd but I haven’t been to one of their meetings in years. No
one in the family has taken them all that seriously since Grandfather.”

Teddy gestures toward graveyards in the distance,
using the cigarette like a pointer.

“He collected our first cemeteries around the same
time he struck it rich in silver mining. He believed these two events were
inextricably linked, so he saw it as his duty to create a haven for ghosts. He
joined Lucifer’s temple because the political connections made it easier for him
to shave the taxes on the silver income and to bring in foreign graves.”

“A lot of ghosts seem to stay here. You don’t try
to keep them earthbound?”

Teddy shakes his head.

“My charges stay or go as they please. Perhaps if
God presented Himself more readily, they wouldn’t be so afraid of what awaited
them when they finally crossed over.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

Teddy’s unlit cigarette is driving me crazy. I
still don’t have any Maledictions.

“Mind if I have one of those?”

“Not at all.”

He holds out the pack to me. I take one, break off
the filter, and toss it on his lawn. Teddy doesn’t flinch but he saw the butt
fall and knows exactly where it is. He’ll be out here with tweezers and bleach
later to clean up my mess.

I light the cigarette with Mason’s lighter. Without
the filter, the smoke is rough and rich, like a three-hundred-pound nurse giving
me CPR.

There are acres of land below us carved up and
divided between several graveyards. It’s a whole housing development for the
dead.

“Speak of the Devil, to your right is a foreign
sanctuary. A small one from the Cannes region of France.”

It’s a pretty collection of stone monuments and
phone-booth-size tombs filled with cats. Cats seem to love dead Frenchmen. I’ll
have to ask Vidocq about that sometime.

“Over here is our first import from Asia.”

Miniature candy-colored pagodas and ornate stone
barges fill a very old, very crowded Thai graveyard. Beyond it is a re-creation
of an improvised Civil War graveyard, complete with crumbling wooden
markers.

“How the hell do you do all this?”

Teddy beams, delighted that I’m impressed.

“We keep a group of necromantic engineers on
retainer. They survey the cemetery proper, caskets, tombs, and bodies.
Whatever’s appropriate. Then chart the exact depth and position of each burial
against the stars. The cemetery is then dismantled and rebuilt here, reproducing
the original alignments down to the millimeter.”

Teddy bats away a fly, the first I’ve seen here.
Maybe an ungrateful jabber left a hole open nearby like an oversize
groundhog.

“If need be, we can transport native soil back with
the disinterred remains.”

What’s funny is that Teddy is as unimpressive as
the estate is impressive. I’m even forgetting to treat him like shit. For all
his eccentricity, Teddy is one of the beige people. They want to fade into the
woodwork and disappear. It’s not depression. It’s more like a desperate desire
to become invisible. He’s only tolerating me because he doesn’t want to piss off
the other Devil freaks enough to shun him. Plus, it’s a chance to show off. If I
sat next to him at the synod, I guarantee he wouldn’t have said a word to me all
night. He’s cold oatmeal in thousand-dollar loafers. Dad and Granddad must have
done some serious damage before leaving him alone on a hill with nothing but
dead playmates.

“Have you heard about the little girl?”

He finally lights the damn cigarette and takes a
puff.

“Everyone’s heard about her. If you’re implying
that she’s one of mine, she’s not. Like most ghosts, mine are completely
nonaggressive.”

“You’ve never had any trouble with any ghosts?”

He shrugs. Turns the wheel and runs alongside a
long stone burial mound.

“They have their moods just like anyone but they
don’t go around stabbing people.”

I keep thinking about Amanda’s story about the Imp
of Madrid. She’d be right at home here.

“Pull over.”

Teddy stops the cart under a towering stone
angel.

“I don’t buy any of what you’re selling, Teddy.
This funfair for ghosts and they’re all tame little bunnies? I don’t believe it.
You’re connected to the girl. I don’t know how but you are. And, you see, she
went after Saint James.”

“Who?”

“Shut up. Coming after him means she came after
me.”

I take out the .45 and push it into his ribs.

“Do you know what happens to people who try to kill
me or mine?”

Teddy has gone as white as his Rolls. He tries to
swallow but chokes on his spit.

“Please. I don’t know what you want. The girl isn’t
one of mine.”

I say, “Liar,” to double-check, but the moment has
passed. I can read it in his heartbeat and his breath. The microtremors in his
voice. The fucker is telling the truth. I keep the gun out anyway.

“Who could do that? Summon and control a spirit
that powerful?”

“I don’t know. Maybe someone from the temple. For
all I know, it could be Amanda.”

“Please. She can’t even keep her kid in line.
What’s she going to do with a little Lizzie Borden?”