The Wrong Goodbye (12 page)

  But like I said, I wasn't going to say any of that to Gio. And since I couldn't think of anything else to say, I said nothing – a nothing that, so far, had stretched on for going on eight hours.

  "OK, if you don't wanna talk about it, could you at least tell me where we're going?"
  "Las Cruces," I said.
  "Las Cruces? As in New Mexico?"

  "That's right."

  "Is that where we're gonna find our guy?"

  "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know."

  "Then why the hell are we going there?" 

  "Because it turns out Danny's involved in some pretty nasty shit – sort of the undead equivalent of drug running, I suppose. Las Cruces is where his employer's at."

  "Ah, I gotcha – you think maybe we can shake him down, make him tell us where this Danny guy's been hiding."

  "Something like that," I lied. I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth: that it wasn't Danny I was really after. That as much as I'd like to see Danny pay for what he'd done, recovering the Varela soul was my only real priority. That there was a chance Danny wasn't in Las Cruces at all – that he'd simply left the soul there and moved on – and this errand I was dragging Gio on would bring him no closure, no justice, no peace of any kind.

  Only even
that
was a lie – it isn't that I didn't have the heart. I didn't tell him because I didn't yet know whether or not I'd need him, and so I had to keep him motivated – invested in a common goal. I didn't tell him the truth because if I did, I couldn't use him anymore.

  I guess Ana was right about me after all: I really
am
a bastard.

  "So this boss-man we're going to see," Gio said, "he a reaper-type like you?"

  "Dumas? No, Dumas is nothing like me – he's a demon."

  Gio looked impressed. "A demon, huh? He got, like, horns and shit?"

  "No," I said. "The monster shtick is strictly for the foot-soldiers. The higher-ups, they've got the juju to alter their appearance – to change the way your eye perceives them. They all look pretty much like you or me. But then, I thought you would've known that." 

  "Why the hell would I have known that? It ain't like I've ever met a demon before." 

  "Of course you have." 

  "The fuck're you talking about?"

  "Gio, how do you think you ended up here?"

  "I dunno – I mean, I guess I done some shit I shouldn'ta done. Ain't that sorta how this works?" 

  "Sure, for some. But that alone isn't enough to get you collected. No, to get collected, you've either got to be full-on Hitler bad, or you've got to make yourself a deal with a demon. And you, my friend, are the latter." 

  "But that don't make no sense! If I'da made a deal with a demon, wouldn't I remember it? If I'da made a deal with a demon, wouldn't I at least have gotten something out of it?"

  I shook my head in disbelief. "You think you 
didn't?"
  "What – you're saying that I
did
?"

  "Gio, before you wound up working for the Outfit, what kind of shit were you pulling?"

  Gio hedged. "Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that."

  "Yeah, my guess is emphasis on
little
. The way I hear it, you were nothing but a two-bit thug. I'm guessing some mugging, a hold-up or two, maybe a little smash-and-grab, right?"

  Dude was frowning something fierce, now. When he spoke, his tone was sullen, petulant. "I did all right." 

  "Sure you did," I said, "but you've got to admit, that sort of stuff doesn't exactly make you Outfit material, now does it?" 

  "I… I guess not."

  "Only one day, a guy comes along, says he'll make your dreams come true – all you've got to do is come work for him, and he'll take care of the rest. Next thing you know, you're living large, and you can't believe your luck – but you aren't about to question it, because you're afraid that if you do, it's all going to go away. Am I close?" 

  "A little too," he admitted.

  "That guy you met – he make you shake on it?"

  He thought on that a sec. "Yeah." 

  "Demon."

  Gio fell silent for a while, mulling over what I'd just told him. Then he heaved a sigh and shook his head. "Shit," he said, "it ain't like I was ever in line for the pearly gates anyway – not after all I done. The way I see it, I still came out ahead."

  "Yeah, only now hell's got all of eternity to try to change your mind."

  We spent the next mile or so in silence. When Gio finally broke it, his tone was absent its usual bravado. He sounded small, fragile, afraid. "What's gonna happen to me? When this is all over, I mean." 

  "You're asking what hell is like?" 

  "Yeah."

  "I couldn't say." 

  "You mean you're like forbidden?"

  "No, I mean I couldn't say. Hell is sort of like a tailored suit of bad. Everybody's is a little different, and everybody's is designed to deliver the punishment that best fits them. For me, hell is right here, right now – it's this world, this life, this thankless task. For you, I couldn't say."

  "That don't give me much to help prepare for it." 

  "Sorry, but that's all I've got. And even if I had more to tell you, it wouldn't help. There's just no preparing for what you've got coming."

  "Jesus, dude – your bedside manner
sucks
. You
trying
to scare the shit outta me?"

  "I'm
trying
to tell you the truth," I said. It came out harsher than I intended. I took a breath and tried again. "Look, if you want to know what hell is really like, you've got to look inside yourself. Hell is your worst fear, your deepest insecurity, laid bare for all the world to see – again and again, for all eternity. You think you can psych yourself up for that, then be my guest. But if you want my advice, I suggest you enjoy what little time you've got left."

  "Speaking of," he said, "I got myself a special lady in Vegas I wouldn't mind seeing one last time before I'm dead for good. You think once we finish with this demon guy, we could maybe swing on by?" 

  "No," I said. 

  "Right. Figures." 

  And then, for a while, we said nothing.

  For a while, we both had nothing left to say.

  
  
  

"Collector!" she said, her voice echoing off the dingy bathroom tiles. "You want to tell me what it is you think you're doing?"

  I shut off the tap and looked in vain for a paper towel, instead settling on shaking the rust-scented water from my hands. We were at a truck stop an hour west of Abilene, in a stretch of countryside so brown and dead that, but for the occasional patch of scrub brush, it might as well have been on Mars. It was pushing three in the morning, and though there were a couple guys in the parking lot catching some shut-eye in their big rigs, the inside of the truck stop was deserted. Gio was outside, gassing up the Fiesta, which meant that in here, it was just me – well, me and Lilith, now.

  I watched her in the dingy mirror as she strolled barefoot from the bathroom stall, eyeing her new surroundings with distaste. She was clad in a sheer black evening gown rendered transparent by the fluorescent lights overhead. For a second there, as I stood looking at her, I forgot my own name. 

  I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, and in dribs and drabs, my composure trickled back. "What I'm doing, Lily, is my job."

  "Is it, now? Because I was under the impression you've not been so concerned with doing that of late." 

  I sighed. "So I guess you know about Varela, then." 

  "As a point of fact, Collector, I know almost
nothing
about Varela. I know that you have thus far failed to collect him. I know my superiors are less than pleased about that fact. I know that when it came time for me to find you, you were on some kind of fucking field trip when you should have been out handling your business. So tell me – what else is there I ought to know?" 

  "Nothing – I'm handling it."

  "That's funny, because last I saw you, you told me it had already been handled."

  "Yeah, well, there were some extenuating circumstances. Nothing you need to worry about. I've got it under control."
  "You do." Lily, incredulous.
  "Yes, I
do
."

  "Tell me, does your definition of
under control
include the undead soul in the fat-suit waiting outside for your return?"

  Shit. Gio. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I was hoping I could keep him off her radar. Oh, well – too late now to do anything but play it cool. "As a matter of fact, it does. And how the hell'd you even know? You can tell just by looking at him that the body he's wearing isn't his?"

  "Of
course
I can," she snapped. "That getup he's parading around in may be enough to fool a monkey like yourself, but I assure you, any creature not once bound to your precious mortal coil will see him coming from a mile away. Now I think it's time you stop playing around and tell me exactly what is going on." 

  So I did – or sort of did, at least. I told her about tracking Varela through the jungle, and the fact that when I found him, he was dead. I told her that Varela's soul'd been missing, which meant he'd died by a Collector's hand. I told her that I'd tracked down that Collector, and taken back what I thought was Varela's soul – only to find that it was not. And I told her that I aimed to hunt down that Collector once more, and take back what was rightfully mine. 

  What I
didn't
tell her was that I knew the Collector in question, and that I'd landed in this mess because apparently he and I had a score to settle. I couldn't see the upside in her knowing. As pissed as Lilith was at me right now, for the moment she and I were on the same side. But if she thought I'd brought this on myself, she wouldn't hesitate to sell me out. So my choice was either keep her in the dark, or spend the next few decades on the shelf. Not much of a choice, if you ask me. 

  "So," she asked when I was done, "you've no idea why this Collector targeted you?"

  "Nothing concrete. But if I had to guess, I'd say a demon put him up to it – I haven't been too popular among the Fallen since I killed Merihem and Beleth." 

  She cocked her head a moment, trying the theory on for size, and then she nodded. "That does make a certain sort of sense – a great many in the Depths were incensed they didn't get to see you burn for what you'd done."

  "Those two got what was coming to them," I said, perhaps a bit too defensively.

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But the question as to whether your actions were justified has little bearing on the predicament in which you currently find yourself. I assume I needn't remind you what your punishment will be if you fail to bring Varela home." 

  "No," I said. "You needn't."

  "Good. What I
will
remind you of is the fact that your failure would also reflect poorly on me, as well as attract a great deal of attention to the both of us that I would just as soon avoid. And if that happens, you can be sure that I will take my time in turning you over to them so that I can dole out a little punishment of my own. Pleasure and pain are inextricably linked, Collector, and I assure you, though I prefer the former, I am every bit as proficient in the latter. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be
begging
to be shelved." 

  "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

  "I'd suggest you do a little more than
hope
."

  "I told you, I'm working on it. Don't count me out just yet."

  "I wouldn't dare," she said. "So, the gentleman outside – his is the soul you stole back from this rogue Collector, thinking it to be Varela?" 

  "That's right."

  "And now he's to serve as your dowsing rod." 

  "Something like that."

  Lilith smiled. "I confess, Collector, I'm impressed – that borders on clever."
  "I have my moments."

  "Yes," she said, "you do. I only hope for your sake you have enough of them." And then she said something that completely floored me, and put the lie to the cool confidence that oozed from her every pore. "Tell me, Collector, is there anything you need of me?"

  That one question was enough to let me know that Lilith was afraid – that she was feeling the pressure as surely as was I. That one question scared the shit out of me. Because Lilith wasn't exactly the helpingothers kind – not unless her ass was on the line. 

  "That depends – you got any idea how to locate a missing soul?"

  "If he were a living human, perhaps, but unfortunately for the both of us, the only dead person I've the ability to locate is you."

  "And I'm guessing talking to the higher-ups isn't going to help."

  "No, it most certainly would not. I'm afraid that my superiors are among those who would like to see you burn for what happened in New York. They've been ordered to stand down on that regard, but I've no doubt that they would leap at the chance to get at you another way. What I will do, though, is keep an ear to the ground; perhaps I can learn something of use about your little Collector friend – such as where he's gone off to, or what he intends to do with the stolen Varela."

  My little Collector friend. Right. Of course, having Lilith dig into the whole Danny thing was less a help than it was something else for me to worry about, but I couldn't tell her that. So instead, I just said thanks. 

  Lilith turned to go, and as she did, a fat, black bug crawled out of the sink-drain beside me. It was followed by some sort of improbable, spindly-legged thing the color of dry leaves, and then two iridescent blue-gray beetles, who wedged themselves in the drain trying to both claw out at once. As I watched in growing horror, a blood-red centipede slipped past them, its many legs scrabbling for purchase against the yellowed porcelain basin.