Kill City Blues

“You just pulled me out of damnation. I think I can stand whatever it is you’re going to show me.”



“Strap in, preacher.”



I gun the bike and aim at the shadow of one of the guard towers. Traven tries to be cool, but I feel him tense against me and hear him, I can’t fucking believe it, saying a Hail Mary as we pick up speed.



I hit the brakes when we’re halfway into the Room and we slide the rest of the way in, leaving a nice line of rubber across the floor.



He gets off the bike and looks around in wonder.



“We’re at the center of the universe.”



“Yep.”



“Where nothing can go in or out without your say-so.”



“Pretty much.”



“How does it work?”



“Don’t know. Don’t care. It works and that’s good enough for me.”



“That’s called faith, son.”



“That’s called not looking a gift horse up the nose. I’ll be back soon with some books. Don’t worry. I’ll let Vidocq pick them out.”



“One thing,” he says as I angle the bike to take it back to L.A.



“Yes?”



“Can you tell Brigitte that I asked about her?”



“I’ll think about it,” I say, but I’m lying.



I COME OUT of the Room, as usual, by the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. I always get the copper jitters when I’m on the bike in L.A., and now I have a dead hellhound strapped across the handlebars. The only way I can attract more attention is if I was towing a Spanish galleon full of half-naked cheerleaders with flare guns. On the other hand, this is L.A. and I can just as easily be another moneyed airhead who scored a big movie prop on eBay. Why not? Ask nice and maybe I’ll trade you Gilligan’s hat for the bones of the Partridge Family’s dog.



I head up Gower Street and across Hollywood Boulevard to Bamboo House of Dolls. I think about parking the bike in the alley next to the bar, but I leave it in a space out front instead. Let the rubes get a look at a genuine hellhound. It’s not like this crowd hasn’t seen its share of funny beasts before. A few people call my name as I go inside, but it’s not a chitchat kind of night and I don’t need strangers buying me drinks in a bar where I already drink for free.



Carlos gives me a funny look when I come in.



“Is that ice in your hair?”



“Probably.”



I run my fingers through it a few times.



“Better?”



“Better. You been sticking your head in hotel ice machines again? I warned you about that.”



He gets a bottle from under the bar and pours me a shot of Aqua Regia.



“I can’t stay long,” I say. “Tonight’s a work night. Are there any Cold Cases around?”



“Again? Are you still on them?”



“Don’t send them any love notes yet. They’re the ones that shot up the front of your bar the other day.”



He slams down the bottle.



“Those dog-dick pendejo motherfuckers.”



I swallow the Aqua Regia.



“I’m sorry that I can’t help you with that one, though. I have to make nice with them tonight.”



Carlos shakes his head, staring at a table by the jukebox. Martin Denny is playing, “Was It Really Love?”



“Do what you got to do. I’ve got some potions back here that’ll have them puking frogs and shitting bottle rockets.”



“Thanks for the drink. I’ll be nice as long as they are.”



“Just leave some of them for me. That’s all I ask.”



I head over in the direction of the jukebox. The Cold Case I levitated a while back sees me coming. He stands and then the rest of them follow, grabbing for their most fearsome weapon. Their phones. I hold up my hands so they know I’m not here to hurt anyone.



“Sorry to show up still alive, boys. Tell Nasrudin no hard feelings but he’s on my naughty list. But I’m not here to talk about the past. I’m here to talk business. Who here wants me off his back? The first one to raise his hand gets a free pass from here on out.”



They all raise a hand.



“I forgot to mention. You have to do something for me first.”



Hands waver. A few go down. In the end, only two stay up. I pick the guy closest to me. He looks at me like he thinks I might bite off his face at any minute, so I speak in short sentences and use small words. He seems to understand. In a few minutes we have a deal. We even shake on it. I’ll be washing that hand before I head home.



I TAKE BACK streets as far as I can before cutting over to Sunset to reach the Chateau. Lucky me, it’s late enough that there aren’t a lot of tourists around to gawk at me with a hellhound across my handlebars like demon roadkill.



I get the Hellion hog back in its space in the garage and put the cover back on. I miss it already. Who knows when I’ll get to ride it again. If the world is still around at New Year’s, maybe then. Put Candy on the back and take her down the Pacific Coast Highway. Open the throttle up a little. Maybe I’ll even get a speedometer installed and see if we can top 200 mph.



I’m in a funny mood when I get back. Kind of light-headed. Halfway between sad and still riding on the adrenaline of the last few hours. I saved Traven from damnation, but only after I killed him. I accomplished everything I set out to do on the trip Downtown, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I guess nothing will be enough for a while. A dead friend stashed under floorboards. Monsters from another universe bearing down on us. A brokenhearted friend and a girlfriend who’s sick of me riding off to my doom every ten minutes. Yeah, I guess you could call the last day or so a real mixed bag. And I don’t know if things are going to get any better anytime soon. Right now, though, I just want to see Candy and get something to eat.



I have to admit that I’m tempted to take the hellhound upstairs in the elevator. Just stroll through the lobby with it on my shoulder. Mr. Macheath back from another night out on the town. But I check the impulse.



The hound is so heavy I have to dance it around to get it off the bike and onto my shoulders. No showing off this time. I find the nearest shadow and go through, coming out in the penthouse. Candy is sitting on the sofa with Kasabian, drinking beer and watching Destroy All Monsters. She looks up at me.



“Look. The ramblin’ man made it back. And he brought dinner.”



I drop the hellhound on the floor. It sounds like I shot-put a piano.



“I’m glad to see you too. I told you I’d make it back in time.”



“Is that what you said? I thought it was ‘I’m sorry I took off again like that and I’ll worship you as a goddess when I get back.’ ”



“That doesn’t sound like me. Maybe one of your other boyfriends.”



“Yeah, I have their bodies stacked on the roof. It keeps the cat burglars away.”



Kasabian comes around to check out the hound. It takes him a minute to crouch on his gimpy knee, but he makes it and runs his hands over the hound like it’s Ali Baba’s treasure. He examines his fingertips and squints.



“This is the best you could do? It looks like you pulled this thing out of a garbage dump.”



“You’re welcome to go back and get one of your own.”



“This falls deeply into the category of ‘better than nothing.’ ”



“So do you, so it’ll be a perfect fit.”



He runs his hand along the length of the hound’s spine.



“At least the legs are straight.”



“Call Manimal Mike anytime you want. He ought to be able to scavenge enough parts off the thing to fix you up, Hopalong.”



Kasabian looks up at me.



“What did we say about nicknames?”



“Sorry. You can’t really expect me to be Miss Manners overnight.”



He shakes his head, staring at the hound.



“Damn. You actually did it. And here me and your missus were making bets on whether you’d come back at all and how many more limbs you were going to lose.”



“Who won?”



Candy doesn’t look up from the movie.



“No one’s seen you undressed yet, so the bet still stands.”



“I’m calling Manimal Mike right now,” says Kasabian. He clamors to his feet and squeaks and grinds away to his room.



“Let me know when he’s coming over. I want to talk to him.”



I sit down next to Candy, take her beer off the table, have a sip, and pass it to her.



“How’s Brigitte doing?”



“You had someone you loved murdered, so you know.”



“Yeah.”



“Allegra and Vidocq took her to stay with them. I think seeing you burned and gutted like that scared Allegra a little.”



“She patched me up pretty good. I didn’t pop any rivets while I was gone.”



Candy turns and kisses me. I kiss her like maybe I was afraid I wasn’t coming back, which is how I always feel when I go to Hell. I hand her back her knife.



“So, I guess your plan worked out?” she says.



“Yeah. I have Traven stashed in the Room.”



She pushes away from me.



“That’s your master plan? Take him out of Hell so you can lock him in the attic like your crazy aunt?”



“I’m still working on the next step.”



“Which is what?”



“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”



I get up, checking the long slit the guard left in my coat sleeve.



“I need a shower. Will you call room service and have them send up some food?” I say. “A real spread. I just took one of the Devil’s souls. I might as well steal more of his food.”



I throw the coat on the pile of dirty and ruined clothes in the closet. At least it’s a slash and not bullet holes or blood. A slash I can get fixed.



I step in the shower and let the hot water wash the last of Kill City and Hell off me. I should turn on the news. I wonder what people are saying happened to Kill City. And about the strange people seen swimming from the sinking mall. Shit. Some of those pricks had cameras. With luck, they were just shooting the wreckage and didn’t get any shots of me. It might be about time to go totally Batman. Get a pointy mask and a cape. Maybe an hourglass-shaped muscle car. Call it the Sandmanmobile. That would really fox the cops.



The food is up by the time I dry off.



Lobster. Steak. Dim sum. Salads with vegetables they must have flown in from the dark side of the moon. Enough bread and desserts to give Canada a coronary. I love taking advantage of rich people.



I load up a plate with lobster tail and take it to the sofa. While I was in the shower they’ve moved on from Destroy All Monsters to Godzilla vs. Space Godzilla. Just another kaiju night at home with the kids.



Candy leans against my shoulder, eating dumplings. All might not be forgiven but enough is for now.



“In the attic under his Avengers collection,” I say.



Candy and Kasabian look at me.



“Your hoarder,” I say. “I found him in Hell. Dad’s gold coins are hidden under his Avengers collection in the attic.”



“Like TV–Mrs. Peel The Avengers or comic-book the Avengers?” he says.



“I have no idea.”



“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want a piece of the business.”



“Don’t hold your breath for any more interviews with the dead. I won’t be welcome in Hell for a long time.”



“You had to get messy?” says Candy.



“Well, they didn’t give up Traven gratefully. I know you were pissed, but I’m glad you didn’t see me doing that.”



“What?”



“Murder.”



“Tell me about it later.”



“I’d rather not.”



“But you will.”



“Sure.”



AN HOUR LATER Manimal Mike is in the penthouse crouched by the hound, going over every inch of it, examining the details with a flashlight.



“She has a fair amount of corrosion, but nothing I can’t clean up.”



He nods, satisfied.



“This will work. I can fix Kasabian’s leg and use the frame to build a new torso, closer to human proportions.”



“How soon?” says Kasabian.



Mike frowns and shakes his head.



“I’ll have to get it back to the shop to be sure. Some of the joints are locked and I’ll have to clean and reseal everything.”



“How soon?”



“If I pick it up in the morning, I can probably give you a rough estimate tomorrow night.”



“Great,” says Kasabian.



Mike gets up and wipes his eternally grimy hands on a dirty rag he pulls from his back pocket.



“See you tomorrow,” he says, and heads for the door behind the grandfather clock.



I follow him over and cut him off.



“The other night at Death Rides A Horse . . .” I say.



He holds up his hands in apology.



“Sorry about that. I was in a bad mood and embarrassed that you caught me there.”



“You haven’t done anything stupid, have you? Pledged yourself to some bloodsucker or let one of them put their fangs in you?”



“Nothing like that.”



“Good.”



I reach into my pocket and take out a small bottle.



“Here’s the straight-up truth. I can’t give you back your soul because it’s not mine to give anymore. Never mind how or why, it’s just how things are.”



“Then I’m screwed.”



I hand him the bottle I got from the Cold Case.



“This is a clean soul. It doesn’t belong to anyone. It’ll substitute for yours when the time comes.”