Kill City Blues
“I hope there are no hard feelings about the Chateau Marmont situation,” he says.
“No. I knew it was coming. I had my hand pretty deep in the cookie jar.”
“That you did, son. That you did. Well, I’m off.”
“Why don’t you stay? We were going to try and eat the last of the Chateau food, but I think we’ve lost our nerve. I figure we’ll send out for something.”
Muninn takes a last swig of coffee.
“And that’s why you won’t be Lucifer anytime soon. You don’t have the most logical work ethic. I’ll be heading back now to take care of business. Samael?”
“I’ll be along in a bit. I have a few of my own issues to talk over with Stark.”
“I’ll see you at home, then.”
And he’s gone. Vanished. Like a God.
I look at Samael.
“We have issues?”
He shakes his head.
“Of course not. I just needed a break from home sweet home. The palace is overrun with the high and holy.”
“And you’re used to having your own suite.”
He takes a Malediction from a gold cigarette case. Offers me one. I take it.
“You have to admit . . . it’s addicting.”
I nod, accepting a light.
“I’m bored to death down south. I thought you might let me raid your video collection again.”
“Feel free. It’s not like anyone wants to rent anything. Well, a few vampires, but that’s not really a long-term business model.”
He picks up a Max Overdrive bag and starts down the stairs.
“Specialization. Give the people something no one else can give them. That’s the way to stay open.”
“Between streaming video and BitTorrent, I’m not sure there’s anything left.”
Samael shrugs.
“Look harder. Consult with some younger witches. Maybe together you can conjure up a lost film or two.”
“That’s not a bad idea. I’ve always wanted to see a full version of London After Midnight.”
“A fine place to start.”
I sit down and smoke. That was all too close. Mr. Muninn might not be as strong as he once was, but he can probably still turn me into mildew on a bathroom shower mat. But I kept my promise to Traven. Maybe I’ll visit Blue Heaven with him. See what the big deal is. It’s not easy to get there if you don’t go through the Room, so everyone there is supposed to be in the high-IQ club. Definitely the place for him. Not so much for me. Still, I haven’t had a vacation in a while. Hell sure doesn’t count. Maybe take Candy there for a weekend just to clear my head so I can stomach dealing with Wells again.
“Knock knock.”
It’s Candy.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
“You know the Devil is stealing all your Italian and Japanese horror movies.”
“Ex-Devil, dear. Let him. He saved me and Father Traven’s grapes tonight.”
“Liam doesn’t have to stay in the Room forever?”
I shake my head.
“Tomorrow I’m taking him to Blue Heaven.”
“Where’s that?”
“I’m not sure. It’s supposed to be nice. You should come with us and see what it’s like.”
“Okay. So that’s it? God stops by to argue and you get everything you want?”
“Hardly. But enough. And now I owe him a favor.”
“He’ll want the Qomrama.”
“Yeah, but he knows he can’t have that. That means it’ll be something a lot harder.”
She puts an arm around me.
“We’ll deal with it when happens.”
“Thanks.”
I get up and drop the cigarette in the dregs of Mr. Muninn’s coffee.
“Can I tell Brigitte about Liam getting out of Hell?”
“Don’t go into details, but yeah. Why not?”
“She’ll know it was you.”
I say, “We should get food delivered to celebrate.”
“Excellent idea. What should we get?”
“You and Kasabian work it out. He has a million delivery menus around here. I have to make a phone call.”
I walk her to the stairs and call down.
“Hey, Samael. Want to stay for dinner?”
“Will there be donuts?” he says.
“No.”
“Then yes.”
Candy heads downstairs and I go back into a bedroom and close the door. I get out my phone and scroll back through the old incoming call numbers until I find the one I’m looking for.
“Hello? Who is this please? I don’t recognize your number.”
It’s a man’s voice. Vaguely familiar. He called me once when he was possessed.
“Talk to me, Merihim.”
“Who? I think you have wrong number.”
“Come on, Merihim. I know you’ve been in this guy’s head before. Come back and talk to me.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Talk to me.”
The line goes quiet but the other guy hasn’t hung up.
“Stark. How nice to hear from you. We haven’t talked in a while.”
“I miss your crank calls. Did you lose interest in harassing me?”
“Not at all. There’s just a lot of work to do down here. Busy, busy, busy. What have you been up to?”
“Killing Aelita and Medea Bava.”
“That’s not what I heard. I heard it was the priest who killed Bava.”
“Ah. So you are keeping tabs on things.”
“It’s getting easier. Using the key. Possessing humans. You might have noticed.”
“Yes. That was you possessing Father Traven.”
“Of course.”
“That’s where it all came together for me. You take over Traven. He gives the 8 Ball to Medea. Medea kills Aelita to get her out of the way. That means she can come back to Hell and give the 8 Ball to Deumos. She’s the key to all this. The goddess worshipper who brought the Qomrama to this universe from wherever the Angra are stuck. She wants it to do the final summoning.”
“Look at you, thinking like you haven’t completely pickled your brain yet.”
“And this whole thing comes back to you Hellions’ obsession with suicide. You think if the Angra come back, they’ll destroy all of Creation and put you out of your misery once and for all.”
“Why not? Father won’t do it. Or can’t. Who else are we to turn to?”
“I tried to save you tonight. I almost had him talked into opening Hell and letting you bastards flutter home to Heaven.”
“What’s the phrase? Almost only counts in hoof slippers?”
“Horseshoes. It only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. You’re right. But if you assholes hold on a little longer . . . Let Mr. Muninn—I mean Lucifer—deal with Ruach, he can reopen Heaven and you won’t have to destroy the entire fucking universe.”
“Promises. Promises. We lost faith in you when you were Lucifer. Why should we listen to you now?”
“I don’t know. It’s something to break up the tedium.”
“I tell you what, Mr. Sandman Slim. You proceed with your plan and we’ll proceed with ours, and we’ll see who gets there first.”
“I have the Qomrama, you know. I’ll use it against the Angra. And you.”
“A peashooter against an army. Good luck. Is this all you called about? I’m disappointed.”
“Stay in touch, asshole. I miss these fireside chats.”
“We’ll see. It’s not as fun when you want me to call.”
“Okay. Fuck you. If you wake up dead some night, don’t say I didn’t try to make nice first.”
“Good-bye.”
“Adios.”
I go downstairs and find Candy sitting with Kasabian on his bed, at least a dozen take-out menus spread about between them.
“Where’s Samael?”
“He kindly volunteered to go to the corner for beer. In the rain,” says Candy.
“Damn. He really doesn’t want to go home. Have you decided on dinner yet?”
“We’re down to Indian or Thai.”
“I vote Thai.”
“You might get outvoted this time.”
“This is why democracy is dying.”
I walk around the empty movie racks and restack some of the boxes of DVDs that Samael has been pawing through. A lot of memories in this place and on these pieces of plastic. If nothing else, I hate the idea of the Angra destroying us because it would wipe out all this work. All this demented horror, action, and beauty. A universe without Terrence Malick and Lucio Fulci isn’t worth living in. The Angra must be real bores. I hate them even more now. I pick up a copy of Badlands and go back to where Candy and Kasabian are still arguing about how hot they should order the food.
“Here’s the question of the night. If we lose, what movie do you want to watch at the end of the world? I call The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.”
“Spirited Away,” says Candy.
“The Snake Charmer’s Daughter, Brigitte Bardo’s best porn flick.”
I look around Max Overdrive. The rolled-up posters. The new-releases rack. The empty cutout bins. Fuck the world. I’ll kill the Angra to save my movies.
I say, “We’re going to need more TVs.”