sure know how to show a girl a good time, Mr. Stark.”
“I try to keep things interesting for my friends.”
“So far, so good.”
If I was a regular person and Candy was a regular girl and this was a regular moment, I’d be kissing her, but we’re not and this isn’t. She looks at me like she knows what I’m thinking.
“I should probably give doc a call and let him know everything’s all right.”
“Yeah. He’s probably worried.”
“You look like you’re going somewhere.”
“I know where Parker has Vidocq and Allegra. I’m headed down there now.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” I say. “I could be wrong. If I am, I want someone here I can trust to look out for them.”
“Okay,” she says, sounding a little hurt.
“I should get going.”
She looks at the medics working on Aelita. The angel is sitting up now.
“I’m going to call doc in a minute and then I’m going home to him because that’s where I belong. I’m going to tell him most of what happened tonight, but not everything. But I want you to know that I’m not sorry for what we did.”
“Me neither,” I say. “The one good thing about an awkward moment like this is that, with the way we look, the longer we stand here torturing each other, the more likely we are get to get some of these Vigil nervous nellies to pee themselves.”
Candy smiles.
“Go,” she says. “I’ll keep an eye on things here.”
“Thanks.”
I take the sawed-off from her hands, nod at Wells, and step through a shadow behind the dead magicians. Still the best first date ever.
THE PHONE BOOTH outside the Orange Grove Bungalows hasn’t changed much since I was here eleven years ago, except that now there’s a guy living in it.
The Orange Grove is a collection of about two dozen small cabins that were twenty years past their prime before I went Downtown. Now they look like a condo complex in Hiroshima the day after the bomb. The bulletproof glass in front of the check-in counter has had a good workout. In eleven years, no one’s painted anything or cleaned the pool. There are things wiggling down in the stagnant backwash that I don’t even remember seeing in Hell. This is where David Lynch groupies go to lose their virginity on prom night.
There’s one specific cabin where we used to party, but I can’t remember the number. I walk up and down the concrete walkway that snakes between the cabins. It’s New Year’s Eve, so the place is crawling with skinny hookers with black meth teeth and equally skinny johns who can’t walk straight. A lot of smells in the air. Pot. Stale cigarettes. There’s a lot more piss and the weird burning plastic stink of bad crack. Those are the least offensive.
I spot the badness near the back of the third row. It looks just like the others, but to my eyes, it pulses with chaotic energy. The energy fields around the window and front door are brighter and the colors are more intense than the rest of the cabin. When I put my hand out, the brighter energy morphs into teeth, like a giant cartoon version of the bear trap, and snaps at me. When the civilian hookers and their johns wander by, nothing happens. A tired looking hooker, in a miniskirt way too short for her veiny legs, wanders by alone.
I say, “Hey, darlin’, want to make some quick money?”
“I’m done for tonight, honey.”
“No hanky-panky. I’m pranking a friend. I just need you to go over there and bang on that door real loud.”
“How much?”
I pull out a wad of Muninn’s money. What the Hell. It’s New Year’s.
“Five hundred dollars.”
Suddenly Miss Done for Tonight is all smiles.
“Hell, I’d suck the shine off the doorknob for that.”
I give her the money and she stuffs it in an inside jacket pocket in case I change my mind.
“Don’t do anything until I tell you. Then bang on the door as hard as you can and take off.”
I leave her by the door and go around to the back of the cabin.
I hold up my hand, drop it, and say, “Now!”
The hooker takes a step forward and gives the door six or seven good raps. She looks at me and I motion to her to get the hell out of there. Then I step through a shadow into the room. I go through it fast and to the Door of Memory. I make sure the sawed-off is still there. I left it by the door when I came through from Avila. I had a feeling that Parker would have spells up that could detect weapons.
Through the door and into the cabin. Parker is up front, hands on the door, trying to feel who’s out there.
I’m in the bungalow’s bathroom. Allegra and Vidocq are on the floor, their mouths closed with duct tape and their hands tied in front of them. I put a finger to my lips for them to keep quiet.
There’s a wooden plunger behind the toilet. I grab it and sprint at Parker. Just before I reach him, I snap the plunger’s wooden handle and bury the sharp end of the bigger piece in his back.
Parker screams in pain and the sound of his voice knocks me back against the far wall.
Parker turns and smiles at me. Slams his back against the wall so that the sharp end of the wooden handle punches all the way through and comes out his chest. Then he reaches up, pulls it out, and drops it on the floor.
“How fun is that, huh? That’s the kind of thing you would do. Mason knew you’d find me, so he juiced me with a Kissi power enema. Is this how you feel, Sandman Slim? It’s like I could tear the world apart with my hands. Let me show you.”
I bark a Hellion phrase and Parker sinks halfway into the carpet, which is sucking him down like quicksand.
Parker isn’t shocked or scared. He presses his hands into the melting carpet, whispers a few words, and the quicksand reverses itself, pushing him up out of the floor. Before I can get out of the way, he throws one of the plasma balls he was using on Rodeo Drive. Hits me square in the chest. I hit the back wall hard enough that some of the studs snap, leaving the wall bowed out. The body armor keeps my ribs from cracking, but I feel like I got hit by the same meteor that killed the dinosaurs.
Parker comes over and takes a good long look at me on the floor.
“This is the best New Year’s ever. Yeah, you messed up our little Hell surprise on the hill, but that’s okay. Mason’s got lots more ideas, and let me tell you, hanging out with the Kissi is a blast. Those boys really like to party.”
With a superhuman effort I try to push myself to my feet, but only get as far as propping myself on my elbows like a white-trash
