Hollywood Dead Read online

  I might have played the madman a bit too well. Sandoval is in shock and scared—as scared of me as she is of the faction. There’s not going to be any talking her out of her decision. Not now anyway, and I don’t have time to wait for her to come around.

  Still, I have the Glock and the black blade in my jacket. I could kill every one of these pricks and make a run for it. But what will that get me? How long will I last? Between the arena and L.A., I’ve been stabbed, shot, burned, poisoned, blown up, and run down by cars and Hell beasts as big as cars. I was once almost snapped clean in half by the claws of a giant crablike thing. A couple of times, I’ve held my stomach together to keep my intestines from spilling out. But I’ve never decayed to death. If Sandoval is even half right it will be the worst thing I’ve ever been through, and I’ve been to Fresno.

  A second later, and the sirens are right outside. Bright red lights strobe against the kitchen windows as medics bang on the front door. The roaches scuttle out to let them in. When the others turn to watch, I make my move.

  I shove Sandoval out of the way, grab Howard, and haul him into a shadow.

  WE COME OUT on Las Palmas, across the street from Max Overdrive.

  Howard’s head swivels back and forth like a hyperactive pigeon’s.

  “What happened? Where are we?” he says.

  “Somewhere it’s just you and me and you can fix me up like you were going to tonight.”

  “I don’t have my equipment,” he says. “My potions or books.”

  “You mean you don’t have Sandoval’s permission. You don’t need it anymore.”

  “Yes, I do. I can’t do anything without her say-so.”

  He tenses and takes a step into what he hopes will be a spirited dash away from me. I punch him in the solar plexus. He goes down sputtering.

  “You were going to say ‘You don’t know what Wormwood is like. Crossing them is worse than horseradish on ice cream.’ I’ve been hearing that from you assholes for days. Worry about Wormwood later. Right now, I’m the only monster you should be concerned about.”

  I try to pull him to his feet, but he’s dry-heaving and can’t get his legs under him. Crouching, I toss him over my shoulder and carry him across the street to the store. The lights are off and I don’t see anyone, so I shadow-walk him inside.

  When we’re there, I dump him on the floor between the Hammer horror movies and Giallo sections. He lies there like a pile of British beans. I need time to think. The one thing he said that concerns me is that he doesn’t have the equipment he needs to put me back together. In theory I could take him to Sandoval’s and have him get the gear, then take him somewhere safe to do the procedure. But how can I trust him to get the right tools? He could grab something that would kill me instantly. It’s what I’d do. I’m reasonably sure that if I could get the things together, I could make him put me right, but I don’t know what he needs. I need to find someone who has that kind of knowledge. Vidocq is the only person I can think of who might. But if I go to him, not only will he have to deal with my being back and ready to check out again, it will get him on Wormwood’s bad side. I’m not sure I can do that. That’s problem one.

  Problem two is that until I can figure out problem one,I need somewhere to stash Howard. I suppose I could leave him in the Room, but that makes me nervous. Even if I sealed all the functioning doors, he’s a necromancer and that means he has a good knowledge of all sorts of hoodoo. Plus, he’s smart. He might just figure a way out. I could tie him up or knock him unconcious, but I still don’t trust him in the Room. What if he knows a way to keep me out? Then I’ll be truly fucked. No, I need somewhere on Earth to put him. Somewhere he doesn’t know and where no one is going to bother him.

  There’s a footfall on the stairs from the upstairs apartment. I start to grab Howard when I hear a clank. I know the sounds of that walk.

  A few seconds later Kasabian comes down. He isn’t scared when he sees me this time. He just looks exhausted.

  “What are you doing here, man?” he says. “And who the fuck is that on the floor?”

  Howard has raised himself up on one elbow and is looking around the store. I give him a little kick and he doubles up again.

  “This is Howard. He’s a necromancer and he’s going to fix me. Make me fully alive again.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, good for you. Why is he here?”

  “I kind of kidnapped him from Wormwood.”

  “And you brought him to us? What the hell for?”

  I go over to him.

  “I need someplace to stash him while I figure some things out.”

  “No.” Kasabian shoves me and sticks a finger in my face. “Just no. You and the corpse fucker can get your asses right the fuck out.”

  “Listen to me—”

  “No,” he says again. “I knew the moment I saw you the other night that you were going to make our lives miserable again.”

  “It would just be for a day.”

  Kasabian puts his head down on the counter. Finally he says, “If you care about Candy or Max Overdrive or even me, please, take your friend out of here and don’t come back.”

  “I’m coming back. I’m going to be alive again soon.”

  “Fine,” he shouts, getting back up from the counter. “Then come back when you’re alive and not dragging in trouble with you.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “I’m not. I’m scared. You want to bring Wormwood around here? You stupid prick.”

  “They’re never going to know.”

  “Yes, they are,” says Howard. “I’m going to tell them.”

  We both look at him.

  He says, “I’m going to tell them everything about this place. Max Overdrive, is it? That shouldn’t be hard for them to find.”

  I walk back and crouch down next to him.

  “What makes you think you’ll live that long?”

  “Death threats?” he says. “Now I’m definitely going to help you. You’ve made it so enticing.”

  “There are worse things than death.”

  He smiles at me.

  “Damnation? Nice try. That’s the very first provision in my contract with Wormwood. Exemption from damnation. You can’t scare me with Hell.”

  “I could just make you wish you were dead. I mean, look at Kasabian.”

  He says, “Thanks, man. Bring me in as your worst-case scenario. Fuck you too.”

  “I have the black blade. I can cut off your head and keep you alive forever.”

  “And how am I supposed to perform your resurrection without a body? No. You don’t scare me, Mr. Stark. You might as well send me back.”

  “I’ll kill you before I send you back. If I’m going to die, so are you.”

  “And we’re back to death threats, which give me no incentive at all to help you,” he says. “You’re exactly the type of bastard who’d let me do my work and then kill me out of spite.”

  “What if I took some kind of blood oath? One of those ones that will kill me if I welch on the deal?”

  “That’s a good try, and in different circumstances, I might accept the offer. But not with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re deranged. You said it yourself.”

  “He’s got you there,” says Kasabian. “You really are a fruit bat.”

  I look from him back to Howard.

  “Offer me another deal,” he says. “See how far that gets you.”

  He’s right. There’s no way I’m going to convince him. Not now, at least.

  I whisper some Hellion hoodoo and Howard falls over with a thud.

  Kasabian says, “Oh shit. Did you kill him? We don’t need dead people around here.”

  “Calm down. He’s just unconscious. I’m going to keep him like that until I figure things out.”

  “No. Get him out of here.”

  I look at the back of the store.

  “Does Candy still use the storage room for band practice?”

 
“No. It’s just full of junk.”

  “Perfect.”

  Kasabian follows me as I carry Howard to the storage room.

  “Please don’t do this. I’m asking you to be a person for one minute and get him out of here.”

  I dump Howard behind a box of old skin flicks. The store doesn’t even carry those anymore, so no one is likely to look there.

  I turn around to Kasabian.

  “Listen. I have maybe twenty-four hours before I melt like a Morlock in The Time Machine.”

  “I love that movie,” he says. “You mean the original, right? Not the stupid remake.”

  “Of course I mean the original. I always mean the original.”

  “Yeah. At least you’re smart there. Now get him out of my store!”

  “I’m not lying to you. I’m not here to trick you or fuck with you. This is me as fucked up and scared as I’ve ever been. I only have one chance at staying in the world. You don’t want me around and maybe Candy doesn’t want me around either, but I have to be human enough again to have that conversation. I mean it, Kas. Help me with this. And after, if Candy tells me to take off, you’ll never see me or hear from me again.”

  He thinks that over for a minute.

  “That’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

  “Then you’ll do it?”

  “Twenty-four hours.”

  I waggle my hand in the air.

  “Maybe a little longer. I’m only going to get one shot at this.”

  “And if it doesn’t work out, what happens to Sleeping Beauty back there?”

  “Go to Vidocq. Get a sprig of Dragon’s Tooth root, mix it with some whiskey, and pour it down his throat. It’ll erase the last month of his memories. Everything. Then just put him on a bus and let him ride around until his brain works enough to get home.”

  Kasabian looks at me hard.

  “If Candy gives you the boot, you’re gone this time?”

  “Forever.”

  “And even if she doesn’t, you’re not moving back in here.”

  “I promise.”

  “It is nice watching you beg,” he says.

  “Then I can leave him?”

  He takes a deep breath.

  “Yeah. Okay. Just one more thing …”

  There’s a scrape as the front door opens. I don’t wait to see who it is but walk into a shadow. All I hear as I disappear is Candy saying, “Hi, Kas. Who are you talking to?”

  I’m long gone before he can answer.

  SANDOVAL’S MANSION IS dead quiet when I get back. I come out in my room and change into my regular clothes. Put the Glock, the Colt, the black blade, and the vellum scroll in my coat. On my way to the bowling alley, I hear a couple of voices from Sandoval’s office. One man and one woman. But there’s nothing urgent in their voices, and I have a feeling they’re a couple of roaches left behind to watch the place while Sandoval and her entourage take a gold-plated ambulance ride to a Wormwood clinic. Maybe Sandoval and Roger can share a room. Do puzzles and go to physical therapy together. Maybe discover that they both secretly love Jell-O. Have a real TV-movie bonding experience.

  Rest up, you two. You’re both going to be dead soon.

  I knock on the door to the bowling alley and go in without waiting for a response. Marcella sits at the scoring table, relaxed and bored.

  “I knew it was you,” she says. “The others don’t knock.”

  “Mom believed in manners.”

  “Like dragging people to Hell when you’re mad?”

  “No. The polite part is when I bring them back after they get the message.”

  She stands up. Stretches.

  “I’m still not sure Mom would approve, Boy Scout.”

  “I always was a disappointment. How about you?”

  “I was on the disappointing side too. Until I found Wormwood.”

  “This Wormwood or the faction?”

  She comes over, rolling up the sleeves on the shirt I gave her.

  “There’s only one true Wormwood and it’s not the one upstairs.”

  “Right. It’s the one looking for, what did you say?”

  Marcella raises her chin slightly and says, “Salvation.”

  “I don’t know what salvation means to them, but I bet there’s a lot of tentacles and screaming involved.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong. It’s a holy thing we’re doing.”

  “I swear to everything that shits and crawls through Hell, if you say it’s a crusade, I’m going to leave you here.”

  She looks me in the eye.

  “Sensitive about righteous people doing righteous work?”

  “No. I just spent a year on a crusade. I’m sick of lunatics telling me there’s absolution and ice cream over the next hill.”

  “You just had the wrong leader,” she says.

  “And you’re one holy-roller inch from me leaving you here with the fuckers upstairs.”

  She glances at the door, then at me.

  “Where are we going?” she says.

  “Disneyland, to ride the teacups. Now come on.”

  I take her arm and haul her toward a shadow. She tries to pull away, but I’m heavier, stronger, and a lot more pissed off right now.

  “Fuck you,” she yells, and tries to claw my face. I push her out of the shadow on the other side.

  Marcella lands on her ass at the corner of Hollywood and Vine.

  She looks around, a little stunned. I put out my hand to help her up and she knocks it away. Grabs a light pole and pulls herself to her feet.

  “What kind of trick is this?” she says. “Is this another part of Hell?”

  “Yes, but not in the way you mean.”

  She gives me a funny look, halfway between fury and blind panic. I get a twenty from my pocket and slap it into her hand. She still doesn’t get it.

  I say, “I’m letting you go. That twenty won’t take you far in a cab, but it will get you out of the neighborhood. There’s a couple of old pay phones on Sunset just past Fairfax. I don’t know if they still work, but they’re worth a shot. Call your people. Go home or wherever the fuck you assholes hold your tent revivals.”

  She stands there like a stunned deer.

  “If this is a trick it’s going to make your mom cry, Boy Scout.”

  I turn around.

  “No tricks. See you around, Marcella.”

  “Why?” she says.

  “Because you’re Wormwood, which makes you garbage. But if I left you back there, everything they want to do to me they’d do to you. I can’t stop them right now, but I can take that away from them, at least.”

  I leave her there. I don’t know if she gets in a cab or goes for pizza. I just walk away.

  Ivar Avenue is a block west. I head up to Bamboo House of Dolls. I need time to think. Along the way, I put on a glamour. Everybody likes this face. Who am I to argue with that?

  The bar is buzzing when I get inside. It’s nice to see that the place can still pull a crowd, at least on the weekends. There are more Lurkers tonight, too. Some blue-skinned Ludere and a table of always-loud, always-drunk Nahual beast men. Being in a crowded bar alone can be depressing, especially if it’s one you’re used to spending time in with friends. There’s only one good reason to ever come to a bar on the weekend by yourself, and that’s because no matter how crowded it gets, there’s always one lone, sad seat at the bar that no one will take. It’s an unconscious thing. No normal person will touch the seat because on some animal level, they know that it’s reserved for loners and losers too broke or pathetic to even pay for companionship. A perfect place for me tonight.

  Carlos gives me a nod and a pitying half smile when he sees me.

  “Good to see you back. Jack Daniel’s, right?”

  I say, “Right on the money,” and put my last twenty on the bar.

  Carlos disappears for a couple of minutes. I’m sitting quietly, trying to listen to the music, but it’s too loud, and anyway, my brain is running on overd
rive trying to process the last few hours.

  I’m going to die soon unless I can convince the one asshole in the world who knows how to fix me that I’m not going to kill him when he’s through. It doesn’t help that I had a somewhat colorful reputation before I died. And it helps even less that all Howard has seen me do since I’ve been back is kick the shit out of Roger and blow holes in Bruno. If I was him, I wouldn’t trust me either. So how do I get him to work some magic on me? What I need is a heavyweight psychic. Someone who can get in Howard’s mind and convince him that fixing me is the best idea he’s ever had. And then I need Howard’s equipment. Fuck. Even if I took him back to Sandoval’s house, could we get everything we need before a herd of Wormwood bulls came charging inside, shooting and ruining everything?

  I can’t do it. I can’t figure a way out of this. I’m fucked.

  I’m going to die again. And this time my body will be reduced to bloody chum, so there’s no putting me back inside it. I might already be starting to rot.

  My right index finger taps nervously on the twenty on the bar. I stop it and look at my hand. Did I get all of Bruno’s blood off? I swear my fingertips look darker. I remember the marks on my sides and back I saw in the bathroom mirror. Were those bruises or lividity? I swear, my skin feels looser, like if I gave it a yank, it would come apart like cotton candy. I touch my stomach. The bullet wound feels closed, but I’m not sure anymore. If I stood up too quickly, would it rip open again? If it did, I’m sure I could make it through the crowd and outside, but why? Just so I can bleed out in the gutter?

  No. This isn’t getting me anywhere. I need to slow down and think this through again. Or do I? It might be time to admit that I fucked up in a way there’s no getting around. I’ve died before. I’ve gone to Hell before. What’s the big deal? At least this time I know that Candy and Max Overdrive are doing fine. Even Kasabian is doing all right. Maybe I just need to stop, catch my breath, and appreciate the moment. I still have twenty dollars. If I nurse a couple of whiskies like a rookie, I can make them last an hour. This is probably my last time in Bamboo House of Dolls. I might as well enjoy the moment.

  Carlos comes back with my drink and I slide the twenty to him. He picks it up, looks it over, and sets it back down again.