a few house calls. Ever since the Lurker roundup, things have gotten progressively quieter. I suppose if the clinic was open and empty I’d be even more depressed.”
“We’re looking for somewhere she can open a new clinic,” says Vidocq. “But it’s a slow process.”
“I don’t know if it’s any help or not, but I’ll pay you for running the tests.”
Vidocq rubs the chamois over the burned spot on his table.
“We have no use for your money.”
“It’s not mine. It’s the PI agency’s.”
“In that case,” says Allegra, “we’re happy to accept.”
“I’ll probably have more work for you as business ramps up.”
“Good. It will be nice to be working again.”
“Speaking of which, do you have any painkillers for the guest? Whatever he is, I don’t think he’s used to having a body, and it hurts.”
Allegra goes to a kitchen cabinet and comes back with a plastic aspirin bottle with the label scratched off. The pills inside are small black ovals.
“These should help. I’ve used them on both Lurkers and humans for pain.”
“Thanks.”
I put the pills in the pocket with the knife.
“Bill me for these, too. One more thing: Does either of you know where I can find some brass knuckles?”
“That’s more your thing than ours,” Allegra says.
“I know. I just thought I’d ask. I’ll bring these pills back to Sleeping Beauty.”
“He has a name, you know.”
“I’m sure he does. I’m just not sure we know it yet.”
I GET IN the Rover, head back up the Hollywood Freeway, and end up getting caught in a traffic jam while trying to get onto Sunset. This is my future. Brake lights, angry lowriders, stoned jocks in a party van, frustrated soccer moms, and sweating salarymen fumbling for their heart pills slow-rolling on and off freeway ramps until one of us snaps and opens fire on the rest. Even dead we’ll be stuck in traffic, our corpses pickled in fumes and lit by the glare of light bars on squad cars. We’ll make the evening news, and be talked about at work the next day. Cars, guns, cops, and gossip. Reality-TV immortality. Show biz and murder. That would be a good name for a drink. I’ll have to remember to tell Carlos about it.
I ditch the Rover by Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, where Candy and I tried to have a sort of first date. Naturally, it all went wrong. A phone call from a demon got in the way. I promised to take her back. Did I ever do it? So much has happened in the last year, a lot of it is a blur. Shuttling between Earth and Hell, cutting off heads, getting shot, playing Lucifer, dying a couple of times. Even if I did take her back, it’s time we went again. Just a couple of monsters out for dinner, clogging our arteries with gravy and not giving a damn because this is California, where everyone lives forever.
I go down Sunset, cut up Ivar, and walk into Bamboo House of Dolls a few minutes later.
When Carlos sees me he holds up a shot glass and a coffee cup.
“You on or off the clock?”
“A little bit of both, but I’ll take a drink.”
“Thank you, Jesus. I don’t need you in here sober and sad. It bad-vibes the room.”
“Then give me a double and let’s spread the Christmas cheer.”
“Ho ho ho,” Carlos says as he sets down a double Aqua Regia.
“I can’t remember, are you married?”
Carlos smiles.
“Happily divorced five years now.”
“Mind if I ask why?”
“It just happens sometimes, you know? You start out young and a certain kind of person, then you grow up and you’re not that person anymore. Sometimes the people you become just shouldn’t be together. You stick around that shit long enough, you end up hating each other. My ex and me, we stuck it out too long. By the end, our differences got damned irreconcilable, so instead of torturing each other anymore, we finally called it quits. Why are you asking?”
“I don’t know exactly. I’m just trying to figure some things out.”
“Losing someone is never easy,” he says. “If it was, I’d be out of business.”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that happening.”
“Drink up,” he says, pours us another round, and holds up his.
“To other people’s misery.”
We clink glasses and drink.
He pours us one more.
“To Candy. A great girl.”
I look at him. He waits for me. After a few seconds of thinking, I drink and he does too. Carlos knows that Candy is Chihiro, but he’s right about losing people. I didn’t really lose Candy, but she’s still gone.
I look around the bar for familiar faces among the twinkling Christmas lights. I find one at a nearby table: Brigitte is drinking wine with a handsome trio—two men and a woman—laughing and talking loudly, having a fine old time. She spots me and I invite her to the bar by pointing to my drink. She excuses herself from the table and walks over.
She kisses me on both cheeks and I say, “At least someone’s having a good time tonight.”
“Yes. They’re from Prague. From the old days, when I was still a killer like you. It’s good to see old friends.”
“That must be nice.”
“It is. And I so seldom get to speak Czech anymore. It makes me feel more at home here.”
“I felt the same way speaking English when I was Downtown.”
“Did it make things better?”
“A little. Sometimes during the holidays I feel very far from the things that made me happy.”
“Like hunting Drifters?”
She smiles.
“I came here to destroy revenants and become a real live Hollywood actress. The first is done, but no matter what I do, the second feels as if it’s barely begun.”
Brigitte used to do artsy porn flicks back in Europe. I never saw any, but Kasabian worships her as a goddess. A producer brought her to L.A. with promises of big roles in big movies. He croaked and Brigitte has been trying to get a foothold in the business every since.
“All our apocalypses keep getting in the way of work.”
She slowly shakes her head.
“You’d think someone was conspiring against our happiness.”
“The universe hates happy people, that much I’m sure of. You need to cultivate a taste for colorful misery.”
“Like you and your Aqua Regia.”
We both drink. I finish mine, but don’t ask for a refill this time.
“Maybe things will settle down awhile, end-of-the-world-wise. Once the movie moguls slink back into town, you’ll be rolling in work.”
She pushes a stray strand of hair out of her face.
“You haven’t said anything about my voice. I’ve been taking lessons, trying to lose my accent. How do I sound?”
“Like the queen of the county fair. What do you think?” I say to Carlos.
“You sound like Angelina Jolie.