Hollywood Dead. Richard Kadrey

I do. First time you came back from Hell you were alive. This time, I don’t know. I saw you die. We all did.”

      I look at him.

      “Wormwood. It was Wormwood who brought me back.”

      He frowns.

      “Those crazy Illuminati bastards? Why would they do that?”

      “I’m working for them. But only for one more day.”

      “What the fuck are you doing for people like that?”

      “Trying to save your life, for one thing. They might be complete assholes but there’s a worse bunch of assholes that want to blow L.A. off the planet in less than twenty-four hours.”

      “Oh,” he says. “Is that why you’re here? To tell us to get out of town?”

      “No, because I know when and where it’s going to happen and I’m going to stop it.”

      He looks at me.

      “Are you sure? I mean, I can get to LAX in an hour. Burbank airport even faster. And don’t worry. I’ll leave a note for Candy and Alessa.”

      I tap a finger on the counter.

      “Stop it. I told you. I’ve got it handled. After I take out the bombers, I’m free. I don’t owe Wormwood anything. I fact, I plan on killing a whole lot of them soon.”

      He puts his hands over his ears.

      “I don’t want to hear this shit. Don’t you understand? None of us have had to hear about one of your Superman murder sprees for a year. And I think I can speak for Candy and Alessa too when I say we don’t want to. Things are quiet. We do our jobs and we have fun. We have okay lives. Please don’t fuck that up.”

      I look at him, trying to gauge his level of bullshit. Kasabian has never forgiven me for cutting off his head, and I can understand that. Part of me wants to believe that he’s saying all of this because I’m in a weak position and it’s his chance to finally get some revenge. But it’s not that. He doesn’t have a heart for me to listen to, but I can read his eyes and the frightened microtremors around his lips. He’s telling the truth. Barging in here like this, I might as well have driven a tank through the front door. At least I waited for Candy to leave so she didn’t have to see this disaster.

      “You’re right,” I say. “I just had to know how things are. I’m going to go now. Do not tell Candy I was here.”

      He looks at me like he doesn’t trust me. “Is that a threat?”

      “No. It’s me asking you politely to keep Candy out of this.”

      “Okay,” he says grudgingly. “I just didn’t like your tone there at the end.”

      “Sorry. I’m going to take off.”

      I’m starting to step into a shadow when Kasabian says, “Hey, I’m not telling you to fuck off forever. Just don’t pop out of the dark like the Grim Reaper and scare the piss out of me.”

      “Got it.”

      “For what it’s worth, I know Candy misses you. We had a drink on your birthday. Just the two of us. She got kind of misty-eyed and everything.”

      “Misty-eyed? I suppose that’s better than nothing.”

      “Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

      “That’s what they say.”

      As I’m about to leave, a poster on the wall catches my eye. It’s for a drive-in theater called the Devil’s Door.

      “Is that Flicker’s place?”

      “Yeah,” says Kasabian. “She reopened about three months ago. Fixed the place up nice. You ought to go see it.”

      “I just might.”

      “See you, Stark.”

      “Later, Kas.”

      I step through a shadow but don’t go out anywhere. I stay in the Room of Thirteen Doors and just breathe the cool air.

      That didn’t go the way I’d hoped. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what I was looking for, but it wasn’t “You being dead is the best thing that ever happened to everyone.” I’m going to have to think about this more before I do anything. Maybe check in and see if Vidocq wants some company. Two assholes without a country. I wonder if he’s still living in my old apartment. Maybe he wants a roommate. It doesn’t sound like anyone is going to be inviting me back to Max Overdrive anytime soon. But I’ll worry about that later. Got to keep my head clear and get through the next twenty-four hours. After that, whatever happens, I’ll be home and alive. Hell, if it comes down to it, I can get a sleeping bag and bed down here in the Room, which, now that I say it, sounds incredibly depressing. I wonder if I can squeeze some money out of Sandoval for finishing the job early. Then maybe I could get my old room at the Beat Hotel. A bathroom, a bed, and clean towels that don’t stink of Wormwood corruption would be fine with me. And I’d be back in Hollywood full-time. It’s not exactly an ambitious plan, but the world is coming at me hard and fast. One step at a time is all I can handle right now.

      At the moment, however, I have to figure out the rest of my night. I’m not ready to go back to Sandoval’s place and I’m sure as hell not going to Bamboo House. Kasabian is right. There’s a fine line between looking in on your ex and stalking, and I’m right on top of it. What’s depressing is that even Donut Universe is useless to me right now. But I have one more alternative, and it’s not a bad one at all.

      I STEP INTO a shadow and come out due west of Max Overdrive.

      Sure enough, it’s right where I remember. Because the entrance faces north, Flicker calls the place the Devil’s Door. The drive-in is surrounded by a high black wall covered in flames and horned dancing girls. There are eyes over the entrance and teeth around the edges so that when you enter, it’s like you’re diving right down the Devil’s gullet.

      I go through another shadow and come out by the concession stand. It’s all overpriced drinks and expensive popcorn that you’re happy to pay for because all the money goes back to keeping the last old-school drive-in in L.A. open for business.

      On the screen, Alan Ormsby is chewing up the scenery as he mock-marries a corpse from the local cemetery. The movie is Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things and Alan’s blushing bride will be snacking on his guts before the honeymoon is over. It’s a beautiful print of one of the first color zombie movies ever made. I wonder where she found it.

      It’s wall-to-wall cars below the screen—a full house. There are even a few rented hearses in between the sports cars and SUVs. About half the crowd milling around the food stand is in makeup and filthy zombie rags. That’s why it takes me a few minutes to recognize her. She’s in zombie drag too, talking to an undead ballerina and a cowboy spinning a lariat made of vertebrae.

      I don’t know Flicker’s real name and I don’t know anyone who does. I know she’s Chinese. I know she comes from heavy Sub Rosa money. And I know that she doesn’t talk to her family anymore because they don’t approve of the kind of hoodoo she practices. But she’s one of the best at what she does and this drive-in is proof of that.