Aloha from Hell. Richard Kadrey
“No. This is just me being shanghaied, is what it is. If that’s coffee I smell, I don’t want any. I’m not staying long.”
Julia comes out of the back. Her dark hair is longer than I remember and she’s wearing it up. She has on a sensible black skirt with a power-color bloodred blouse. She looks like a sexy librarian, but moves like someone who could casually dislocate your knee or crack some ribs with a tactical baton.
She stops when she sees me. Smiles a little and comes over to the bar.
The last time I saw U.S. marshal Julia Sola was here in the bar. She told me how Wells had taken the fall for the Drifters’ tearing the city apart. Homeland Security had shut down its L.A. branch, disbanding the Golden Vigil and recalling Wells to Washington. She told me she was quitting the marshals’ service to open her own investigation company. Just the general awkward bar chatter between two people who barely knew each other, but had seen a lot of the same craziness and slaughter over the last few days.
“Hello, Stark.”
“Marshal.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d come. I had a bet with myself that you wouldn’t.”
“Looks like you lost.”
“I guess I owe myself five dollars.”
She holds out a hand to shake. I give her a quick polite one to make Vidocq happy. He wants me to be a gentleman. I want him to be quiet about it.
“It’s not ‘Marshal’ anymore. It’s just ‘Julia.’”
“Well, Julia, truth is I wouldn’t have come if I’d known who we were seeing.”
That night, while Julia and I were talking, her voice had changed. Dropped an octave and turned snotty. It was Mason’s voice coming out of her mouth. He couldn’t get himself out of Hell, but he’d conjured up a way to turn people into meat puppets for a few seconds. Mason hopped in and out of maybe a half-dozen different bodies, making threats and generally being the first-class asshole he always is. When he was gone, Julia didn’t seem to remember a thing. Seem being the important part.
Carlos sets a cup of black coffee on the bar. She says, “Thank you,” and picks it up. “You don’t even want to know why I got you here?”
“Not even a little.”
She smiles and I smile back, looking for Mason’s shadow behind her eyes. But I can’t find him. It’s just her in there and I can’t pick up anything that feels like deception. Julia looks at me like she’s waiting for me to say something else. Maybe she’s just sizing me up. I let the silence hang to see if the tension makes Mason reveal himself.
She sets down the coffee.
“Eugène must have told you that we’ve worked together a few times.”
“He mentioned it.”
“I know you feel a certain reluctance to talk to someone involved with DHS or the Vigil.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
Carlos says, “Wait a minute. She’s with those people who got you beat up and fucked over? Lady, if I’d known that, you wouldn’t have set foot in my place.”
She looks at Carlos and then at me.
“I know I could tell you that I’m not with them from now until the end of time and you wouldn’t believe me. But for what it’s worth, I’m not and I won’t ever be again.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
“I thought maybe Eugène vouching for me would mean something, but you never let facts get in the way of your judgment, do you?”
“Mrs. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me?”
Vidocq bumps me with his shoulder from behind.
“Listen to what she has to say.”
Candy comes up beside me. I don’t have to look. I can smell her slightly inhuman scent. I once killed the pimp who ran a Hellion brothel. He lit the place with burning amber and it smelled like burning pine and smoke. Candy kind of smells like that.
“So tell me why you wanted me here.”
“I have a job I think you’d be uniquely suited for.”
“What kind of job?”
“It might be dangerous.”
“I figured that when you wanted me and not Vidocq or one of your marshal buddies. What you want is someone disposable. Someone off the grid who won’t be missed when whatever this is goes balls-up.”
“You’re way off. I want you because I think you’re the only person in L.A. with the skill set needed to handle this particular situation.”
“When someone says ‘skill set’ I get nervous. Just tell me what this is.”
“It’s a demonic possession. An exorcism went wrong and a boy is missing.”
I get up to leave.
“Thanks for getting me here for nothing. I’m gone.”
Candy puts a hand on my shoulder.
“You, too?” I say.
“Just let her finish.”
I look at Sola.
“I don’t do exorcisms or bounty-hunt demons. The Vigil got me mixed up in a demon skip trace and it ended with me and Brigitte gnawed on by a roomful of Drifters.”
She nods.
“I know. But that was Wells and this is me. There are no tricks here. No hidden agendas. Just a kid who needs your help.”
“I don’t think so. I think you’re the one who needs help. You sent the kid a demon jacker, but he blew it and the kid ended up worse than before. Now you want someone to clean up your mess.”
She picks up her coffee, takes a sip, and sets it back down. She doesn’t look at me when she starts talking.
“You’re right. Okay? There. I said it. I need you to fix up my screw-up.”
The muscles in her shoulders and the back of her neck are tight. Her breathing has gone a little shallow and rapid. Her heartbeat’s up. If I trusted her, I’d swear she’s telling the truth.
Sola shakes her head.
“I don’t know what happened and neither does Father Traven. Have you heard of him? The Vigil had him on retainer for freelance exorcisms. He’s the real deal. A genuine old-school demon ass-kicker. Only this time the demon kicked back harder.”
“Why come to me? Why not get another priest? Or a houngan or one of those old nyu wu witches in Chinatown? They love this kind of thing.”
“I tried to get another priest, but when word got out that I was working with Father Traven, none of them would talk to me.”
“Now you’ve finally said something interesting. What’s wrong with your snake handler?”
“He was excommunicated.”
I turn to Vidocq.
“Did you know about this? You were a nice Catholic boy. This is big-time stuff. Is there anything worse than an excommunicated priest?”
“Yes. One who’s not excommunicated.”
I get out a Malediction and light it. I look at Carlos. State law says I’m not supposed to smoke in here, but he gives me a don’t-sweat-it shake of his head.
“What did Traven do? Skim from the collection plate? Oil-wrestle altar boys?”
Julia shakes her head.
“Nothing like that. Father Traven is a paleolinguist. He specializes