Hollywood Dead. Richard Kadrey

      “Then the faction stepped in and promised to foot the bill.”

      She draws a smiley face in the dust, then wipes it out too.

      “Yes. The ritual will take place in the crypt under the church.”

      “When?”

      “Vespers.”

      “Sunset.”

      She cocks her head.

      “Are you sure you weren’t an altar boy?”

      This is it. I know the what. I know the where and I know the when. I even know the why, but who gives a damn about that?

      “Is anyone there now, setting up, maybe?”

      “No one will arrive until just before the ritual begins.”

      “How are they getting away? Car? Truck?”

      “They’re not.”

      I look at her.

      “What does that mean?”

      She draws aimless lines in the dust.

      “They’re not leaving,” she says eventually. “The officiants are all volunteers.”

      “Martyrs.”

      She looks down the alley.

      “Yes. And unlike me, they’ll go straight to Heaven.”

      “That’s what the preachers told you, but it’s not going to happen. Even if they pulled it off.”

      She stops doodling.

      “What do you mean?”

      “Whoever’s been running your crew is a liar or woefully uninformed. No one gets into Heaven anymore.”

      She narrows her eyes.

      “That doesn’t make sense.”

      “It does to the angels determined to keep human souls out.”

      “That’s not possible.”

      “And you think we should fire whoever’s giving us information? Where have you guys been? There’s a new war in Heaven, Marcella. God tried to open Heaven to all souls, saved or damned. A handful of winged pricks disagreed and Heaven has been sealed shut ever since.”

      She crosses her arms.

      “I don’t believe you.”

      “I don’t care, but think about this: Why would I lie to you now? What would it get me? You’ve already told me everything I want to know.”

      She shakes her head. Keeps shaking it.

      “That can’t be right. It’s not true.”

      “Believe what you want. I have things to do, like changing out of this suit.” Shifting my weight, I can feel the blood squelch in my shoes.

      She looks at me.

      “What happens to me now? Are you going to kill me?”

      “No. I might have more questions for you later.”

      I leave her and go to the door.

      “I’ll have them bring a mattress and some food down for you. There’s a bathroom through that door over there.”

      She looks around.

      “It’s a funny place for a slumber party.”

      “Be good and we’ll play Twister later.”

      When I start out she says, “You know that if you don’t kill me, the others will.”

      I stop.

      “No one is going to bother you.”

      “You’re so sure I’ll make it through the night?”

      “You’ll be fine. But don’t try to leave. I’m putting some wards on the door. The idiots upstairs will be able to bring you food and things, but if you try to go …”

      “Then I’ll die.”

      I carve some runes in the door frame with her punch dagger.

      “No. But you’ll get knocked out by a jolt like a cattle prod up your ass.”

      “No fair. I didn’t get anywhere near your ass.”

      “I never play fair. That’s how I got out of Hell.”

      “Good night, Sandman Slim.”

      “Good night, Marcella.”

      I finish carving the wards and go upstairs. I tell the roaches what to bring her. None of them will get near me in my bloody butcher suit, so I’m reasonably sure they’re listening to my orders.

      When I’m in my room, I lock the door and strip off every piece of clothing. Some of the blood has dried. Bits of it flake off and land in the carpet. Somehow, I don’t think anyone is going to be using this room for a while after I leave.

      I toss the clothes on the floor and get in the shower. I stay in there a long time, letting the steam burn the stink of Hell and that van off me.

      WHEN I GET out of the shower, I check my side and right wrist. There’s still a deep red slash where the bullet grazed me. My wrist aches and blood still trickles from the edges of the cuts where the plastic cuffs bit into me. My arms and back are covered in bruises. This isn’t right. I should be more healed by now. This half-alive skin suit is second-rate stuff. Until Howard puts me back together again, I’m going to have to be more careful in fights. Though with any luck, tomorrow night is the last time I’ll have to worry about that.

      It’s only a little after five, but I’m suddenly very tired. I decide to lie down for an hour and then go check on Marcella.

      When I wake up, it’s after dark. I’ve slept three hours. There are streaks of blood on the sheets where my wrist rested. Now when I check it, it’s healed. It’s the same with my side. The red has gone out of the bullet wound and the skin has almost closed. This is good to know. My body takes longer to pull itself together and it uses more energy, so I’ll get tired faster. I need to remember that in case things get hot at the chapel tomorrow.

      I get dressed and go down to the bowling alley. I can hear Marcella in the bathroom when I stick my head in. There’s a rollaway bed near the wall and a tray of uneaten food on the seats by the ball return. No problems here. I leave and go back upstairs before she sees me.

      When I go into Sandoval’s office it’s just her, Sinclair, and Howard inside. They’re deep in discussion when I come in but quiet right down when they see me.

      “Am I interrupting anything?”

      Sandoval goes to the bar and pours herself a drink.

      “Did you have a nice nap? I hope no one disturbed your beauty sleep.”

      “Yeah. Sorry about that. I didn’t think I was going to sleep that long. It’s this body. It runs down fast.”

      She looks at Howard.

      “Is he telling the truth, Jonathan? Is there something wrong with his body?”

      “There’s nothing wrong,” says Howard. “He’s simply in a liminal state between life and death. Consequently, his system runs a bit slower than normal. But aside from occasional bouts of fatigue, there should be no other impairments.”

      “You’re sure? Our lives and holdings are riding on this man,” says Sinclair.

      Howard looks at me like I’m a bug under a microscope.

      “I understand that you were tortured and overpowered several people today. How did you feel while doing it? Any mental or physical problems?”

      I hold up my wrist so that the others can get a good look. It’s healed