“Unfiltered. You sweet boy.”
I wonder what’s behind those dark glasses. I swear, even in daylight I can see a faint glow from underneath the lenses. She could be sporting twin suns or headlights back there. You would not want to aim your road rage at this woman.
Mustang Sally cocks her head and stares at me for a few seconds.
“I know you. The charming Frenchman introduced us.”
She has a low, purring smoker’s voice, the kind you can almost feel in your chest when she speaks.
“You’ve got a good memory. That was my friend Vidocq. He was looking for Mickey the Hammer’s grave and figured that since you’d been everywhere and see everything, you might have noticed where he was buried.”
“Yes. He’s an alchemist and Mickey was . . . what? A tracker? He left me a few offerings, too.”
“Mickey was a scoria hound. He could trace anyone or anything through its trail in the aether. I guess he found the wrong person because he ended up dead. People said he was buried with a scroll explaining how to do it. You told Vidocq where to find his grave.”
“And did he find what he was looking for?”
“The body was where you said it would be, but someone got there before us and picked it clean. It cost Vidocq a lot of donuts to find that body.”
She shrugs and gazes out at the traffic.
“That’s the way of the road. It’s gas, gab, or food. Nobody rides for free.”
I go back to the bike and bring her the bag of snacks. Sally smiles when she sees it. I hold it out to her. She doesn’t take it. Just pulls the edge of the bag with a fingernail and looks inside.
“My. You must be looking for a diamond as big as the Ritz.” She smiles a tiger’s smile. “Put it in the car and ask your question.”
I go to where she’s parked. The Cobra’s seats are perfect. They look brand-new, but she must have logged thousands of miles in the thing. The only thing that gives away she lives and eats there is the trail of litter that stretches out behind the car for as long as I can see. Cookie boxes. Cellophane from around snack cakes. Crushed cigarette packs. Sally marks her territory and no one stops her. Not CHP. Not cops. No one.
I get back just as she grinds out the cigarette with the toe of one delicate shoe.
“I need a back door into Hell,” I say. “A way in that no one will notice.”
She curls her lips into a half smile.
“Sneaking into Hell. That’s old magic. Beginning-of-the-world stuff. Back when the different planes of existence weren’t so far apart that the residents of one don’t even believe in the existence of the other.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It depends on how you want to go in. There are places where this twelve-lane Möbius strip is the Hell parents tell kids they’ll end up in if they don’t behave. There are other places where this is Heaven.”
She smiles.
“You don’t want to go in that way. It’s too unpredictable.”
“Are there other ways in?”
“Don’t be in such a rush. Give a lady a moment to think.”
She takes another Lucky from the pack. I light it with Mason’s lighter. As she breathes in the smoke, I swear the glow behind her sunglasses brightens.
“Nice car,” I say.
“Thanks. It’s pretty but it might be time to trade it in. It’s getting too noticeable. These days, if you own something long enough, it becomes vintage and everybody wants one. In my day, when something was old, it was just old.”
“I bet it handles these roads well.”
She shrugs, unimpressed.
“Each road has its own way of going. You should have seen those few scratches in the dirt in the Fertile Crescent. The first roads that called me into being. Back then a decent pair of sandals was high tech.”
She holds out the Luckies. I hesitate.
“It’s all right,” she says. “Half the job of being a spirit is knowing when to share.”
I take the cigarette. She pulls a gold lighter from her bag and sparks the Lucky for me.
When she drops the lighter back in the bag, she says, “Do you know what it is you’re asking? Do you have any concept of what Hell is?”
“I spent eleven years Downtown, so, yeah, I have a pretty good idea.”
That gets her attention. She gives me a slow once-over with her eyes or whatever it is behind those glasses.
I say, “I was alive. The only living thing that’s ever been down there and sure as Hell the only living thing that’s ever crawled out.”
“Oh. That’s you. The monster who kills monsters.”
Her body relaxes like we’re chatting each other up in a bar.
“What a relief. For a minute there, I was afraid you were a ghost. I don’t like doing business with the dead. They leave pitiful offerings.”
“I guess being all disembodied would make you a little skittish.”
“That’s not the half of it. Ghosts are whiners. When they don’t like the answer I give them, some even try haunting me. Me. Can you imagine how annoying it is to have a ghost moaning away in your car? I banish them to road structures. Overpasses or cloverleafs. Let them watch the living go by for a hundred years or so and see if that improves their manners.”
“I wonder if the bums that live in underpasses know they’re pissing on the dead?”
Mustang Sally looks at me hard.
“Why do you want to go back? Escaping once was quite a feat. Are you trying to become famous by doing it twice?”
“I’m going to find a friend who shouldn’t be there. And then I’m going to kill someone. If I have time, maybe I’ll stop a war or two.”
That makes her laugh. A full-throated husky howl.
“You’re not frivolous. But you might be crazy.”
“My friends wouldn’t argue that point, so I won’t either.”
“This friend you’re going to rescue, is she your lover?”
“Yeah.”
Sally looks out at the road. Heat reflects off it, making the cars in the distance soft and dreamlike.
“u t00"> o you know what most people ask me when I stop for them?”
She waits. I’m supposed to ask the question.
“What?”
“You’d think it would be about where to find the boy who got away or the girl they left behind. But no. They want to know where they should go to be happy. How can I possibly answer that? The road isn’t here to make you happy. It’s here so you can find your own way. Because they bring me cigarettes, they expect me to cure their misery.”
“What do you say?”
“I tell them to go to a gas station and buy the biggest map they can find. It doesn’t matter if it’s the city, the state, or the world. I tell them to open it, close your eyes, and drop your finger somewhere on the map. That’s where you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
“Running off into the unknown can sure clear your head. It sounds like pretty good advice.”
“Thank you.”
I smoke the cigarette as a highway-patrol car slows down and gives us the once-over. Sally throws the driver a tiny backhanded wave. The patrol cop’s eyes go blank. He turns his attention back to the road and drives on.
“Any thoughts on my problem?” I ask.
“Yes. What you want isn’t all that hard to do, but it isn’t easy if you get my meaning. What you need is a Black Dahlia.”
“And that means what?”
“You’re going to have to die. And not a going-gentle-into-that-good-night death. It’s going to be messy.”
Story of my life.
“I was hoping for something a little more in the hocus-pocus area. Getting Downtown dead and being stuck there kind of defeats the purpose of my coming to you.”
She flicks the Lucky butt out onto the road. It flies in a perfect arc like a falling star. Marking her territory so more cops won’t bother us.
“Silly boy. I said you had to die. I didn’t say you’d be dead. Dying is just the offering you make to gain passage. Once you’re on the other side, the debt is paid and you’ll be you again.”
“How violent are we talking about? I mean is the word ‘entrails’ involved?”
“Your death doesn’t have to be quite as baroque as poor Elizabeth Short’s Black Dahlia. A car accident should do it. At a .do it. crossroads, of course.”
“Is there anything I need to do?”
“You’ll need to carry an item worn by or touched by someone who suffered a violent death. Anything will do. A photo. A class ring. If the friend you want to find died violently, that’s perfect. Get something of hers. Keep it close so it’s touching your skin as you pass through. Love and death. There’s no more powerful combination.”
That’s good news, but which of Alice’s things should I bring with me? Maybe something she’d miss. Or is it too mean to remind her of her life here? On the other hand, it feels a little lame to bring the TV remote or her toothbrush.
“How do I find the right crossroads?”
“Elizabeth Short was murdered near Leimert Park. There was a nice crossroads there, but it’s all suburbs now. Why don’t you try the I-10 underpass at Crenshaw? That’s a decent little crossroads. All you need to do is hit the accelerator and run the car into one of the concrete freeway supports. I’ll be close by to give you a little push to the other side.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
She nods and strolls to her car. I follow her over. She digs through the bag of snacks and comes up with a packet of jelly beans. She rips it open, offers me one, and when I shake my head, she spears one with a fingernail, takes it off with her teeth, and chews. She reaches into the packet, pushing the jelly beans around, looking for a specific one.
She says, “I’m only doing this because while you might be crazy, you’re not stupid. You don’t think you’re Orpheus and can bring your friend back to the world of the living. That means you’re willing to die and cross over to the worst place in Creation for someone you love but can never truly have. That’s the kind of thing that can give even an old thing like me goose bumps.”
“To tell you the truth, I’d rather be back running Max Overdrive.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re like me. One of the night people. I’m the road. I give life and I take it. People like us don’t get to close our eyes to the world and live cozy mortal lives.”
Two men’s faces slide into my memory. My real father, Kinski, a has-been archangel, and the father who raised me. One of the faces fades away. It’s the other, not-quite-human one that stays.
“You make it sound so doomed and romantic. We should all be drinking absinthe as we die of consumption.”
She shrugs her pretty shoulders.
“It’s what you allow it to be. You can find beauty and joy in the dark places just as easily as civilians find comfortikefind co in the glow of their TVs. But you have to allow yourself to do it. Otherwise . . .”
“Otherwise what?”
“Otherwise, ten years from now, you’ll be stopping me and asking a foolish question and I’ll end up sending you to a gas station to buy a map.”
“Ow. When you put it that way, Hell sounds just about right.”
Sally touches my cheek. Her hand is warm, like the furnace burning behind her shades.
“Be a rock, James. Otherwise, you’ll lose everything.”
“How did you know my name was James?”
She swallows another jelly bean.
“It’s just a trick I can do.”
I shake my head.
“You sound like the Veritas sometimes.”
“One of those little Hellion luck coins that insults you when you ask a question? I hope I’m not that mean.”
“No. But what the hell does ‘Be a rock’ mean? It sounds like the kind of hoodoo warning that never actually means what it says.”
Mustang Sally puts the jelly beans back in the bag.
“I always say what I mean.”
She takes the white driving gloves out of her purse and puts them on. “Just like I always signal when I change lanes. I can’t help if you don’t see me coming and end up in a ditch.”
Like a Howard Hawks freeway femme fatale, Mustang Sally slings the little purse over one shoulder and gets back in her car, revs the engine, and peels out. She blows me a kiss as she speeds by.
Aloha from Hell
I DRIVE ACROSS town and beach the Bonneville in a no-parking zone in front of the Bradbury Building, that old art deco ziggurat and one of the few truly beautiful constructions in L.A. A group of schoolkids is on a field trip and I let them pass by before stepping into a shadow. I’m pretty sure a couple of the kids saw me. Good. Kids need their minds blown every now and then. It’ll keep them from thinking that managing a McDonald’s is the most they can hope for.
I don’t come straight out into Mr. Muninn’s cavern. I lean against the wall in the Room of Thirteen Doors. This is the still, quiet center of the universe. Even God can’t text me here. In here I’m alone and bulletproof.
I’ve had one ace up my sleeve since this whole circus with Mason, Aelita, and Marshal Wells began. The kill switch. The Mithras. The first fire in the universe and the last. The flame that will burn this universe down to make way for the next. I told Aelita about it but she never believed me. She couldn’t. I’m an Abomination and I could never get anything over on a pure-blood angel like her. So what good does that make the Mithras? A threat only works if people believe in it, which leaves me alone in this eternal echo chamber, not sure what to do. I can get behind Mustang Sally’s beauty-in-darkness idea. That’s half the reason Candy and I have been circling each other all these months. We’re each other’s chance to find some black peace in the deep dark.