Richard Kadrey - The Perdition Score

“Well, you’re still the smartest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Merci.”

He stands aside and lets me look into his microscope. All I see is black sludge with tiny dots spinning into and around each other.

“I mean it,” I tell him. “I don’t know if I could make it two hundred years and stay sane.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Vidocq says.

“Are you ever going to tell me how it happened?”

He goes back to the microscope and carefully removes the slide.

“It’s a long and not very pretty story.”

“My favorite kind.”

While he’s pouring the milk back into the flask, I reach for my coffee, but bump into his shoulder. The slide slips from his hand onto the worktable. Most soaks into the wood, but a black drop slops onto the side of the plate with bacon. When the strip of bacon comes in contact with another strip, it stiffens and flips into the air, convulsing when it lands, like a fish dying in the bottom of a boat. Each time the bacon touches another strip, that strip starts writhing and twisting too.

Vidocq slams a bell jar on top of the plate, trapping the meat circus underneath.

I look at him.

“Ever seen that before?”

“No. Never. It’s fascinating.”

“This is truly one of the most goddamned things I’ve ever seen. What do we do with the little bastards?”

“We wait and see what happens.”

“What if they don’t stop? What if we just invented immortal bacon?”

“One mystery at a time, my friend.”

“We can’t exactly Google ‘disposing of zombie thrash pork.’”

Vidocq puts his hands on a pile of old books next to the medical cabinet.

“This is my Google. I’ll find an answer for you. Don’t worry.”

“I know you will. But it’s going to lead to trouble. I can tell.”

He nods. “Profound mysteries have a way of leading to yet more mysteries.”

The bacon strips make little tinking sounds when they hit the glass dome.

“What do we do now?”

“Normally, it would be lovely to have you stay and chat, but you should go,” he says. “I have a lot of reading to do.”

“You sure you’re safe with that stuff around? Maybe I should take it and ditch it in the ocean or something.”

“You’ll do no such thing. It’s not often an old sorcerer gets to explore angelic puzzles. Leave this here with me. I’ll be fine.”

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Abbot. He wants me to come over tonight. So much for “Take the weekend, Stark.”

“Okay. But call me if things get any weirder. In fact, call me no matter what. If these bastards are still hopping around tonight, I want to know about it.”

“Of course. Of course,” he says, leading me to the door. “But now you must go and I must look for answers.”

At the door I say, “I got some of the milk on your table. I might have wrecked it. I’ll pay for a new one.”

“Perhaps you did and perhaps you didn’t. In any case, I’m the thief, not you. If I need a new table, I will get one like that,” he says, snapping his fingers.

“I at least owe you a drink for killing your breakfast.”

“That I will accept.”

He opens the door and I go out into the hall. I start to leave when something bothers me.

“Seriously, what’s the trick to living two hundred years? How do you do it?”

“It’s easy,” he says. “I’m not two hundred. I no longer believe in the past. Each morning when I awake, I’m newly born. From now until the sun burns out, I will never be more than one day old.”

“I’ll call you about the drink,” I say, and go down to the car, not sure if what Vidocq said was the smartest or saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

“I’M SORRY TO call you in like this,” says Abbot. “But the whole thing fell together quickly.”

“What is it? Some kind of emergency meeting?”

Abbot hesitates.

“More of a cocktail party.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I used to be the Devil, you know. I didn’t have to put up with this kind of shit.”

“Maybe you should have kept that job, then.”

“Nah. I look lousy with horns.”

“Is that really what he looks like?”

“No. He looks more like, well, you.”

“Should I be flattered?”

“Very.”

“Then I’ll take the compliment.”

Abbot ushers me into the living room area on the boat. I was here once before, when I first met him. The room is impeccably decorated—a Southern California manor house—swaying gently on the Pacific. I have a hard time picturing the boat ever moving much, even in a tsunami. Nature wouldn’t dare spill the augur’s coffee over something as silly as a volcano.

“No problem. Chihiro is learning to play ‘Pipeline,’ so I’m all on my lonesome.”

“Playing pipeline. Is that slang for something I should know about?”

I put my hands in my pockets, not wanting to touch anything, afraid I’m going to taint his Beach Boys Taj Mahal with my grubby paws.

“Candy is getting guitar lessons is all. And I’m here when I could be curled up with a good western.”

He points a finger at me.

“Right. But there’s good news. You don’t have to talk to anybody or be nice to anyone.”

“That is good news.”

“In fact, as far as anyone at the party knows, you won’t even be here. I want to put you in the back with Willem, my head of security. You and he will monitor the meeting on the boat’s surveillance system.”

“I came all this way to sit in a broom closet with a hall monitor?”

He comes over and puts an arm around my shoulder, leading me down a deck into the bowels of the boat. The decor is simpler down here since it’s mostly a utilitarian space for the staff, but it’s still nicer than anywhere I’ve ever lived. He takes me forward until I figure that we’re right under the living room. There’s a door with a keypad. The sign on the door says AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

As he punches in a code on the keypad I say, “This is a yacht, right?”

“Right.”

The lock clicks open.

I look around.

“This thing is huge. Is it a boat or a ship?”

“A boat. As far as I know all yachts are boats.”

“Then what’s a ship?”

“A very big boat.”

“But this is a very big boat. Why isn’t it a ship?”

He looks at me for a second.

“I can see how you’d make a good Devil.”

“Sorry. Doors like this just make me nervous.”

Abbot pushes it open.

“You’re not under arrest. You’re with me now, remember? If anything, you get to arrest other people.”

“Terrific. Now I’m a cop. All of my worst fears have come true.”

“You’ll do fine.”

Inside, the room is dark except for a bank of video monitors that ring the walls. I don’t know how many rooms this bucket has, but it looks like Abbot has every square inch of the place covered. I go over to get a better look at the setup.

“You have as many trust issues as I do. I feel so much closer to you now.”

A guy sitting at the control console turns around and gives me the eyeball. He has a cop mustache but a tailored shirt. His gold tie clip has three Greek letters on it. This guy hasn’t been in college in fifteen years, but he still flies his frat colors. Audsley Ishii used to do that. It isn’t love at first sight for either of us.

“Willem, this is Stark,” says Abbot. “Stark. Willem.”

Willem holds out his hand and I shake it. His heartbeat races a little. It’s obvious by his smile that he thinks I’m the scum they scrape off the sides of this boat, but he stays professional and says, “Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks, Willem. I appreciate the hospitality.”