Richard Kadrey - Aloha from Hell

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 in translating ancient religious texts and deciphering dead languages.”

“Let me guess. Instead of collecting stamps for a hobby, he translated a book the Church didn’t approve of and got nailed for it.”

“Something like that. It was one book in particular that got him into trouble, but he won’t talk about it. However, none of that has anything to do with the fact he’s an experienced and extremely successful exorcist.”

“So what went wrong with the kid?”

She sits down on one of the bar stools. Shakes her head and drops her hands to the bar.

“Your guess is as good as mine. The exorcism seemed to be going well, and Hunter—Hunter Sentenza, the possessed boy—was doing well. His color was coming back. The voices had stopped. There wasn’t a trace of fire.”

“Fire?”

“We didn’t actually see it, but there was a symbol burned into the ceiling over his bed. There weren’t any matches or lighters in his room. We think it was done by the demon possessing the boy. His hands and face were blistered.”

“What’s the symbol look like?”

“Old. I didn’t recognize it. Father Traven can tell you more about it.”

“What happened next?”

“It felt like we were reaching the end. Traven was sure that he had the demon under control and almost had it out. Before that, Hunter had been speaking in tongues. But then he seemed all right. He was calm and breathing normally. All of a sudden he grabbed Father Traven and tossed him across the room. Hunter levitated a few feet over the bed and shouted, ‘I won’t be locked in.’ After that, things got weird.”

“After that?”

“Hunter fell back onto the bed and didn’t move. I didn’t know if he was passed out or dead. As I helped Father Traven to his feet, the kid started singing.”

“‘Puff the Magic Dragon’?”

She shakes her head, a knowing little smile curling the edges of her lips.

“It was an old Chordettes song. It went, ‘Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream, make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen.’”

I can’t help but laugh.

“That’s what this is. You think the demon knows me.”

“Any idea who it might be?”

“I haven’t had much experience with them.” I try to think. Run over all my kills. There are so many. They run together like a dark stinking river.

“I might have killed a demon every now and then, but it’s not like they have distinct personalities. They’re like bugs. Who remembers stepping on a bug?”

“Maybe the song was a fluke, but I doubt it. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

I look her in the eye, take a drag on the Malediction, and blow it out.

“I’m going to Max Overdrive and find an Andrews Sisters musical. Then I’m going to the hotel, put it on, and drink steadily for the rest of the day.”

I stand up to leave, but Vidocq grabs my arm. He might look old, but he’s been using his muscles for over a century. His grip is like a claw lifter at a wrecking yard.

“Give me the folder,” he tells Julia.

Sola pulls a beige manila envelope from a shoulder bag she’d left on the bar.

Vidocq pushes me over to the bar and pulls something out of the folder. It’s a picture of a teenage boy in a school robe. Maybe a high school graduation shot. He’s smiling at the camera. Straight white teeth and messy brown hair under the graduation cap. He looks like the kind of kid who’d be captain of the track team. I hate him. Healthy, happy, popular jock. My natural enemy in school. On the other hand, he’s not someone I’d pick to square-dance with demons.