Kill the Dead (26 page)

I’m learning to really hate Cabal. I don’t want to believe the words coming out of his skull-white face, but after seeing the pathetic and maybe deliberate death scene at the Springheel house, I can’t argue with what he’s saying about the family.

“Since you’re our resident demon expert, did Enoch Springheel ever ask you for advice on how to summon or control them?”

“Enoch seldom discoursed with anyone. Certainly not
with me. The few times a year he would deign to appear at Sub Rosa soirees, he left the distinct impression of a man marooned in the Sahara of his own psyche.”

“Who would we go to if we wanted to learn about Drifters or perhaps hire one?” Brigitte asks.

Cabal shakes his head.

“No one mucks about with the resurrected these days. Too dangerous. You’d be making yourself vulnerable to a veritable avalanche of peril, both from the families and our lovely local Inquisitor, Medea Bava.”

“So, there aren’t any Drifter experts in L.A.?”

“There are a number; however, by publicly acquiescing to such a dubious practice, they would be aiming a gun to their own precious skulls. To put it in blunt terms that you’ll understand, they won’t talk to you. I’m not so rude as to call myself an expert, but I have more than a passing knowledge of the resurrected. Is there something specific you wish to know?”

“Unless you know someone in town who runs with them, no.”

Cabal drops the last few inches of the burning worm on the floor and crushes it out with his bare foot.

“I’m curious about the depth of your knowledge concerning our hungry friends. If I had a sense of your understanding, perhaps I could speed you along in your investigations.”

“Out of the kindness of your heart?”

He smiles.

“To get you off my fucking back.”

I look at his eyes. It doesn’t look like he’s lying. And he’s genuinely interested in hearing what I’ll say.

“Brigitte is the expert, but she’ll talk longer and I’m in
a rush, so here’s what I know. There are Drifters and Lacunas. One is dumb as dirt and one is maybe as smart as a house-trained poodle. They bite and they won’t stop until you rip out their spines.”

Cabal looks at Brigitte. She clears her throat.

“I could recite a thousand years of lore and list the anatomical and biological differences of the species, but for the purposes of our mission, James is right.”

Cabal kills off the wine and drops the bottle on the floor.

“I see that I can aid you children with your quest, after all. When I place this bauble of knowledge into your greedy hands, I’d be immoderately grateful if you would quietly exit the way you came and leave me to my guests.”

“Deal.”

“Most Sub Rosa don’t have any greater understanding of revenants than you. They memorize a few salient facts and drop them into conversations at cocktail parties to make themselves sound more interesting than they really are. I know this because most people believe that the resurrected are a binary species, but the truth is they are tripartate. You mentioned golems or Drifters, as you call them, and Lacunas. They are a formidable pair but there is also a tertiary species known to those with a deeper knowledge as Saperes and to the man in the street as Savants. The peril with this particular resurrected is that you will often not perceive its true nature until it’s eating your guts au gratin. Savants appear to be fully functional members of the brotherhood of man. They can chitchat, hold a job, dress themselves, and they possess, or seem to possess, the power of thought as clearly and intoxicatingly as you or I.”

“So, a Savant is a Lacuna that can call for pizza delivery. I don’t get it. Why are they so special that no one knows about them?”

“The first, most obvious reason, is panic. Admitting the existence of a strain of resurrected invisible to even adept Sub Rosa would have dire consequences. Human history is strewn with the corpses of those entangled in the panicked slaughter of mobs. This is especially true if the person or people perceived by the general population is different. Wouldn’t you agree, little Gypsy?”

“Definitely.”

“That was the obvious reason. What’s the other?”

“Saperes are special because nature or God or some other entity has chosen to make them so. You see, at any one time there are exactly twenty-seven of them in the world. No more. No less. If one is destroyed, a new one appears somewhere else. It then becomes the burden of those of us, as you say, in the know, to find it. It’s not unlike Buddhist monks searching for each new incarnation of a Lama subsequent to the death of the old one.”

“Is that all?”

“You’re one of those dark souls impossible to satisfy, aren’t you?”

He wants to start an argument. I just smile and shrug.

“The number of Saperes appears deliberate. If you add two and seven, you get nine. Nine is a holy number. Three times three. The Trinity times the Trinity. I could go on, but you see the pattern.”

“What does it mean?”

“I have no idea. No one does. And that’s another reason
Saperes are such a closely held secret. We haven’t a clue as to how they befit the everyday workings of the world.”

“How does knowing any of this help us find last night’s Drifters or who’s controlling them?”

“We care for Saperes by seeding them strategically around the globe. If one is destroyed in Sumatra, the others remain safe while we scour the globe for its replacement. The three most proximate Saperes are in New York and Mexico City. Can you guess the location of the third one?”

“In Los Angeles,” says Brigitte.

“Bellissima.
I assure you, the twenty-seven cities were not chosen willy-nilly. Each is a magical crossroads. Each is a power spot, Los Angeles being a distinctly active one.”

“You think if we find the Savant, it can help us?”

“If it wants to.”

“How can we make it want to?”

Cabal grins like a naughty little boy.

“Give it what it wants. What all the resurrected want.”

“You’re fucking joking.”

“I’m not telling you to gut some hapless soul. Go to an abattoir. Go to a
boucher.
Their desire is simply for fresh flesh. Human is the preferred fare, of course, but pig is close enough to man-flesh.”

“How do we find the Savant?” asks Brigitte.

“Call the number on the piece of paper I gave you.”

“You said that was Regina in Mumbai.”

“I lied.”

“Where is Regina?”

“Well, she’s certainly not chained up in my basement.
That would be wrong of me. Still, Regina does tend to inspire the desire to lock her away somewhere deep and dark and full of more than an immoderate amount of spiders.”

I look at Brigitte. She shakes her head. I look back at Cabal.

“If you’re sending us into a trap, it’s not going to work. And even if it does work, just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I can’t get to you.”

“I’m exceedingly aware of your reputation, Sandman Slim. The phone number is true and leads to no trap that I know of. You’ll want to call soon. If anyone can point you to true north, it’s Johnny Thunders.”

“The singer?”

“No. The zombie, you dunce. Johnny Thunders is your Savant.”

He waves a tired hand in my direction. “Johnny’s minders will explain.”

If Cabal is lying, he deserves a teddy bear from the top shelf and the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes. I’ve heard world-class whoppers and told a few of my own, but this guy is spinning sable from shit.

Or he’s just let Brigitte and me in on one of the world’s weirder secrets. If he’s lying, it would be a fun excuse to come back and punch holes in Castle Grayskull. But if he’s telling the truth, it would make life a lot easier.

“One more thing,” says Cabal. “There’s someone else you might chat with concerning the resurrected. Rainier Geistwald, Jan and Koralin’s son. He’s a clever boy, and while a genuine brat, his brains are more acute than he cares to let on. He’ll be an important man one day.”

Cabal stands up. This time he doesn’t offer his hand.

“I could say it’s been enchanting, but I’ve already told you one lie today. I couldn’t bear it if you lost all faith in me. You know the way out. Feel free not to linger. Ta-ta.”

He turns and disappears through the Sun wheel curtain without looking back.

Brigitte asks, “Do you think he is sending us to people who will try to kill us?”

“I don’t know. What would be more fun for him? Killing us right away or watching us bump into things and skin our knees?”

“True. Would you like me to call the number?”

“Let me. It’s my town. I should be the first one through closed doors.”

“How chivalrous.”

“That’s French for stupid, isn’t it? That’s okay. If we have time, I’ll give you a demonstration of naked jousting.”

We leave through the Room and back to her car. She doesn’t ask any questions this time.

B
ACK IN FRONT
of Max Overload, Brigitte leans over to kiss me, and this time I’m not shy about kissing her back. Cabal’s act sucked the paranoid jitters right out of me. Sometimes annoyance will keep you going when booze and fear and hope are as dead as the Big Bopper.

Brigitte says, “I could come up for a while if you like.”

“I would like, but you wouldn’t like. I have a roommate.”

She smiles.

“Does he like to watch?”

“He’d love it. But he’s a kind of a spy and that means Lucifer would be watching us, too.”

“What do I care? Lucifer probably has my calendar in his office in Hell.”

“It would be awkward for me.”

How do you tell someone you want to fuck that you can’t do it in front of the devil because you don’t want your dad spying on you?

“All right. I should probably be getting back anyway. But you owe me.”

“Before I forget, my roommate loves you more than beer and cigarettes. Would you sign these for him?”

I hand her the DVDs. She smiles and takes a pen from the glove compartment.

“Who do I make it out to?”

“Aldous.”

“What a lovely old name.”

“I’ll tell him you said that. It’ll make his week.”

“There’s something for you under the seat.”

I reach down and feel along the carpet until I touch a box. I pull it out and open it. Inside is a collapsed metal weapon.

“The gift that keeps on giving.”

Brigitte hands me the DVDs.

“I want to go back to Springheel’s house and look around soon. Want to come with me?”

“Is there a bedroom?”

“I didn’t see one, but you can help me look.”

“Then count me in.”

She blows me a kiss, pops the clutch, and burns rubber back onto Hollywood Boulevard.

K
ASABIAN IS GOING
through online video catalogs when I get back.
Death Rides a Horse
is playing on the other monitor.

“Did you remember cigarettes?”

“We didn’t get to a store. I bummed one off one of the kids working the register.”

“Which one?”

“I have no idea. They all look alike to me.”

I set the DVDs on his table.

“Don’t say I never gave you nothing.”

He grabs them in his little metal legs.

“You are my goddamn hero, man.”

“One more thing off my bucket list.”

The DVDs have him in a good mood and I don’t want to spoil it yet. I’ll wait to tell him that Wells fired me and either I start knocking over gas stations or we set up shop in the Dumpster next to the hand.

“How was your date?”

“It wasn’t exactly a date. We talked to a guy who yammered like he was gangbanged by a thesaurus. It’s all a big act, but he’s had a lot of practice. I don’t think I ever met a human before who could stretch ‘pass the peas’ into a hundred and fifty syllables. I once killed a Hellion who talked like that just to shut him up.”

“When Brigitte dumps you, you might not want to include ‘kills people who use big words’ in your personal ad.”

“What makes you think Brigitte’s going to dump me?”

He cocks his head in my direction.

“Gee, I don’t know. She dates billionaires and you live in an attic over a video store. She wants to get into big-time movies and you can get her free beer and tacos. You’re a monster and she’s a person. I can e-mail you a spreadsheet if you want to see the other five hundred reasons.”

“She won’t dump me.”

“Why not?”

“She hasn’t told me her real name and I haven’t told her what the Room is.”

He takes a beer from the fridge under his table and cracks it open.

“So, you’re finally done mooning over Alice. About time.”

Kasabian’s beer flies across the room and hits the wall before I realize it was me who knocked it out of his hand.

“Do not ever fucking say her name. Not now, not ever, unless you want to go back in the closet. And while you’re playing spy, tell Lucifer not to pull that shit with me either. People are after him and all I have to do is step out for a sandwich and let it happen.”

Kasabian is staring at me, shit scared. A deer head in the headlights. He’s quiet for what seems like a full minute.

He says, “I’m sorry, man. I overstepped.”

I take the cigarette from where I’d stuck it behind my ear and light it. Take a couple of puffs. Kasabian is still staring at me. I go over and hold the filter end of the smoke out to him. He doesn’t move for a second and then takes a tentative puff.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

We finish it in silence.

I take beers from the fridge, give him one, and take the other to the bed.

Where did that slap come from? I haven’t heard Alice’s name out loud since I sent Mason Downtown. I’m trying not to think about her every time I close my eyes or make a decision. Not thinking about her is the same as getting over her, right?

“Tell me something. When you were doing Zombie 101 earlier, why didn’t you tell me about Savants?” I ask.

“What’s a Savant?”

I look at him. He’s not lying.

“Just something I heard. It might be a wild-goose chase, but it might not. When you’re in the Codex, keep your eyes open for Savant or Saperes.”

“Sure. In the meantime, I think I know something that’s going to make you feel better.”