Mob Rules (14 page)

“Yeah, I bet you get that a lot.”

I was thinking it was going to take a while to get to Brentwood without wheels when we disappeared into the mist and the world shifted. I found myself standing in front of Adan's building.

“Cool,” I said.

“Yeah, things are a little different here. That's why you need a guide.”

Just as there were no cars in the Between, neither were there any locks. We went in the front door and climbed the stairs to a short hallway with access to the two second-floor lofts.

“Any magical defenses will still be in place,” Honey warned.

“It's okay,” I said. “I'm authorized.”

Standing in front of the door to Adan's loft, I took a deep breath. I hoped I was authorized. I could bypass all the other
wards the outfit used, but I'd never tried to break into Adan's home before. I turned the knob and pressed on the door. It swung open and we went in.

The apartment was deserted. It was the usual L.A. loft, which is to say fake but trendy. The walls were bare concrete and brick, and the floors were dark hardwood. The wall to our left was comprised entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows, and exposed ductwork hung silent above our heads. It was one large room dominated by an open living area, with a small kitchen tucked in one corner. Metal stairs ran along the far wall to a bedroom loft.

I searched the place and found no signs that it was inhabited by an evil spirit. I climbed up to the loft and looked under the bed. I searched the closet and checked the tiny bathroom. I tossed Adan's underwear drawer and rummaged in the table beside his bed. Then I went back downstairs.

“Didn't find what you came for?” asked Honey. She turned away from the wall mirror by the door and flew over to meet me.

I looked at the mirror and back at Honey. “Were you checking yourself out?”

“No,” she lied. “Didn't find what you came for?”

“No,” I said. “But I think I know where to look.”

 

In the Between, the Cannibal Club looked much as it did in the real world, but yellower. There were a lot of Goth kids standing in line outside the door—that seemed to be a constant on both planes of existence.

“Overdoses and suicides,” Honey said and shuddered.

I looked at the ghosts. “They off themselves and then come to the club to stand in line? Don't they have anyone to haunt?”

“Absentee parents, dead-end jobs, empty relationships—they probably felt like ghosts even before they killed themselves.”

I turned to Honey and arched an eyebrow.

“Sometimes I read magazines to pass the time.
Newsweek
had an article.”

I recognized one of the ghosts standing near the front of the line. It was the blond kid who'd been following me in the Ford Taurus.

“Hey, kid,” I said, walking over to him, “small world.” He didn't respond, just continued staring straight ahead. I did the usual battery of tests—hand waved in front of the eyes, arm pinch, sharp poke in the ribs—and got nothing.

“He probably doesn't even know you're there,” Honey said.

“No way I can get him to talk to me?”

Honey shrugged. I gave it one last shot, clapping my hands in his face. No reaction.

We went inside. The interior of the club was devoid of ghosts. It was also an almost uniform brown, the color of an old cigar. That seemed to be the best this world could muster when blacks were called for.

“What does the Between look like at night?” I asked Honey.

“Like night, only bluer.”

“Huh.”

I walked across the club to the dance floor and stopped in the middle. I turned around.

“Hello?” I called. “Anyone here?” There wasn't even the barest hint of an echo. The words just died in the air.

“I am here,” said a voice from the brownish shadows. I recognized the accent.

“Fred? Is that you? Come on out here where I can get a look at you.”

Low laughter, like rats in the walls. I couldn't get a fix on the sound. It was like a theater audio system that kept switching channels.

“Don't make me come looking for you, Fred. Let's have a talk and I won't have to put the beat-down on you again.”

“Uh, Domino…” Honey said nervously.

“Oh, I don't think we'll have to worry about that. You're in my world now, Miss Riley.”

“Your world, huh? I didn't see your name on it.” It sounds weak, I know, but I was just trying to keep him talking, see if I could home in on his position.

I caught a blur of motion out of the corner of my eye, and turned. Something brushed past me, and I wheeled around. Nothing. Soft laughter seemed to float from every corner of the room.

I reached for the juice and started to spin a spell. Nothing happened. I recalled my battle with the ghost dogs on the playground in Crenshaw. Oh, shit.

“Domino, watch out!” Honey cried.

I turned to look in her direction, and the vampire hit me from behind. I never actually saw him, so I'm assuming it was the vampire. The force of the impact whiplashed my entire body as I was launched across the club and through the front door. I hit the pavement, skidded, rolled and crashed into a bank of newspaper machines on the other side of the street. I'd been doing a lot of skidding recently. I was getting pretty good at it.

I lay there, dazed, and heard sounds of combat from inside the club. Actually it sounded more like an earthquake having a go at the place. The Goth ghosts showed no signs of noticing
and remained standing patiently in line. I wondered distractedly how many of them the vampire had killed. Finally I got an arm up on the
L.A. Times
box and dragged myself to my feet. I started back across the street.

A shape materialized from out of the darkness behind the shattered doorway and quickly resolved into a giant speaker from the club's sound system. I dove to the parchment-colored asphalt as it traced a low ballistic arc over my head.

I looked up just as Honey flew out of the club. She was holding a tiny silver sword in her hand. Black magic—Fred's juice—ran down the blade and sizzled when it hit the pavement. Honey was hurt. Glittering green energy streamed from her wounds and hung in a contrail behind her.

The vampire appeared in the doorway. He paused and straightened his tie.

“Domino, run!” Honey yelled, zipping over my head.

While I'd more or less missed the fight, a few obvious facts came to mind. First, as I'd already seen, Honey was injured. Second, Honey was fleeing. And third, I couldn't put together a spell.

I got up and ran. The vampire's laughter chased me down the street.

“See you soon, Miss Riley,” he said, as I plunged into the mist and the world shifted around me.

We arrived back outside my condo, both Honey and I having instinctively realized that my first sojourn in the Between had reached a logical stopping point. I bent over and grabbed my knees.

“So, what are you doing tomorrow?” I gasped, looking up at the piskie. She'd alighted on the stucco banister that flanked the steps to the front door of the building.

“No plans,” she panted.

“Meet me here about ten?”

Honey shook her head. “I'll cross with you. You're going to bring me over, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Now?”

“Sure. It's not hard. When you get back, just call me like before. It might take a little more magic, but no big deal.”

I nodded. “How bad are you hurt?”

“I'll be okay.” Her wings drooped and she was pressing her hand against a wound in her side. “Just need some rest.”

“Sorry about that. Last time we met I owned that fucking guy. I can't cast spells here, though.”

Honey shook her head. “It's not just that you can't cast spells. He's stronger here.”

“Yeah, what's up with that? He's a vampire and it's daytime.” I looked around. “More or less. Shouldn't he be sleeping it off in a coffin somewhere?”

“Vampires exist simultaneously in the physical world and the Between. They're active in the physical world at night and in the Between during the day.”

“Oh, didn't know that.”

“And they're much stronger here, close to the Beyond, than they are in the mortal world.”

“Yeah, found that out. So what gives with my spells?”

Honey shrugged. “Spells are for channeling and manifesting magic in the physical world.”

“This place sucks.”

“In the Between, everything is magic. You're magic. Well, a magical construct, really.” I'd added to my road rash collection when Fred threw me into the street, and Honey eyed the glowing blue juice soaking my shredded clothes.

“I'm a magical construct?”

“Yeah. All you can bring here is your magic, so that's what you are.”

“So my body is stronger here, but I can't cast spells.”

“Yeah, you could probably do all kinds of cool stuff if you knew how to fight.”

I scowled. “I know how to fight. Fred just got the drop on me.”

“You never even saw him. You're strong enough, but you don't know how to use your power here.”

“So are you saying I need to learn kung fu or something?”

“No, kung fu is for manifesting ass-kickings in the physical
world. Wouldn't help you much here, seeing as how you don't have a physical body or anything.”

“What then? There's something I need to do here, and I'm not going to be able to do it if a pussy like Fred can kick my ass.”

“You just need to learn how to control your magic in this place. Like I said, you're pretty strong, just inexperienced. Well, completely untrained, really.”

“How do I learn how to control my magic?”

Honey sighed. “I suppose I could teach you.”

I laughed. “No offense, Honey, but you're eight inches tall. And you have a sword.” I noticed the sword was missing. “Where do you hide that thing, anyway?”

“It's a secret.”

“Whatever. Like I said, you have a sword, and you can fly. I'm sure you're quite the little warrior-princess, but I don't think you're—”

Honey blurred, there was a moment of intense pain, and then I was on my back and staring up at the pale yellow sky.

“Ow,” I said. I sat up, and Honey was perched on the banister again.

“I am, you know,” she said.

“What?”

“A warrior-princess.”

“Okay.”

“So do you want me to teach you?”

“I guess,” I said, climbing to my feet. I felt the instinctive need to rub away the pain, but I couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from. “Can I get a sword?”

Honey laughed. “Of course not, silly girl. Where would you put it? Besides, you'd probably just cut yourself.”

“But you'll teach me the kung-fu magic?”

“I suppose,” Honey said, cocking her head. “It would be an awfully big favor.”

I groaned. “How much?”

“Room and board when I'm in Arcadia.”

“Huh?”

“I get to live in your condo. And you have to give me food.”

I thought about it. It wasn't like she'd take up much space, and she certainly couldn't eat very much.

“Yeah, okay, that's fine. Mrs. Dawson isn't going to like it, though.”

“Who's Mrs. Dawson?”

“Ghost. Real bitchy one.”

“Oh. Well, the two of you will barely even know I'm there.”

“Fine. So how did you knock me down like that?” I asked.

Honey blurred, there was a moment of intense pain and then I was on my back and staring up at the pale yellow sky. This time she was hovering over me.

“Like that,” she said.

“Ow,” I said. I got to my feet and rubbed my head, because most of my pain seemed to be settling there. “Jesus, Honey, have you ever taught anyone this shit before? 'Cause so far, your technique really blows.”

“Not a human, but we'll figure it out.”

“Maybe we can start some other time. I'm not sure how much more training I can take.”

She shrugged.

“So you said Fred is active here during the day and in my world at night.”

Honey nodded. “Yeah. It's really not much different from
what you're doing, Domino. When you cross into the Between, you leave your physical body behind. So does Fred, but he doesn't have any choice about it.”

“Then I have to catch him in my world during the day and take him out. I think he's protecting something I need to get at.”

“He must have been using the club as his lair.”

I realized for the first time there didn't seem to be a sun in this place, just a diffuse yellow light that hung over the city like an inversion layer.

“I wonder what time it is,” I said.

“It's about an hour before sundown,” said Honey. “We can travel quickly here, through the mist, but it does funny things with the way you perceive the passage of time.”

I mentally calculated how long it would take me to get to the club and search it for the vampire's lair after spinning some spells to distract any civilians that were there.

“That doesn't leave me enough time to get to him before he wakes up.”

“He'll be out of there as soon as he opens his eyes. He's going to find a new lair.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but I know someone who can find him.”

“You're going to bring me over with you, right? You promised.”

“Okay. But I'll need you to come back here with me, probably tomorrow. I still need my guide. And you have to train me.”

“Sure thing,” Honey said, and we went inside.

Mrs. Dawson was sitting at the kitchen table staring out the window when we came in. She didn't acknowledge us, and I got the feeling she'd spent a good portion of her life doing the very same thing. It was kind of sad, and I wondered
why she was hanging around. I'd always thought ghosts had a purpose.

I sank into my recliner and closed my eyes. There was no incantation this time, and it was a good thing since I couldn't cast any spells. I just let the pattern that brought me over unravel in my mind. When I opened my eyes, I'd returned to my Technicolor world. I got up and spent a few minutes trying to tidy up the place.

“Honey?” I called, pouring juice into the summoning. I felt the magic start to build and the threads of the pattern beginning to assemble, then it fell apart and the juice leaked away.

“Not that big of a deal, huh?” I muttered to myself. Then I tried again.

“Honey!” This time I tapped the line running under the building and squeezed as much juice out of it as I could wrap my head around. The summoning snapped into place, wavered and then held. In the middle of my living room, the world thinned out and went sepia-tone, and Honey buzzed into the room. I let go of the juice and reality reasserted itself.

“Nice place,” Honey said, flitting around the room. “Looks better in color.”

“Thanks.”

“So where are we going?”

“I'm going to see a guy about a thing,” I said. “You can do…whatever. Just, no evil, like you promised.”

“Sure thing, no evil. Can you open a window for me? Just a crack.”

I went into the kitchen and raised the window a couple inches. Maybe Mrs. Dawson would get some air.

“Okay,” I said, “I'm going. Not sure when I'll be back. There's beer, wine and tequila in the kitchen.”

“'Kay, have fun,” said Honey. She was fluttering in the middle of the living room, hands behind her back, like a teenager waiting for her parents to leave for the weekend.

I reached for the door. “Mr. Clean's in the set in the office. You turn on that TV, it's your dime.”

“No problem,” Honey said. “Anyway, he's your familiar. What would I do with him?”

“Okay then. Bye.”

“Bye-bye, Domino,” said Honey.

I went out and closed the door behind me.

Screw it. A deal's a deal.

 

I stopped by a grocery store and then drove to Santa Monica. As always, the pier was crowded with people out to watch the sunset. Tourists took pictures and bums panhandled. Both tossed bread crumbs to the seagulls and dodged the shit bombs that rained down in thanks.

Moon Dog, like all too many bums, was a Vietnam veteran. Like many of his brothers-in-arms, he'd come back from the war without his legs and whatever part of the human mind that makes people give a fuck. Unlike most of his fellow soldiers, he'd also come back with a chronic case of lycanthropy.

Moon Dog had been both a crippled hippie and a werewolf for at least forty years. It might seem that he was doubly cursed (or triply, depending on one's opinion of hippies), except that his lycanthropy gave him back the legs that a North Vietnamese antipersonnel mine had taken. When he changed, Moon Dog, like other lupines, went about on all fours.

It wasn't difficult to pick him out of the throng, even in the twilight. In hippie form, Moon Dog rode the streets and sidewalks of L.A. in an electric wheelchair. An eight-foot whip antenna sporting an orange safety flag ascended majestically
from a metal bracket bolted to the frame. The back of the chair was devoted to the sticker collection that symbolized Moon Dog's unique take on not giving a fuck—peace symbol, marijuana leaf, Greenpeace, MIA/POW, Marine Corps, Friend of the San Diego Zoo, Bel-Air Homeowners' Association, Beware of Dog, Cthulhu Fish. The centerpiece was a red bumper sticker with large white print: If You're Close Enough To Read This, You're An Asshole.

I caught his eye and waved as I walked over to him. Moon Dog was on the job. He was holding a cardboard sign. The words Will Dance For Beer Money were written on it in black magic marker. I dropped the sack from the grocery store in his lap. Moon Dog looked in the bag. Inside were three porterhouse steaks, fresh off the cow.

“Angus?” he asked. Long, straight white hair was tied down with a red bandana, and bum-tanned cheeks peeked out from behind a scraggly beard.

“Yeah,” I said. “How you doing, Moonie?” I refuse to call him Moon Dog to his face, on general principle.

“Grocery store?” asked Moon Dog.

“Yeah, real sorry, Moonie. You want it from the meat market or the pasture, you can get it yourself.”

“Nah, it's all good, Domino. I dig the antibiotics and growth hormones. I think my legs are growing back in.” He wiggled his stumps.

“That…really freaks me out, Moonie. Look, I need a favor.”

“Sure, babe,” he said. “What's up?”

“Follow me,” I said, and led him over to the lot where I'd parked my car. I pointed to the front quarter-panel on the passenger side. “Take a whiff of that, Moonie.”

Moon Dog wheeled up, leaned in and sniffed at the fender. “Smells like Turtle Wax, Domino.”

I scowled. “What else?”

“That's about it.” Moon Dog rubbed his nose and sniffed noisily. “This old nozzle ain't so good anymore. I think it's this fucking L.A. air.”

“Maybe it's all the weed and blow, Moonie.”

“Fuck that. They're the only reason I can smell anything at all, clear out my sinuses. So what is it you want me to smell?”

“Vampire,” I said. “The prick was leaning on my car. I thought maybe you could pick up his scent, track him to his lair.” I remembered the blanket I'd found in the canal, the one Fred had used to wrap up Jimmy Lee's corpse—the one with the vampire's juice on it. Damn.

“I can do that, but you got to get me something of his. Plus, I got to do it at night, once all the tourists clear out. I got to go doggy-style to track him. I go now, the assholes with the butterfly nets will be chasing me all over town.”

“Okay. If I get something of his, could you track him later tonight? Maybe an hour or so before dawn, see where he goes to ground?”

“Yeah, Domino, I can do that.”

“All right, I'll see what I can do. You going to be around here later where I can find you?”

“Sure, I can hang around.”

“Okay, thanks, Moonie.”

“No problem, thanks for the grub, Domino.”

“Peace, Moonie.”

“Fuck that, babe. I hope you stake his ass. I hate those undead cocksuckers.”

 

Back at my condo, I paused at the door, keys in hand, and tried to prepare myself for what was coming. I took a deep breath, unlocked the door and went in.

“Hi, Domino,” Honey said. She was wrestling with a gray squirrel on the sofa. The squirrel had one of Honey's feet in its mouth, and the piskie had an arm-lock on its bushy tail.

“Hey,” I said. I went into the kitchen and set my remaining purchases on the breakfast table, taking care not to disturb the sizable nest Honey had made from grass, flower petals, newspaper and a couple strips of white cardboard.