Читать книгу The Getaway God - Richard Kadrey - Страница 15

I’M HOME MAYBE twenty minutes when someone pounds on the front door of Max Overdrive. I grab my Colt and head downstairs. The front of the store is all glass, so if someone really wanted to get in they could. Still, I’d like to know who I’m dealing with. I flip on the outside light and go behind the counter. We installed a surveillance camera over the door when Kasabian and I had the place fixed up. Except tonight all I can see is the outline of a body outside and heavy rain. More pounding on the door.

“Stark. I know you’re in there. Open up, dammit.”

It’s a woman’s voice.

I take a chance and look around the shade that covers the door and recognize Marshal Julie Sola. I stuff the Colt in my waistband and unlock the door. She brushes past me to get out of the rain. She’s in a long slicker raincoat with the hood pulled up over her head. Still, she’s drenched and making a puddle on the floor. I point to the peg on the wall where people can hang their raincoats. She gives a soft “Ah,” takes off her coat, and hangs it up.

Her hair is long and dark, pulled up high and pinned in place. It was, at least. Now it’s a wet rat’s nest. She’s dressed in light, loose-fitting sportswear, a kind of idiot camouflage the Vigil makes many agents wear to try and blend in with their country-club location. She looks vaguely embarrassed, but quickly shakes it off.

“Thanks,” she says. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“You’re half drowned. Why didn’t you wait till I came in tomorrow?”

“Would you have really come to see me?”

“Maybe not first thing, but sure. I like you fine.”

“That isn’t what I mean,” she says. “This is what I mean.”

She hands me the manila envelope she’s been holding. She had it under the jacket, but the front is still damp.

I open the envelope and find official Vigil stationery and forms. Many pages of forms. It’s my psych evaluation.

“I have to do all this?”

“Ah no. This is just part one. There are three parts.”

“Fuck me,” I say. The pages are full of word problems, shapes I’m supposed to group together, drawings, and questions about my parents.

“I can help you,” she says. “I know the right answers to give so Washington won’t ask any questions.”

“You think Washington is going to buy it if I come off like Mike Brady?”

She smiles and rubs her hands together to get the circulation going.

“So we’ll leave some rough edges on. The point is you’ll pass. We need you.”

I drop the envelope on the counter.

“Why are you back working with them? Last I saw you, you were happy in the Mike Hammer PI biz.”

She shrugs.

“Look at things. The world is too crazy to want one more inexperienced private investigator. Don’t get me wrong, I was good at my job, but I was slowly starving to death. Eating through my savings and playing a lot of Tetris waiting for the phone to ring.”

“Bad timing, I guess.”

“To say the least. When Marshal Wells called and offered me my old job back, it wasn’t hard to say yes. What about you?”

“Not so different. But he told me he knew how to work a weapon, something to fight the Angra with. Turns out it was a fib. He has a bag of bones working on it. Maybe he’ll figure it out.”

“I met him once. Creepy guy. He called me ‘tubby.’ I don’t look fat to you, do I?”

“I don’t know. He called me ‘lardass’ last time I saw him.”

Candy comes down the stairs.

“Is this where the party is?”

“Candy, this is Julie Sola. Marshal Sola these days. Julie, this is Candy.”

Candy comes down and they shake hands. She has powdered sugar on her fingers and it rubs off on Julie.

“Sorry,” she says, and holds out the bag she’s holding. “Want a donut?”

“No thanks. I was just dropping off some paperwork.”

Candy says, “You’re the private eye he talked about. You got him onto the zombie case.”

Julie nods.

“Yeah. We thought it was a simple demon possession at the time. He saved us.”

“Yeah, he does that.”

“I’ve seen you around Vigil headquarters.”

“Don’t bring me any paperwork. I’m just this one’s unofficial assistant.”

“Don’t worry. If you’re not on the payroll you don’t have to take the psych evaluation.”

Candy looks at me and laughs.

“You’re supposed to pass a government psych evaluation? Oh man, I hope you like the smell of a rubber room because that’s where you’re headed, pal.”

“I can pass for normal if I have to.”

“Yeah, and I’m Nancy Reagan’s wrestling coach.”

Julie puts her hand out and I shake it.

“Listen,” she says. “If we make it through this maybe we can work together again. Believe it or not, I still have a few clients. And I don’t think you’re going to want to stay in the Vigil forever.”

“Sounds good. If the world doesn’t end, let’s talk.”

She starts to put on her raincoat.

“Don’t forget about those papers.”

“I’ll get on them first thing in the morning.”

Candy holds out the bag again.

“One for the road? I have plastic wrap upstairs.”

“No thanks,” Julie says. Then, “Shit. I almost forgot the real reason I came. Marshal Wells gave this to me to give to you. It looked important.”

It’s an envelope. Nice, crisp, expensive paper. On the inside, it’s lined with a molecule’s thickness of gold. The thing is uncomfortably familiar. I open the note inside. It’s from Saragossa Blackburn, the pope of the whole Sub Rosa kingdom in California.

The note says, Come see me tomorrow. At noon. I know you’re not an early riser. His signature is under that, signed with a fine pen using ink that probably cost as much as a lung transplant.

“Thanks,” I say, and drop the note on the counter with the papers.

“Good night,” says Julie. To Candy she says, “Nice meeting you.”

Candy gives me a look.

“Offer the lady a ride home, Sir Galahad.”

I turn to Julie.

“Want me to get you home the fast way?”

She shakes her head.

“No thanks. I have my car.”

“Drive safe.”

“Thanks.”

“She seems nice,” says Candy, biting into a jelly donut. “What else did she bring you?”

I pick up the note from Blackburn and drop it again.

“I have to go and see one of the few guys in town who can call in a hit on me. I saw a kid get crushed today. I got a phone call from Downtown. And now this.”

I look at Candy. She’s already headed for the stairs.

“These are really good donuts.”

“Thank you for your concern.”

“Don’t whine to me. You forgot the coffee. Now I have to go make some. Forget those papers for tonight. Come upstairs and have something to eat, fatty.”

I can tell by her tone she’s going to be calling me that for a long time.

Before we fall asleep I almost ask her why she never told me about the Ommahs. Almost. Maybe I’ll ask later when we’re not so tired. Yeah, then.