Читать книгу The Getaway God - Richard Kadrey - Страница 17

WHEN IT COMES to showing off, the Sub Rosa aren’t like the civilian big-money crowd. They like anonymity more than kittens and cotton candy. While civilians compete for House Beautiful trophies, wealthy Sub Rosas like their places to come across as the most miserable shitboxes outside of the town dump. If they could live in a greasy Big Mac wrapper they’d do it.

Blackburn’s mansion is downtown, in an abandoned residency hotel on South Main Street. The bottom floor is boarded up, covered in aeons of graffiti and posters for bands and clubs that haven’t existed for a decade or more. The second and third floors have been gutted by fire. There’s something heroic about the utter devastation of the place. It probably says more about what the Sub Rosa have become than Blackburn ever intended.

The mansion is protected by more hoodoo than the gates of Heaven. So much that Blackburn didn’t have guards for years. Then I broke in that one time, and ever since, he’s stationed a private army outside. To fit in with the look of the street, his mercs are covered in grime and sporting the latest haute couture rags from Bums “R” Us.

Blackburn’s security chief, Audsley Ishii, and a dozen of his crustiest compadres surround me as I pull up outside the mansion. It takes me a second to recognize him under the moth-eaten wool cap and stage-makeup stubble. His raincoat is a plastic trash bag, which he’s cut open at the bottom for his head and the sides for his arms. He doesn’t pull a weapon. Neither does any of his crew, but if I sneeze I’ll have enough bullets and hoodoo thrown at me to knock loose one of Saturn’s moons.

Ishii says, “Stark. Don’t you even know enough to get out of the rain?”

“I like it. Makes this neighborhood smell less like a piss factory.”

“Well, you’d know all about living like a pig, would you?”

“Are you trying to insult me? ’Cause I can’t hear you over the sound of your garbage-bag tuxedo.”

One or two of his crew smile, but sober up when he throws them a look.

“What do you want here?”

“Don’t fuck around, man. You know I’m here to see Blackburn.”

He looks me and the bike over.

“I couldn’t help noticing you weren’t wearing a helmet when you drove up. You’re aware that the state of California has clearly spelled out helmet laws, aren’t you?”

He takes a couple of steps back and spreads his arms wide.

“And there’s no way this, whatever the hell this thing is, is street legal. It doesn’t even have a license plate.”

“So, write me a ticket, Eliot Ness. Just get out of my way.”

Ishii holds up a finger.

“Before I maybe let you in, I’m going to have to search you for weapons.”

“Try it and the last thing you’ll see is me pulling your skull out by the eye sockets.”

That does it. Ishii’s goons go on high alert, guns, hexes, and potions at the ready. It’s kind of fun really. Like a scene from some kind of hobo Power Rangers movie.

“Not smart,” says Ishii. “You know I can have you arrested this fast for making a terrorist threat.”

He snaps his fingers like maybe I don’t get it.

He says, “All Mr. Blackburn has to do is nod and you’ll be buried so far underground you’ll be sleeping on lava.”

“Yeah, but you still won’t have a skull. Your head’s going to look like a jack-o’-lantern a week after Halloween.”

He shakes his head in mock sorrow.

“I’m afraid under the circumstances I can’t allow you to see the Augur. And I’m forwarding your name to the local police watch list.”

“Do it. What are there, like a hundred cops left in L.A.? And they don’t want to be out in the rain any more than you do.”

“Maybe I won’t have to do anything if you turn this circus act of yours around and go home.”

“I’d love to, but I have an invitation from Blackburn himself.”

I reach into my pocket and Ishii’s crew goes rigid. With my fingertips, I slowly pull out Blackburn’s note and hand it to Ishii. He looks it over and crumples it up. Tosses it into a puddle.

“With your criminal associations it’s probably a forgery. Go home, Stark, before you fall on a bullet.”

Ishii’s phone rings. He has to fumble under his trash bag to pull it from inside his tattered coat. He puts it to his ear and listens intently for a few seconds.

“Yes, sir. He’s here now, but he’s not behaving rationally. He’s made threats.”

Ishii listens.

“No. Not to you personally, but this is a highly unstable individual, with a history of violence. As head of security, I have to take these things seriously.”

He abruptly stops talking.

“Yes, sir. No, sir. I understand.”

He purses his lips as he fumbles the phone back into his coat. Waves his arm in my direction.

“Let him through, boys.”

His crew gets out of the way so I can roll the bike to the curb and heel down the kickstand.

Getting off, I say, “Your problem, Ishii, is that you like playing protector of the realm for the Augur because it gives you a power hard-on. But you really don’t respect the man. I mean, he peeks into the future. He probably knew exactly what you were going to do before you did. The only reason he waited this long to do anything about it is he wanted to give you a chance to pull your head out of your ass.”

Ishii looks at his watch, waves his people back to their posts. He doesn’t want to look at me.

“Stop talking, Stark. And go inside before my gun goes off by accident.”

“Have fun with the fishes, Noah.”

The door is open for me when I reach the hotel.

The outside of Blackburn’s house might be a wreck, but the inside is something else. The inner sanctum is a Victorian fever dream of potted palms, gaslights, silk settees, and arsenic-green walls. You half expect to see Dickens and Queen Victoria sipping laudanum in the living room. I know the layout, so I stroll through the place to the parlor, where Blackburn has his office.