Sleeping Late on Judgement Day

nineteen: karma comedian

THE WOMEN were still talking excitedly about arrowing people in the balls when we pulled into the garage at Caz’s apartment.

“I wish my mother still alive,” Oxana said suddenly.

“What?” I was examining the bottom of my shoe. The explosive packed in the heel had melted half the sole, which explained why the back of my foot felt sunburned. “Your mother?”

“Yes. She very church, very religion. I tell her I save angel, she is so proud!”

For about half a second it was silent in the car, like someone had loudly passed gas. “You two know I’m an angel?” I said at last.

“We know, of course,” said Halyna as she turned off the engine. “You think we run away with some normal man to fight Anahita? She is much bigger, stronger angel even than you!”

I was a little hurt that I hadn’t won them over with just my swagger and charm, but I had to admit it would save me the long, embarrassing lecture I had been planning about how when a Deity loves a planet very much, they get married and make little cherubs.

“Okay,” is what I said instead. “Glad you’re cool with it.”

I don’t know about you, but I’m always kind of wired after people have been shooting at me. As for the Amazons, they were pretty high on the whole adventure, so after we got back I let them take my car and go over to Junior’s Catering to pick up some food while I did some strategic thinking.

The Junior Burger, which you can only get there, and only when Junior wants to make them, is one of the great inventions of modern cuisine. He puts the cheese and grilled onions and hot peppers between two patties, then crimps them into one big patty and slaps it on the fire. When it comes off, it’s magic. I sometimes think that Junior props up the entire economy of the Ravenswood district. Certainly the place is always crowded, with a dozen people waiting outside just to get in and order, and about three-quarters of them are from the rich side of the freeway.

It was a reasonable evening, so I took a beer and went outside to the courtyard to think. I finally saw a neighbor, a young guy in a suit who kind of half-waved at me (like a man meeting a dog that may or may not be dangerous) before scurrying back into his apartment. The people who lived in this semi-expensive oasis in the middle of a poor neighborhood seemed to be the kind of folks who were making money but were never at home; singles who drove to Tahoe every weekend to go snowboarding or something. I wondered what they’d think if they knew an angel had sublet the demon-woman’s apartment. I’d be willing to bet they wouldn’t have cared as long as they didn’t have to make small talk with me on their way from the garage to their sturdily bolted doors.

My cell rang, which startled me a little. The call failed, so I walked away from the apartment until I got a whole bar. It rang again, and I picked up but didn’t say anything.

“Bobby?”

I was slightly relieved. “Clarence. How are things for our littlest angel?”

“What’s going on with you?” he asked. “Everybody in the Compasses is saying you quit or something.”

I laughed, despite myself. “As if. You know what the retirement plan for ex-angels is? Neither do I, because there’s no such thing. I just asked for a little time off.” But I wasn’t thrilled with the idea my colleagues were already talking about it when I hadn’t had an official reply from Heaven. “How did you hear about it?”

“Who hasn’t?”

Alice. Why was it that you couldn’t get the time of day out of our superiors without a feasibility study and an environmental impact report, but Alice could announce my business to everybody she talked to? “Nah, I didn’t quit, I’ve just got stuff to do. In fact, I need to talk to you. Is your car working?”

“I have one I can use.”

“Good. Meet me in the Crescendo Club parking lot. It’s on the Camino Real between Santa Cruz and Valparaiso.”

“You mean now?”

“No, I was thinking right after the Last goddamn Trump—you know, while everyone else is hurrying to final judgement. Yes, now.”

“But I just got in!”

“Sorry, but I really need you to meet me there. Do not—repeat, do not—bring Wendell. And do not even consider calling Garcia G-Man Windhover. If something goes wrong with your ride, let me know, and I will come all the way up to Brittan Heights and get you, even though it’s been a long fucking day where once again bad people tried to injure me, and I am exhausted and sore.”

“I said I’ve got a car.” The lad was sullen as a scolded teenager.

“Good.” I remembered that the Amazons were still out at Junior’s. “I just thought of something. Better make it about forty minutes.”

• • •

I drove the Camino Real with a burger in one hand. Here’s an important Bobby Dollar lesson for life: You cannot eat a good burger with one hand if you don’t want stuff in your lap. Luckily I have had years of driving-while-eating experience: I know to use the wrapper as a picnic blanket so I don’t show up to meet the recently dead with pickle chips and mustard splotches on my crotch.

Clarence was parking an obscenely large car when I got there, the kind of thing that looked like it should be towing water-skiers. I pulled up next to it.

“What the hell is that?” I asked. “Company ride?”

“Mine’s in the shop. This belongs to my landlady.”

“I never would have guessed. Come on, hop in.”

“Why? I thought we were going to have a drink and talk?”

“No, I picked this place because it stays open late so your car won’t get towed. We’ll drink and talk, all right, just not here. Don’t worry, your landlady’s wheeled yacht will be fine. Nobody’s going to steal it because nobody knows how to drive a Toledo Steam Carriage anymore.”

He just gave me a look. The kid was learning. “Where are we going?” he asked as we sped back across town.

“I’m taking you to meet the rest of the team. But where we’re going is a secret, and that really means secret this time. You don’t tell Wendell or G-Man or your landlady, and especially you do not mention it to Alice, who would immediately broadcast it to the entirety of Heaven and Earth. Understood?”

“Why would I tell Alice?”

“I don’t know, I’m just trying to make a point. Shit has gotten real serious now, and it’s going to get seriouser soon.”

“‘Seriouser’?”

“Fuck the shut up, kid. Listen. From now on, I am at war. To the extent that your existence is tragically but irrevocably linked with mine, so are you. Got it?”

He was silent for a while as we made our way down the Embarcadero, the height of the buildings going up and down like a bar graph depending on how wealthy the part of town. “You know,” he said at last, “I really didn’t appreciate that threat the other day.”

I didn’t really know what he was complaining about—I’d stuck a pistol in the Amazons’ faces, but they weren’t bitching. “Well, I’d say sorry, but I’m not. I am totally not kidding—I’m at war. Nazis were trying to shoot me today, and believe it or not, armed fascists are actually the least of my worries.”

“But I’m already risking my career, Bobby. Actually, I’m risking my soul for you and Sam. Why do you keep treating me like I’m some stupid kid?”

Okay, I admit I felt a sting. “Look, I’m doing the best I can, but I’m not real trusting by nature. When I trust people, I usually get fucked over. And as for you, hell, I’m not even sure I like you yet.”

“Thanks a lot.” But he sounded almost as amused as angry. “I just thought maybe you didn’t trust me because . . .”

“What, because you’re gay?” Now I got angry. Good thing I’d finished my burger long ago or there would have been dill chips flying everywhere. “Shit, do you really think I care? I’ve been to Hell, kid! I could care less what you or anyone else does for love and companionship in this stinking universe. I do not care who you get sexy with. Got it? Do. Not. Care.”

“Actually, I was going to say, ‘because I tried to arrest Sam.’” He laughed. “Wow, somebody kind of made a big old Freudian mess all over themselves, huh?”

“Shut up.”

As you can see, I won the argument. Because my car, my rules.

• • •

After I introduced him to the Amazons, who were still wiping mayonnaise from their faces when we came in, and wearing the happy glow of a couple of world-class cheeseburger virgins who’d just had their cherries popped in a big way, Clarence walked around Caz’s apartment, eyes wide. “This is crazy,” he said. “I mean, the decor, it’s . . .”

“Don’t.” I was a little sensitive about it.

“I didn’t mean anything bad.” He paused in front of the desk, where I had been working on Caz’s laptop. “Is this safe? I mean, if you’re trying to keep your location a secret.”

“I’m not stupid, Junior. It’s a proxy connection—several proxy connections, in fact. If Hell couldn’t find Caz through this, Heaven won’t be able to track us either.”

(A quick aside: when I first moved the Amazons into the apartment, I looked through Caz’s computer to make sure there wasn’t anything on it that would compromise her safety if the Amazons saw it. Doing that felt creepy, but necessary. But the really weird thing was that, other than factory-installed apps, her computer had only about three or four things on it, all of them completely innocuous, like local restaurant reviews. Seriously, it was like examining your grandmother’s computer, except with fewer cat pictures. Even with all the precautions she’d taken over the connection, I guess somebody like Caz, born a century before Leonardo Da Vinci, still didn’t feel all that confident about technology.)

The laptop screen Clarence was staring at was full of Google Earth satellite photos. I had also covered about forty pieces of scratch paper with complicated (and probably useless) attempts to figure out the angle of the photo from Donya Sepanta’s garden, and thus narrow down the location of her house for a close-up search. I started to explain all this to Junior, but the little upstart interrupted me. “I get why you think you’ve found Anaita’s secret identity. But why don’t you just find her address the normal way?”

“What normal way? Do you think that an important angel like Anaita—who’s not supposed to be spending large amounts of time on Earth, plus is up to her holy neck in all kinds of weird intrigues, not least thwarting the entire plan of Heaven and Hell by creating an alternative destination for human souls—is going to have a listed number?”

He shook his head. “No, but if she’s living an earthly life, even part time, she’s probably not pruning her own shrubbery. She has parties, right? Some kind of social life? She must have caterers, a dressmaker, employees, gardening service, you know, stuff like that. You could spend weeks trying to figure it out with all this . . .” he grimaced and waved at the messy table, “. . . Boy Scout stuff. Do you always light a fire by rubbing sticks together, too? Are matches for pussies?”

“Don’t get snippy, Sunny Jim.”

“Look, just let me do it. I came from the Records Hall of Heaven, Bobby. I know something about finding information.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a very good liar. Sometimes you have to lie to people.”

He directed me away from the desk and sat down. “Find something useful to do. Clean your gun or something. If I need someone who couldn’t tell the whole truth if his life depended on it, I’ll let you know.”

• • •

Needless to say, with sexy Amazons running around half-naked in the next room and loudly making out for hours most nights, all my guns were already pretty damn clean, and every blade I owned had been sharpened and re-sharpened until they were all as thin as fingernail clippings. However, I had been trying to decide what to do once I actually knew where my suspect lived, so I figured I might as well get on with that part.

Monica picked up on the second ring. “Naber.”

“It’s Bobby.”

There was a bit of a pause. There always is. The kind of history Monica and I have is just pleasant enough that I can always call her, but not so much that we don’t usually start off with one of those awkward pauses. “Yes, hello, Bobby. How are you?”

“Been better. Been worse. Any chance I could buy you a cup of coffee?”

I swear I could hear her thinking. “What does that mean, exactly?” she said at last.

“Nothing weird, I promise. I really need to talk to you. In fact, I need a favor.”

“Ah.” She sounded more comfortable now. “When? I’m just on my way to a client out in the hills.”

“I could meet you on your way back.”

“Okay.” She named a restaurant we’d been to before. “Give me an hour before you set out. Alice said it would be a quick one.” The tone of her voice changed. “I think that means it’s a kid.”

“Sorry to hear it. Yeah, an hour. I really appreciate this. You’re a sweetheart.”

“Yeah, that’s me—the sweetheart of the regiment.”

• • •

Look, I know I’m not the most sensitive guy in the world, but when Monica came in I could tell it had been a bad one, so I just went to the bar and ordered her a drink, then let her get about half of it down before I said anything.

“Bad night?”

“You know. A nine-year-old girl. Beaten to death by her stepfather.” She stirred her drink, then took another long swallow until the ice sounded dry. “I hate kids. I mean, I hate working with kids. In our job.”

I could only nod. Kids are the hardest, not so much because they don’t understand, unless they’re really little, but because they ask so many questions, and you have to keep saying, “I can’t tell you,” or, if you’re more honest, “I don’t know.”

“You want another drink?”

“No. I have to drive.” She looked up. Her eyes were a bit red. “What can I do for you, Mr. Dollar?”

I wasn’t quite ready to dive in. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, how are you and Teddy Nebraska doing? Is it serious?”

“I don’t know. He’s sweet, but he’s so old-fashioned. I swear, he couldn’t have been alive past the late eighteen-nineties.”

“Is that why he’s been acting so weird around me?”

She laughed, but it wasn’t one of her good ones. “I think it has more to do with the fact that you scare him to death. He wants to make sure you’re not angry with him for dating me.”

“Really? Scared of me? Why? Does he think I’m jealous?”

“I told him you wouldn’t be.” A smile, shadowed with regret. “I kind of wish you would be, but I knew you wouldn’t. Yeah, I think he’s worried you might beat him up or something.”

I sat back. “You’re kidding. Me?”

“That’s right, Dollar. I know you’re a useless softie, and you know it, but everyone else down at the Compasses thinks you’re kind of a bad-ass. Fighting demons and monsters, mysterious absences—you’re the cool kid on the playground.”

It was so different than the way I saw myself—hapless pawn of fate, barely able to keep it together for nine or ten minutes at a stretch—that I laughed loud enough for the drunks in the next booth to glare at me. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t have the energy.” She put the glass down and sighed. “So what do you want, Bobby?”

I told Monica, without explaining who I thought the target really was, of course, that I needed to get to Donya Sepanta, close up and personal.

“Why don’t you just do what you ordinarily do? Smash through the front door and keep going until someone tries to kill you?”

I bowed my head. “I’m trying to improve my karma, sweetie. From now on I’m going to do it the peaceful way first. Then when I fuck that up, I go back with guns blazing.” I was stopped by her look of alarm. “I’m kidding. There will be no guns. I just need to get in and meet this woman face-to-face.”

“She must be very good looking. But I thought you had a new girlfriend.”

A moment of constriction around the heart and lungs. Who’d been talking? “Where did you hear that?”

“Gossip doesn’t come like email, with To and From in the header. I don’t know. Everybody talks about it. Some mysterious woman no one’s ever seen.” She smiled, and it was a little better this time. “Honestly, Bobby, I don’t mind. We were never serious about each other, were we?”

I smelled another trap. “I always cared about you, Monica. I still do.”

“And that calls for another drink, I believe.” She waved until she caught the harried waitress’s attention. “How about you?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“So, then—your new girlfriend?”

“It’s complicated. And she’s out of town. For a while.”

“So you’re scouting up new talent?”

“If I swear I’m not, you won’t believe me. Think what you want. But I do need to meet this Sepanta woman. Help me?”

“I’m not trying to be mean, honest. And if you’re serious about this new one who you never talk about, I wish you the best. Now, what can I do about Donya Sepanta?”

I was still inventing the plan, so I briefed her as best I could, doing my best not to harp too much on the need for secrecy, although I was scared to death my pursuit of Donya Sepanta would also become news around the Compasses. If people found out I was after Anaita it could have even worse repercussions than people knowing about Caz. Although now that I thought about it, the downside of both would be immediate ejection of my immortal soul from Heaven and its prompt conveyance to the lower depths, so it was kind of a pick-’em.

Monica agreed to help, pending the rest of the information on Donya Sepanta, which I promised I’d get to her as soon as I had it. “She is beautiful, or at least that’s what I’ve heard. You sure you’re not aiming a bit high?”

“It’s nothing to do with sex, Monica. I swear on the Highest.”

“Bobby, everything you do is something to do with sex. I just don’t have the strength to dig deep enough to find out. Let me know when you need me. I’ll look up some of my old contacts.”

“Bless you. I mean that.”

“Yeah. Give an old trooper a kiss on the cheek, and we’ll say goodnight. I have to go home. Some of us are still working for a living.”

Which sounded like she knew about my leave of absence, too. Did everybody know more about my life than I did? Probably.

We hugged goodbye in the parking lot, and I tried not to think much about how warm and alive Monica felt, or the absence of Caz, which was all I had instead.

When I got home, such as home currently was, I found Clarence dancing with the Amazons in the middle of the living room to Junior Walker and the All-Stars’ “Shotgun.” I didn’t even know Caz had that song in her collection. How did a fifteenth-century Polish countess know about Junior Walker?

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said loudly over the music, “but I’ve had a long day, what with people trying to murder me and all, and I still need to get Clarence back to his car.”

“Join us!” cried Oxana. “We are having a celebrate!”

“Yes, we are getting on our groove,” said Halyna.

“Because I found the address, Bobby,” Clarence announced without ever stopping his science-grad-student Watusi. Before that moment I would have guessed that all gay guys could dance. “Number One Hilltop Way,” he shouted. “The place is huge! There’s a satellite picture on the laptop!”

I wandered to the desk to look at it. If Casa Sepanta had been built a few hundred years earlier, it would have been a castle. Outside the very large house and numerous outbuildings were walls, a guard booth, the whole nine yards. And there, nestled beneath a bunch of trees, was the outline of the pools from the Sunset article. Junior had come through. Phase Two could begin.

So why did I feel like I’d swallowed a large, cold stone?