“Yeah,” Charlie said. “Bye.” He smiled to himself and rolled out of bed, wondering if this might be the last time he would ever do that. Smile.
Charlie showered, ate a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, and put on a thousand-dollar suit for which he had paid forty bucks. He limped around the bedroom for a few minutes and decided that his leg felt pretty good and he could do without the foam walking cast, so he left it on the floor by the bed. He put on a pot of coffee and called Inspector Rivera.
“It was a fucked-up day,” Rivera said. “Charlie, you need to take your daughter and get out of town.”
“I can’t do that. This is about me. You’ll keep me informed, right?”
“Promise you won’t try to do anything stupid or heroic?”
“Not in my DNA, Inspector. I’ll call you if I see anything.”
Charlie disconnected, having no idea what he was going to do, but feeling like he had to do something. He called Jane’s house to say good night to Sophie.
“I just want you to know that I love you very much, honey.”
“Me, too, Daddy. Why did you call?”
“What, you have a meeting or something?”
“We’re having ice cream.”
“That’s nice. Look, Sophie, Daddy has to go do some things, so I want you to stay with Aunt Jane for a few days, okay?”
“Okay. Do you need some help? I’m free.”
“No, honey, but thank you.”
“Okay, Daddy. Alvin is looking at my ice cream. He looks hungry, like bear. I have to go.”
“Love you, honey.”
“Love you, Daddy.”
“Apologize to Aunt Cassie for calling her an anti-Semite.”
“’Kay.” Click.
She hung up on him. The apple of his eye, the light of his life, his pride and joy, hung up on him. He sighed, but felt better. Heartbreak is the natural habitat of the Beta Male.
Charlie took a few minutes in the kitchen to sharpen the edge of the sword-cane on the back of the electric can opener he and Rachel had received as a wedding present, then he headed out to check on the store.
As soon as he opened the door to the back staircase Charlie heard strange animal noises coming from the store. It sounded as if they were coming from the back room, and there were no lights on, although he could see plenty of light filtering in from the store. Was this it? Sort of solved the problem of what he was going to do.
He drew the sword from his cane and crept down the stairs in a crouch, moving along the edge of each step to minimize squeakage. Halfway down he saw the source of the animal noises and he recoiled, leaping nearly halfway back up the staircase.
“For the love of God!”
“It needed to be done,” Lily said. She was astraddle Ray Macy, her plaid pleated skirt (mercifully) draped out over him, covering the parts that would have caused Charlie to have to tear his eyes out, which he was thinking about doing anyway.
“It did,” Ray agreed breathlessly.
Charlie peeked down into the back room—they were still at it, Lily riding Ray like he was a mechanical bull, one bare breast bouncing out of the lapel of her chef ’s coat.
“He was despondent,” she said. “I found him giving himself hickies with the shop vac. It’s for the greater good, Asher.”
“Well, stop it,” Charlie said.
“No, no, no, no, no,” said Ray.
“It’s a charity thing,” Lily said.
“You know, Lily,” Charlie said, covering his eyes, “you could exercise your charity in other ways, like Salvation Army Santa or something.”
“I don’t want to fuck those guys. Most of them are raging alcoholics, and they stink. At least Ray is clean.”
“I don’t mean do one, I mean be one. Ring the bell with the little red kettle. Jeez.”
“I am clean,” said Ray.
“You shut up,” Charlie said. “She’s young enough to be your daughter.”
“He was suicidal,” Lily said. “I may be saving his life.”
“She is,” Ray said.
“Shut up, Ray,” Charlie said. “This is pathetic, desperate pity sex, that’s all it is.”
“He knows that,” Lily said.
“I don’t mind,” said Ray.
“I’m doing this for the cause, too,” Lily said. “Ray was holding out on you.”
“I was?” said Ray.
“How?” Charlie said.
“He found a woman who was buying all the soul vessels. She was with the clients you missed. Somewhere in the Mission. He wasn’t going to tell you about her.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ray said. Then added, “Faster, please.”
“Tell him the address,” Lily said.
“Lily,” Charlie said, “this isn’t really necessary.”
“No,” Ray said.
There was a loud smack. Charlie opened his eyes. They were still there, doing it, but Ray’s right cheek was bright red and Lily was winding up to slap him again.
“Tell him!”
“It’s on Guerrero Street, between Eighteenth and Nineteenth, I don’t know the number, but it’s a big green Victorian, you can’t miss it. Three Jewels Buddhist Center.”
SMACK!
“Ouch, I told him,” Ray whined.
“That’s for not getting the address, BITCH!” Lily said. Then to Charlie: “There you go, Asher. I want a prime position when you take over the Underworld!”
Charlie thought that one of the first things he was going to change when he took over was expanding The Great Big Book of Death to include how to handle situations like this. But instead he said, “You got it, Lily. You’ll be in charge of dress code and torture.”
“Sweet,” Lily said. “’Scuse me, Asher, I have to finish this.” Then to Ray: “Hear that? No more flannel shirts for you, grommet!” SMACK!
The grunts coming from Ray increased in frequency and intensity.
“Sure,” Charlie said. “I’ll just go out the other door.”
“See ya,” Ray said.
“I’m never going to look either one of you in the eye again, okay?”
“Sounds good, Asher,” Lily said. “Be careful.”
Charlie crept back up the steps, went out the front door of his apartment and down the elevator to the street entrance, suppressing his gag reflex the whole way. On the street he flagged down a cab and rode into the Mission, trying to wipe the image of his shagging employees out of his mind.
The Morrigan had followed the gift souls that had escaped through the drains to a deserted street in the Mission. Now they waited, watching the green Victorian building from storm-drain grates at either end of the street. They were more cautious now, their rapacious nature having been dampened somewhat by having been severely blown up the night before.
They called them the gift souls because the little patchwork creatures brought the souls right to them in the sewers—the gifts showing up in the Morrigan’s weakest moment. After the accursed Boston terrier had chased them through miles of pipelines, leaving them battered and exhausted on a high ledge at a pipe junction, along marched twenty or so of the darling little nightmares, all dressed up in finery and carrying just what they needed to heal their wounds and replenish their strength: human souls. And thus renewed, they were able to scare away that obnoxious little dog. The Morrigan were back—not to the strength they’d achieved before the explosion, maybe not even enough to fly, but certainly enough to venture Above once again, especially with so many souls at hand.
No one was out on the streets tonight except the junkies, the hookers, and the homeless. After the fucked-up day in the City, most everyone had decided that it was just a better idea to stay in, safer. To the Morrigan (for all they cared), they were safer in their homes the same way a tuna fish is safer in a can, but no one knew that yet. No one knew what they were hiding from except Charlie Asher, and he was getting out of a cab right in front of them as they watched.