Driver knew Lucky’s Diner from near about twenty years before. He and the boys frequented the place when they ran drugs for a pair of gangsters called the Smith brothers. They were big time drug dealers who used to get their product from container ships at the City docks before dispersing them along the coast. The Smith brothers went down in a hail of bullets about a decade past for cheating a resident gangster up in Greasetown. Driver liked Lucky’s for two reasons.
First of all it was on Zero right near the docks. Inland walls were easy to patrol, and Authority did just that-arresting anyone who hadn’t thought ahead to give them a piece of the action. But the seaside of the City was impossible to police, and there were fewer reasons to do so. The Eastern Sea after the Change was an inhospitable place at the best of times, and it tended to weed out the amateurs when it came to contraband and smuggling. And the professionals always gave Authority a cut.
The second reason Driver frequented Lucky’s was that they made great hamburgers grilled straight through with a special Texas hot sauce lathered on like horse sweat. They were fishburgers actually. Since the Change, animals like people didn’t have babies anymore and with dead flesh slithering off the plate, real meat was a delicacy that few could afford or stomach. Instead, food companies made meat substitutes out of little bitty fish from the ocean. Didn’t taste the same, but the hot sauce overshadowed everything, anyhow.
Driver had a passion for hot sauces. He liked it when it hurt. In his old life before he joined up with Bloody and Tiny he had briefly bucked around the idea of starting his own burritos and beer place. He was a real hand in the kitchen, and growing up on his own had put him in charge of all his meals. Driver liked eating, and he hated repetition.
He sat in a booth across from Bloody and Tiny. The salesman had suggested Lucky’s after Felon mentioned food. Tiny still hadn’t told them what happened with Lucifer and Driver was fit to be hogtied. Bloody was his usual blank self.
The diner was almost empty: a couple dead prostitutes and some old black guy eating mushy peas. The waitress was dead and no looker.
They had a few surprises on the way over, passing a long line of military transports at one moment, and then furiously preparing for a gunfight as an Authority cruiser came up on them with flashing lights. Nothing had come of it. The cruiser took a turnoff heading west.
The Texan clicked his tongue. It was already burning, numb mostly, from eating an inch-thick fishburger with an extra helping of Lucky’s Death Valley sauce. He was just thinking about having a cigarette with his beer. Bloody hadn’t eaten anything as usual, though he had purchased a bottle of Canadian Club and was gulping it down in greedy mouthfuls. Tiny always ate slowly. He picked at his plate like a bird, though Driver had pointed out that the amount he ate would make the bird an ostrich. Bloody slammed the bottle down.
“Tell me, brother,” Driver asked the dead man. “Does that give you anythin’ anymore? You drink it down like water, but you don’t change like you did in the old days.” The Texan was referring to Bloody’s blackout states, where he would talk and walk normally, but would be afflicted with an expression and eyes that looked like murder.
“Water,” the dead man said.
“It’s like a preservative to dead people,” Tiny said while nibbling fish meat shaped like a chicken wing. “Don’t you remember me telling you about those Pickled Punks me and Killer and Cherry saw up in the north? Well, what do you think those dead babies were floating in?”
“I didn’t reckon it was Canadian Club whisky.” Driver lit up a cigarette. “Weren’t that formaldehyde?”
“Well, almost the same thing.” Tiny sipped at his beer. “I’ve heard that dead guys soak in the stuff.”
“Well, I’ve heard that, but it ain’t why Bloody’s drinkin’.” Driver puffed a couple of smoke rings, wiped grease from his beard onto his hands.
“Taste,” Bloody said, his facial expressions unmoving.
Driver and Tiny broke into guffaws. “Yeah, that’s all you ever drank it for!” Tiny bummed a cigarette from Driver, lit it. Then he squinted his eyes, stared past his reflection in the window. He watched for a minute.
“Is he still out there?” Driver turned in his seat.
“Yep.” Tiny took a slow drag from his cigarette. “Him and the nun and the Marquis. Quite a crew.”
“You think the nun’s safe with him?” Driver saw his own reflection in the glass. His hair and beard had grown wild. He needed a trim.
“Yeah.” Tiny turned his eyes on him.
“I hope he don’t kill her,” Driver said wistfully. “We had enough bad luck.” Then he frowned. “How do you know he won’t?”
“We made a deal.” Tiny smiled. “Felon talked to Lucifer, and I couldn’t hear a word. Though they seem quite easy with each other like old friends. And then when the bastard was getting his gear together he yells at me,
‘Barter what you have.’”
“What’s that mean?” Driver downed half his beer.
“Well, Felon said that nun’s one of the Tower Builders, right?” Tiny flicked ash. “ And the Marquis and this Balg guy were trying to kidnap her?”
“Uh huh,” Driver said, seeing now that even Bloody was listening.
“Well, I figure that we could return her for a reward, and look like heroes, or ransom her back.” Tiny looked smug.
“To who?” The Texan scowled. “It ain’t like we’re the Salvation Army.”
“I think the Prime,” Tiny said after a moment’s thought. “He’s got the most to gain at getting her back, and he’s got the money.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Driver growled and lit another cigarette. “What’s to stop him from just shooting us down and taking her?”
Tiny pointed a bony finger at his own chest and smiled. “You’re looking at him. I’ll work the deal.” Then his eyes went urgent. “Besides, with the money we’re getting paid from Felon. Can you imagine if we could get pardons? Retire?” Then he slapped the table. “Or what if I can work a deal, get us jobs with the Prime? Guys like that always need protection.”
“Well,” Driver nodded, and studied the action in the parking lot. Felon was standing in front of the Nova. His gun was out and pointed at the Angel. “Lord, that man…” And then the bright flashes of gunfire.
“Jesus!” Tiny turned at the sound. They clambered in their seats to see the Angel taking the bullets in the face and chest.
“The Marquis!” Driver breathed as he got to his feet.
As Felon fired a full clip the Marquis’ shape shifted and changed. One moment it was the old transvestite, the next they saw a ghostly man-shape, taller than Felon and with wings. And it glowed. What was left of the Marquis suddenly drooped and fell back over the hood of the Nova. Steam or smoke lifted from the body.
“He is an Angel!” Tiny looked at Driver.
“My paintjob!” the Texan grumbled.
Behind the assassin harbor lights glittered a half mile off.
“Something’s wrong!” Tiny leapt to his feet.
Driver was already sliding out of the booth. They ran, pushed through the doors. The other diners watched and smoked without interest.
The Texan’s adrenaline awareness picked up Bloody’s form following. Driver had both. 9 mm’s out held high. He saw that Felon had moved away from the Nova, and he was no longer alone. A group of figures struggled with him, had hold of his arms. The assassin’s gun clicked six loud pieces of night-empty from all his Angel killing.
Driver contemplated firing into the group to distract them. But the chances of hitting Felon were too big. He wasted a bullet in the air, leveled both guns and kept running. Tiny yelled something, circled toward the passenger side of the car. Driver could just see a bit of red from Lucky’s sign highlight the nun’s smooth cheek. The whole area around the car was wet-footprints ran everywhere. The fighting jumble of bodies had backed another ten yards away from the car and the light, and had moved toward the curb where the road ran by. They stopped.
Even in the twilit parking lot, Driver could see that it was a gang of naked men and women-but ugly fuckers: various sizes and every one of them as white as a fish. The Texan decided to hedge his bets, and fired into the gut of a big one. A shiver went over Driver’s scalp.
The bullets impacted. The man slapped at his belly as though he was full of bees, and started coming toward him. Driver pulled up short. Over his shoulder, Bloody’s big gun roared twice. The first bullet knocked the advancing fat man’s arm off his shoulder, left it hanging there by shreds, the second made a volcano of his skull. But the bastard kept coming on-blindly swinging his remaining arm! Dead! Past the flailing dead man Driver could make out the others crouched around something. Bloody appeared beside him, they both fired into the fat man chopping him to pieces in a nasty wet pink cloud.
Driver tried to draw a bead on another, just in time to see the last of them slip through the ground. What the! “Come on Bloody, some more crazy shit!” The Texan ran ahead, minding his step on the slimy asphalt. He leapt over the still quivering corpse, and hit his knees near the curb. A manhole was open at the juncture of the street and the sidewalk. Water covered the street. Cautiously, guns level with his eyes Driver took a quick peek into the darkness. Noises echoed up from the depths, distant watery bongs and splashes. He moved away from the manhole.
“Well, if that don’t shake it.” Driver looked into Bloody’s dispassionate face. “Looks like Felon got himself kidnapped.” He turned to see the salesman running to catch up.
“The nun’s okay.” Tiny stopped at the twitching body. “Just scared-Jesus Christ! What in hell are these goddamned things?” He pointed at the corpse with his gun.
Driver walked over. “I don’t know, but his friends took Felon down that sewer.” He looked at the splattered corpse. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Bloody reload his gun.
There was a lot of milky liquid on the ground around the body. The corpse was white-skinned, and the exposed muscle was gray. The Texan stepped on its tapping fingers. Where the body cavity had opened up, he could see that the organs looked fresh, but bloated and pale like over-boiled sausage.
“Jesus! It was dead before we met it.” He looked toward the manhole.
“I heard stories.” Tiny inspected the creature, pushing at its flesh with his gun barrel. “Things like that out in the water, in the Sunken City and down in the sewers. Cannibals!”
“Should we go fetch him?” Driver looked to Tiny. The salesman walked over to the manhole, looked into its blackness.
“I just said cannibals.” Tiny took out a cigarette, lit it. “Felon can take care of himself.” He shrugged. “If he can’t, he’s dead already.”
“But how we going to get paid?” Driver looked at Bloody.
Tiny pointed back at the Nova. “We got the nun.” He slapped the Texan’s shoulder. “See, old Lucifer was right. We get to barter what we have.” He smiled and started toward the car. “Bloody, my plan will be uncomfortable for you but you’re going like it. It’s fucking fate.”
“Uncomfortable?” Driver looked over at Bloody. “Angels and Demons,” he said and laughed. “Now we got Fate to deal with…” He lit a cigarette. “I hope we run across a bit of luck in the process.”