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He holds up a finger.
“And my leg. I want it no-shit fixed.”
I nod.
“I’m working on that. There aren’t a lot of listings for hellhounds on Craigslist. I’m going to have to go Downtown and beg or steal one.”
Candy clears her throat.
“You know, it might pique someone’s interest if you call the concierge for a bunch of bleach and a body bag.”
“Use the blankets and towels to get up as much blood as you can. Then call down for new ones. If they ask about the old ones, tell them we’re taking care of them.”
“That won’t make them suspicious.”
“I’m Mr. Macheath. I work in mysterious ways.”
Kasabian gets up and whirs and clanks into his bathroom to get towels. Candy gives me some of the cash people have been paying me not to bend them into balloon animals.
“Sorry about making you play damsel in distress tonight.”
“Tell me you didn’t plan it in advance.”
“I was improvising. I promise.”
She looks at all the blood.
“It’s like Sweeney Todd’s rumpus room in here.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
I FIND AN all-night market a few blocks from the Chateau. I buy garbage bags, bleach, duct tape, and a shovel. The clerk doesn’t bat an eye. I sneak back through a shadow in the parking lot and come out in the penthouse, my stomach catching a little, not just from the typical nausea of coming through the penthouse’s magic defenses, but from the thick smell of blood in the room.
While Candy and Kasabian pat down the carpet with towels and sheets, turning them bright crimson, I stick Declan’s head in one of the garbage bags, securing it with tape around his neck. I don’t want any more of the red stuff splashing around. I know I should feel bad about wrapping a dead man like pork chops for the freezer, but I can’t work up much sympathy. He was a greedy fuck who was going to shoot Candy. That’s after he almost got her shot at Donut Universe. No. Declan Garrett deserves what he got and what he’s going to get.
Candy carries each soaked sheet and towel into the bathroom and throws it in the tub. The wall looks like a musk ox exploded while taking a soak.
“Where are you taking the body?” says Candy.
“Teddy Osterberg’s place.”
“Silly question.”
Kasabian moans and groans, but he does his bit getting up the blood. I bag as many of the sheets and towels as I can carry, figuring I can come back for the rest later.
I kiss Candy on her bloody cheek. She smiles but I can tell she’s still a little sore. I toss Declan’s body over my shoulder, grab the bags of bloody sundries in my hands, and tuck the shovel under my arm. No one in recorded history has looked more like he’s going to dispose of a body than I do right now.
I step through a shadow and come out in the garage. It only takes a couple of minutes to find Declan’s Beamer. I pop the trunk with the black blade, toss Declan inside and the other goodies on top of him.
The black blade opens the door, and when I jam it into the ignition, the car starts right up. I back up carefully and drive out of the garage, giving the attendant a friendly wave as I leave.
THERE ISN’T MUCH traffic on the road at four A.M., but with a dead guy in the trunk the roads still feel crowded. All it will take to spoil the rest of the night is a bored cop pulling me over or a drunk driver plowing into me. I’m more worried about the cop. Yeah, I know I can get away from them. I’ve done it before. It’s the dash cam that bothers me. I don’t like the idea of LAPD having any more footage of me, especially with a corpse in the trunk and the murder weapon behind my back. It’s a long drive out to Malibu when you have to stick to the speed limit.
I turn off the headlights when I head up the hill to Teddy Osterberg’s place, driving by moonlight. I haven’t been out here since I burned the place down. Teddy’s mansion is a pile of rubble and some scorched beams surrounded by police tape. Teddy was a ghoul. Someone with an appetite for dead flesh. In his spare time he was a cemetery buff. He collected them like other people collect model trains. At the top of the hill, I pop the trunk and haul out the body and the shovel.
There are hundreds of grave sites sprawled in every direction. Marble tombstones and rotting wooden markers. Angel-topped mausoleums and rocky burial mounds. I take Declan out to the far end of the collection where Teddy has an old-fashioned potter’s field. It’s invisible from the road and seems like a good enough place for Declan to spend his retirement years.
The ground has baked hard under the California sun. I should have brought a pick to break up the soil. After about an hour of digging, I have a hole just deep enough to hold Declan. I push him over the edge with my boot and fill the hole back in, packing down the earth on top of the grave and scattering the leftover dirt around the cemetery.
