unbuttoned the coat, sat down and clasped his hands on the desktop. “Very well,” he said. “Tell me how I may be of service.”
“I…uh, we,” I said, glancing at Adan, “need to get into the Mocambo club. I thought you might be able to introduce us.”
The Burning Man arched his eyebrows. “To La Calavera?”
“Yeah, I understand she runs the club.”
“Oh, she does. She does indeed.” The spirit tapped two fingers against his lips, considering. “I am, of course, acquainted with La Calavera, and as it happens, I am a member at the club. I’m confident I could arrange an introduction.”
“That’s great,” I said, reaching across the desk and offering my hand. “How long you think it will take to set that up?”
The Burning Man smiled and started burning again. He held one finger up and a thin line of smoke coiled from his cuff. “First, there is the question of price.”
I’d yet to run into a spirit-with the possible exception of Honey-who didn’t want their pound of flesh for every little favor you asked of them. They were worse than gangsters. “The price, of course,” I said. “Yeah, okay, what can I do for you? You’ve already got my gun business, when I need it.”
“Well, you and I are alike, Miss Riley. The business we can do need not be limited to conventional trade in merchandise.”
“Spit it out,” I said.
“I need you to make a problem go away.”
I laughed. “You want me to kill somebody.”
The Burning Man burned and smiled. “With occasional rare exceptions such as Mr. Rashan and yourself, Miss Riley, those of us who inhabit this world are not, strictly speaking, alive, and therefore I would hesitate to describe what I’m asking as a killing. Think of it as…an exorcism, if you like.”
“Yeah. So who do you need clipped?”
“A competitor, of sorts,” said the Burning Man. “Not a true threat to my operation, you understand, more of a…nuisance.”
“A nuisance you apparently can’t get rid of yourself. Who is he?”
“He is called Dedushka,” said the Burning Man. “You would not believe how many tired, old spirits there are in the Between called Grandfather, in a thousand tongues and local variations. It’s as if they lack even the rudiments of creativity or imagination.”
I didn’t think “the Burning Man” was a real dazzler in terms of creativity, all things considered. “Sounds Russian,”
I said, thinking of Anton. I wondered how he was doing.
Was he still alive…or undead, or whatever the fuck he was?
Had he gone mad?
“Yes,” said the Burning Man. “Dedushka is a vodyanoy.
He is supposed to be a river spirit, as I understand it, but the Los Angeles River apparently holds no appeal for him.
Perhaps this is because the river is so often dry, or perhaps he simply lacks an aesthetic appreciation for concrete. In any event, he has a home in Malibu.” He gave us the address-an exclusive little enclave on Carbon Beach.
The Burning Man was having trouble with a river spirit. Fire and water. It was the kind of thing that might count for something in the Between. “Well, what’s he done, exactly? I guess I’m not eager to gun down some old grandpa.”
The Burning Man laughed. “This old grandpa drew his power from drowning mortals and taking them as slaves. That was a long time ago, but still you’ll discover that many of his enforcers have a certain sogginess about them.”
I looked over at Adan. “Sounds like a bad guy…” I remembered a time not too long ago when I’d promised myself I was going to change the game. I wasn’t going to murder people anymore just because they were bad guys. I was going to be a real soldier. Somehow I’d imagined looking at my enemies across a battlefield and killing them fair and square. I was still waiting on some sign this was going to be that kind of war. So far, it was pretty much business as usual for the underworld.
“I know the vodyanoy,” Adan said. “We’ll be doing the world a favor.”
I nodded. It was so easy to agree. This guy was a monster. He was in the war and he was my enemy. I wouldn’t be breaking any promises if I put him down. “We can take this guy at his house in Malibu?”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” said the Burning Man. “A certain history, you see, has brought us to this point, and his security is tight. He does have a vulnerability, though, one of which I cannot easily take advantage. It should, however, present you with a perfect opportunity.”
“What’s the vulnerability?”
“He goes for a swim every evening. He strolls along the beach in front of his house for a spell, surrounded by bodyguards. But they wait for him while he swims. None of them, you understand, have any real enthusiasm for entering the water with him.”
I didn’t have any real enthusiasm for it, either, but at least he’d be out in the open. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll kill this Dedushka for you. But it’s a heavy lift just for an introduction.”
“You think perhaps I should sweeten the pot?” the Burning Man asked.
“Yeah, I want you to set up my compadre here with a firearm. Something good, like Ned, only a long gun.”
“Ah, yes, I noticed that he is somewhat lightly dressed. If he is to aid you in your mission, I suspect a rifle might come in very handy, indeed. Of course, I have just the thing.” The Burning Man opened the cage and retrieved an old rifle from a rack bolted onto the wall. He placed it carefully on the desk and nodded to Adan.
It was a simple bolt-action rifle with a wooden stock and black hardware. The weapon looked somewhat crudely made. The grain of the wood was rough and I could even see tool marks and shoddy finishing in several places.
“This is the Mosin-Nagant used by Vassili Zaitsev at Stalingrad,” said the Burning Man.
“Am I supposed to know who that is?” I asked.
“Jude Law,” Adan said. “Enemy at the Gates.” He hefted the rifle and worked the action. He seemed pleased. I wondered how he kept up-to-date on movies growing up in fairyland.
“That’s right,” said the Burning Man. “Zaitsev killed two hundred and twenty-five enemy soldiers with this weapon at Stalingrad.”
That was more than Wyatt Earp ever killed with Ned. I shrugged. “There was a war on.”
“That was his confirmed count during a single five-week period in the winter of 1942, Miss Riley. And, if I do say so myself, there would be a certain delicious irony in it if you were to use this legendary Russian rifle against the vodyanoy.”
“It’ll work,” said Adan. He set the butt on the floor and leaned the rifle against his thigh. Boys.
“It’s like Ned, then?” I asked. “He doesn’t have to worry about ammo or anything?”
“It is just the same,” the Burning Man agreed, “with, perhaps, a bit more ‘muscle,’ as you say.”
“I doubt that,” I said, scowling.
“The terms of the weapon’s possession must be the same, too, of course. Should Mr. Rashan die-”
“No. When he’s done in the Between,” I said, “Adan gives up the gun. That was our agreement.” I hadn’t fallen for the Burning Man’s little trap-clause the first time. I wasn’t sure why he thought it’d be any different now.
“Done,” said the Burning Man, and we shook hands again. “I will make the necessary arrangements with La Calavera. Once your business for me is concluded, I will be most pleased to introduce you.”
“Okay,” I said, “we’ll be in touch. Let’s go, Adan.” We rose and went to the door.
“Just one more thing,” the Burning Man called from behind us. We turned to see him sitting behind the desk again, blazing merrily. “I know I didn’t specify in the course of our negotiations, but if it wouldn’t be too much trouble…”
“Get on with it already,” I said. “What do you want?”
