The Angel In The Darkness Part 7

"Don't you think she deserves the truth? Maria's the smart one in the family, after all. I think we owe it to her to strip away the mythological c.r.a.p and tell it like it is." Emrys made a slicing gesture with his hands.

"The opposing forces here are really Reckless Profit and Conscience. Your *uncle' works for seriously stupid masters, Maria. Money is their greatest good. They created everlasting slaves to get it for them, mining the past like a strata of coal. They didn't order them to save the animals and the works of art and the children because they were good; they did it because it would make them richer!

"They aren't remotely concerned with preventing all the horrors and catastrophes they know will befall humanity. Far from it; if it were possible to change history, they might not be the little tin G.o.ds they are, up there in the future. They just make d.a.m.ned sure their operatives can grab the loot and run with it when all h.e.l.l breaks loose. Isn't that so?" Emrys turned to Uncle Porfirio.

"Yes. It is," said Uncle Porfirio.

"Their great mistake was in creating slaves who were smarter than they were," said Emrys. "And who had miserable, interminable millennia to become wiser as well. Over the ages, many of us began to ask: why not try to actually do something about the horror of it all, rather than merely pick up the pieces? Oughtn't we to turn our astonishing cyborg powers to n.o.bler ends? Think about this, Porfirio. Think of the state the world is in. Think of the poverty and starvation.You could help the mortals!"

"Not the way you want me to," said Uncle Porfirio.

"You could help them, and you could help yourself," Emrys insisted. "Do you really believe our masters have that wonderful paradise waiting for us, when our work ends at last? I could show you proof it's all a lie."

"I know."

"And you know, yourselfa"who better?a"that some mortals deserve to die. Have you told her the truth yet, about what happened to that studio bigshot who was dating her mother when Hector came on the scene? The one who took out a contract on Hector's life, out of jealousy? Funny, the way he drove his car off Santa Monica Pier that very evening."

"My father didn't deserve to die," said Maria, in a thick voice.

"Oh, G.o.d, sweetie, you can't mean that!" Emrys rolled his eyes. "With what he'd been reduced to? Poor old monkey couldn't even chew his food anymore. If he'd still had enough of a mind to make the choice, I'm sure he'd have begged to be set free. I'm the Angel of Mercy, honey. Didn't his death make your life easier? To say nothing of letting your *uncle' know what we could do, if we wanted to. Two birds with one stone."

"You don't sound much like an angel to me," said Maria.

"Well, I don't really care what you think, pachuca," said Emrys, clasping his hands behind his head and leaning back. "Your *uncle' knows I'm speaking the truth. We're the good guys, Porfirio. Wouldn't you like to work with people who have principles, for a change?"

"Principles, my a.s.s," said Uncle Porfirio. "You just like to kill mortals."

"But I'm sublimating it in a higher cause," Emrys replied. "Do we have to dip back into the Joseph Campbell mumbo-jumbo for you? Listen to that Aztec blood running in your veins! It knows that sacrifice is necessary. Blood is the only thing that will wash away this filthy mess in which we're all stranded."

"Ah, now that's just racist. What a stupid stunt." Uncle Porfirio shook his head in disgust. "And that's why I have one little problem with all of this. The whole time I was on your trail, I never saw any evidence that you aren't one guy working alone.

"I don't think you're a member of the Plague Club. They're smooth operators. Never draw attention to themselves. You like the attention. You practically carry a neon sign saying *Serial Killer.' That's why half the LAPD is running around trying to find out who's copycatting the old Ambrose Muller homicides. And that's why I don't especially feel I can trust a word you say, about recruitment or anything else. See?"

Emrys stopped smiling. He brought his arms down slowly.

"Well, excuse me for leaving my membership card in my other pair of pants," he said. "May I point out that you're not exactly in a position to demand proof? The nerve! You second-rate thug, do you have any idea how old I am? I've traduced kings! Maybe you're not worth the effort. Maybe we don't want you after all. But you'd better pray that's not the case."

He jumped to his feet and began to pace, and his voice rose as he spoke.

"What else do I have to do? How many of your family have to die before you'll pay attention to me?"

Maria closed her eyes and thought: Great. What's worse than an immortal monster in your living room? An insane immortal monster in your living room.

"The sensible choice would be Maria," said Emrys. "Too old to breed, fat, knows too much. But I like Maria. She was almost a challenge. Isabel's old, too, but she's a public figure, and anyway, she does produce something worthwhile in her paintings. Not like Tina. Tina, now, I could wring her head off like a flower! And, oh, have I been tempted, listening to her whine about her sad life. What a relief when her weekly hour was up! I was dreading the inevitable seduction, but if that was what it took to get you to step up to the bargaining tablea""

Out of the corner of her eye, Maria observed Uncle Porfirio tensing. With a surreal sense of detachment, she noted his right arm bending, clenching in toward his body with the fist bent forward. Was there something glinting there, between the back of his wrist and his sleeve? He shifted his feet, almost imperceptibly, for better purchase when he spranga Maria prepared to throw herself to the floor.

"Then there's the baby," Emrys ranted. "He really is the ultimate hostage, isn't he? The last male of your line. If you lose hima""

There was a creak from behind him.

Tina was gliding down the stairs, like a snake. Her eyes were fixed on Emrys. Her face was the scariest thing Maria had seen so far that evening. Uncle Porfirio groaned.

Things happened very quickly then, and only afterward and with great effort was Maria able to reconstruct the exact sequence of events. Emrys turned, saw Tina, and began to laugh, in the same second that Uncle Porfirio launched himself from the couch. Tina moved a split second later, throwing herself at Emrys, screaming in her throat. Maria rose from the couch herself, faster than she would have thought possible, but not in time to come between Tina and Emrys.

She did manage to deflect the blow that would have killed Tina, though it drove her upper arm against Tina's face and knocked her out cold, and she herself felt a white-hot shock before her arm went numb.

Tina dropped to the floor, limp as a rag. Maria stood there clutching her arm, trying to draw enough breath for a scream of pain, but she just couldn't seem to; and before her, Uncle Porfirio and Emrys looked like something out of a horror movie. They were grappled together, upright, alternating between blurred kinetic flashes and frozen, locked moments, straining for leverage. Neither one of them looked especially human.

Maria did notice that the claw or needle or spike of bone, whatever it was, had fully extended from Uncle Porfirio's sleeve and glistened with moisture. Its tip was trembling not an inch from Emrys's throat. Uncle Porfirio, displaying terrifying bared teeth, was forcing the tip closer, closing the gapa Emrys kneed him and dove, and the tip of the weapon scored a red line across his cheek but did not go in. He vaulted past Maria and up the stairs, laughing drunkenly. Uncle Porfirio crouched, clutching himself, cursing, suddenly looking a great deal more human.

There was a thunderous crash in Tina's bedroom, and a grunt of pain.

"That son of a b.i.t.c.h," gasped Uncle Porfirio. "It's only slowing him downa""

Maria staggered for the kitchen, thrown off balance by the dead weight of her arm, but as she returned with her gun they heard a window flying open upstairs. There was a thump, a crash on the roof of the porch, and then something landed on the walk with a thud. They heard Emrys guffaw.

"Well, say!" he said, "Look what I found! It's a li'l brown baby out here. This your baby, Mister Zoo'suit? Say, what was in that needle? I feel good."

They reached the door at the same moment, and flung it wide to see Emrys on the sidewalk, grinning at them. He was holding up Philip, who looked as though he had only just awakened and wasn't sure what planet he was on.

"You want 'im?" Emrys chortled. "You sure? Just a li'l brown baby. Billions and billions of the li'l b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in the world. Why does this one matter, huh?"

"Put him down," said Uncle Porfirio. "You win, okay?"

"You d.a.m.n right, I win," said Emrys, tossing Philip up and down as though he were a ball. The little boy drew in his arms, drew up his knees, closed his eyes tight, but he didn't make a sound.

"They're allalike as microbes, and about as important. Mean nothing in the big picture, nothing more than a fly. Speck of dust. But suppose I bounce this one off a wall, so his li'l head splits open. That'll make you flinch, huh? That'll tear you up inside. An' that's my power over you. I know he doesn't matter."

"Come on, man, you don't need to do this," said Porfirio, venturing painfully down the steps. Maria followed him like a shadow. "Give Maria the kid. Then we'll go off, just you and me, and we'll talk to your friends. Okay?"

"Nope," said Emrys, catching Philip on his next descent. "Price just went up. Don' know what I want yet, but I cern'ly got some leverage, haven'I? Ha ha. Byee."

He turned and ran, unsteady but very fast, and they glimpsed Philip's little face over his shoulder, rapidly vanishing in the night.

"The car!" gasped Maria, running to the Buick. She dug her keys out and got it started, reaching awkwardly with her left hand as Uncle Porfirio half-fell into the pa.s.senger seat, hissing in pain. The Buick lurched away from the curb before he had quite got the door closed. On the dashboard, the Virgin of Guadalupe glowed luridly, like a blacklight painting.

"I don't care if he's immortal, if he hurts Philip I swear to G.o.d I'm going to take him apart with my two hands," Maria snarled. "There! There they are at the corner! Roll down the f.u.c.king window!"

She hauled up the gun and steered with her left elbow, trying to aim. Uncle Porfirio grabbed the gun from her in consternation.

"Drive, for Christ's sake! You let me do the shooting."

"Then shoot him! Aim for his legs. Or somewhere. He got you good, didn't he? What was that you stuck him with?" Maria swerved, accelerated as Emrys sprinted across the empty intersection.

"Tranquilizer. The only one that works on us, Theobromidan. But he didn't get much, and it wears off fast. I've got darts, though," said Porfirio, pulling his own gun from its holster. He slipped the safety off, sighted along the barrel. "If I can get him in the back with one of thesea"oh, s.h.i.t."

Bounding ahead of them up Fountain, Emrys had leaped into the back of a pickup truck full of newspapers that waited at the stoplight. He turned, leering hugely in the Buick's headlights, brandishing Philip at them. Philip was screaming, tears coursing down his cheeks. Emrys hurled a bundle of newspapers at them, and had seized up another as the truck's drivera"an elderly Asian mana"jumped out in protest. Turning, Emrys swung the bundle with such force that the old man was knocked flying. He vaulted out of the back with Philip tucked under one arm, slid into the cab, and drove off.

"Come back here, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Maria cried, flooring the accelerator pedal. Uncle Porfirio muttered an oath as they surged forward and followed the truck around a corner.

"Mi hija, watch it! You'll sideswipe somebody."

"I don't care," she said wildly. "Put your stupid dart gun away and use mine! Shoot out his tires!"

"Honey, at this speed, he could flip overa""

"Oh, NO, you SOB, don't do it! Oh, he's getting on the 101!"

"G.o.d d.a.m.n," said Uncle Porfirio, sinking into his seat. "Follow him. How fast can you get this boat to go?"

"We're going to find out," said Maria, turning up the on-ramp so sharply that the Virgin of Guadalupe flew off her perch on the dashboard. Uncle Porfirio's hand shot out and he caught her in midair, stuck her in his coat pocket.

The freeway was nearly empty at this hour, a dark river winding through the heart of Hollywood, and black ivy climbed its banks and waved down from its overpa.s.ses. The taillights might have been red eyes in the jungle night. The air even now was hot, dead, heavy, smelling like warm milk. When Uncle Porfirio cranked down his window it pushed into the car with a roar, like a big animal.

The truck ahead of them slowed down, sped up, changed lanes recklessly. Maria followed, grim, steering with her left hand.

"I think he broke my arm," she said, almost as an aside. Uncle Porfirio turned his head and stared fixedly at her right arm a moment.

"No. But the muscles are torn and you've got a h.e.l.l of a subdural hematoma.You'd better go to a doctor about that, mi hija."

"What, you've got x-ray eyes, too?" Maria laughed without humor, showing her teeth. "Hey, what happens if the cops get in on this chase? Does Doctor Angel of Mercy get hauled off to cyborg jail again? Or is there a cyborg looney bin? Or does he just get handed over to the Cyborg Police Department?"

Uncle Porfirio didn't say anything, watching the truck.

"You're with the Cyborg Police Department," Maria guessed.

"That's one way of putting it," said Uncle Porfirio. "He's exiting at Cahuenga. Change lanes!"

Maria cursed, steered the car across three lanes to make the off-ramp, and Uncle Porfirio had to haul on the wheel with her. They came off the ramp in time to see the lights of the truck speeding away over the hill, in the direction of Franklin.

"You miserable b.a.s.t.a.r.d," said Maria, gunning the engine and shooting up the hill like a rocket. As they crested the top and followed the long curve down, she added: "You don't save things, do you? Not like the other people who work for this Dr. Zeus Company."

"No," said Uncle Porfirio, so quietly she could barely hear him over the rush of air from the window. "I solve problems."

"And that's why he said he respected you? Christ Jesus, you're some kind of corporate hit man. d.a.m.n! He's going left on Franklin. Hope we make the turn!"

They careened around the corner on two wheels and zoomed up Franklin, climbing another hill, never managing to close the distance between the pickup and the Buick.

"It was the price I had to pay, mi hija," said Uncle Porfirio. "My special arrangement. I'm the only operative I know of with a mortal family. So the Company made an exception for me. Because of what I do for them."

"What about that studio executive Mama was dating when she met Papi?" asked Maria. "Was that a Company job, too?"

"That was different," said Uncle Porfirio, after a pause. "He was a mobster. He was bad for Lupe, and then he threatened Hector."

"Don't tell me any more," said Maria. "Deal," he replied.

Down the hill and along the corridor of Franklin, and the night air was sweet again with jasmine and copa de oro from terrace gardens. Ahead of them the truck accelerated suddenly and was gone, vanishing left.

"That's Bronson," shouted Uncle Porfirio. "He's going up to Bronson Canyon. Make a left!"

Maria obeyed. Within a block they were going uphill through old Hollywood, residential streets laid out in the 1920s, green gardens clinging to the canyon walls. There were Spanish haciendas, there were English Tudor cottages, and French chateaux, and here and there an ersatz Neutra apartment building like a raw scar; but they went by in a blur, every one of them, and the cool night air streamed down the canyon like water.

"I know where he's going now," said Uncle Porfirio. There was a certain grim satisfaction in his voice.

"Where?" Maria leaned forward as she drove, concentrating, for the street had narrowed.

"Old Bronson Quarry." Uncle Porfirio checked his pistol.

"The place with the cave? Where they shot Teenagers from Outer s.p.a.ce?" Even in her terror and rage, Maria was incredulous. "And, like, I don't know how many Star Trek episodes?"

"Yeah. That's it," said Uncle Porfirio. "The great thing about it is that it's invisible. You go there, and you recognize it immediately because of Outer Limits or Ed Wood or whatever. And because it's familiar, your brain just turns off what's actually there and shows what you remember from TV instead. The Company uses places like that all the time. Concealed storage, transport stationsa and places to rendezvous."

They had the truck in front of them once more, as the road climbed, as the houses became fewer and farther between. Two cylinders were making a big difference; the little truck did not like hills, and they were closer now, close enough to see Emrys's hunched shoulders as he drove. Far above them the Hollywood sign loomed, ghostly in the reflected light of the city.

Abruptly they were out of the residential area, as canyon walls loomed close on either side of the road, which seemed as though it was about to end in a narrow parking lot. But the truck sped straight through it and turned right, smashing open a barred gate, making another sharp right, and losing speed abruptly as it climbed.

"I hope this car has good suspension," said Uncle Porfirio, and a moment later Maria understood why; for now they were bouncing up an un-paved track. Bushes clawed at them to either side, boulders sc.r.a.ped the oil pan underneath. Even with the racket, they were now so close to the truck that Maria could hear Philip's screams coming from its cab.

"Oh," Maria wept, "mi hija, please hold on. Please!"

"As soon as you get the chance," said Uncle Porfirio, "pull up on his right." He unbuckled his seat belt.

And then he was gone, having writhed out the pa.s.senger window like smoke, apparently onto the roof of the Buick, for Maria heard the sheet metal above her head flexing as he leaped. Then he was abruptly in the back of the pickup, and then he had punched in its rear window, and then he was gone. But the cab of the truck was full of a writhing darkness, and it veered suddenly to the right.

Maria sped up, pulled around the truck on the right as she had been told, and now she saw why; for on the right the embankment dropped away, and what a long way down it went, with the paved road far below! She wondered briefly how many filmed car chases had ended in a gangster's Packard or De Soto tumbling end over end down this drop, to finish in a nicely cinematic fireball: Crime Does Not Pay.

Her car was straddling the verge, the oil pan was grinding on gravel, now, but she cranked the wheel ferociously to the left and fendered the pickup, forcing it to stay on the road. Horrible, horrible noises were coming from the truck's cab. Suddenly an arm shot out the window, holding Philip by the scruff of his jammies like a little sack of mail.

Maria lunged, grabbed him with her good arm, stamped on the Buick's brakes, and prayed. She was able to drag Philip in over the window frame and clutch him to her chest, with an overpowering sense of relief. His arms went around her neck, his wet screams deafened her, and she cradled him and told him everything was all right, all right, all right. The Buick lurched to a stop on the edge of the trail.

The truck went rumbling on, purely on momentum, for it was no longer being driven or steered, and the trail was no longer climbing but opened instead into an immense amphitheater, towering rock walls all around three sides. Right where a stage ought to be was the cave Maria had seen in so many cheesy movies. The truck rattled toward it crazily, lighting its black mouth as the high-beams swept across. Anda there was a figure standing in the cave, not thirty yards away.

Maria blinked through her tears, as she patted and crooned to Philip. For a moment her brain fought with her, telling her it had seen the Robot Monster, complete with gorilla suit and fishbowl helmet. Or had that been Tor Johnson in a torn shirt, with a glimpse of boom mike above his head? Or even the Aztec Robot from Mars? She remembered what Uncle Porfirio had told her about such places, as the figure walked forward from the pitch-black into starlight. Another slow circle of the truck, moving quite aimlessly now, lit the figure up white.

It was a starship captain in a federation uniform. No! It was a man in a business suit. Just a man.

Yet it wasn't just a mana was it?

The truck juddered to a halt at last. Something went flying out of the driver's side window. Had that been a gun? Maria looked around her on the seat and realized Uncle Porfirio had taken her gun. Which gun had just gone out the window?

"Philip, sweetie," she whispered huskily, "we have to get out of here."

She tried to set him on the seat beside her, but he clung and whimpered. She reached across the wheel with her left hand, found the gear shift, put the Buick in reverse. Turning to look over her shoulder as best she could with Philip there, she began to edge the car back down the trail.

She might have made it, if her front left tire hadn't been shot out.

The car jolted, sagged leftward; Philip screamed again, struggling. She turned and saw Emrys, who had emerged from the truck and was standing, braced with legs apart, clenching the gun with both hands. His Cat in the Hat smile was back, even creepier now because his face was scored with red lines. He looked as though he'd been in a fight with a much bigger cat; possibly a jaguar.