“Tell the truth, the revolution was already going when he got there. He just jumped on the crazy train.”
“And I have you to thank for that.”
“I didn’t plan it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I would never accuse you of planning things. Come over and sit down.”
I follow him to an area where chairs and sofas are grouped together, facing one another. I sit on a leather easy chair. It’s the most comfortable piece of furniture in the universe. My ass wants to divorce me and marry it.
“So, Jimmy, killed anyone interesting lately?”
“No. The ones I killed today were already dead and just needed reminding.”
“I’m sure they appreciated that.”
“No one complained.”
“What flavor of undead were they?”
“Vampires.”
“Young ones? God, I hate them.”
Lucifer lights up a Malediction. I know he wants me to ask for one, so I don’t.
“Why are you up here? Shouldn’t you be Downtown spanking the guilty and slaughtering your generals? Or are you taking early retirement so you can spend more time with the grandkids?”
“Nothing so dramatic. I’m in town doing some consulting work.”
“What kind?”
“Why does anyone come to L.A.?”
“To kill people.”
“No, that’s just you. Normal people come here to get into the movies.”
“You’re in a movie?”
“Of course not. I’m here as a technical adviser. A producer friend is in preproduction for a big-budget film of my life story.”
“Please tell me you’re bringing Ed Wood back from the dead to direct it.”
“This is strictly an A-list project. I’m disappointed, Jimmy. I thought you’d be more excited. You love movies.”
“Why do you need a biopic? About half the movies ever made are horror flicks and aren’t all horror flicks really about you? So, you already have about ten thousand movies.”
“But those are metaphorical. Even the ones where I’m depicted, it’s never really me. This will be the real thing. The true story. My side of the story.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but who fucking cares? Are there really enough Satanists and girls in striped stockings to pay for a flick like that?”
“It’s a prestige picture, Jimmy. Sometimes a studio makes a movie it knows won’t show a near-term profit because they know that it’s the right thing to do artistically.”
“You own the head of the studio, don’t you? Someone sold you their soul for fame and power and hot and cold running starlets and this is them paying you off.”
“It’s only a partial payoff. I still own the soul.”
Lucifer goes to a desk and comes back with a framed piece of black velvet, like something a jeweler would have. It’s covered with small shiny objects. A pocketknife. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses missing one lens. A pair of Shriner cuff links. A sleeping netsuke cat. He picks up a small gold necklace.