“Looks like it did you a lot of good. You’re bleeding and you don’t have a clue how anything works.”
“Figuring out Hell was easier than figuring out L.A. What’s a dreamer?”
She waves her hand. Picks up her glass and goes back for more Aqua Regia. It’s impressive.
“Stuck-up old people call us a real, real old name. Surgeons of the Night Sky. You know what we call ourselves?”
“Tell me.”
She flops down on the couch, grinning. The Aqua Regia is hitting her hard.
“The Mile High Club.”
“That’s great, but I still don’t know what you do.”
“We dream. We make reality with our dreams.”
Outside, smoke is blackening the sky from what I swear is the cone of a small volcano. Ash falls from the sky like dirty snow.
She raps her knuckles on the table. She pats the couch.
“See this? And this? We did this. There wouldn’t be anything here without us.”
“You’re telling me you’re God.”
“Don’t be stupid. Okay. We don’t actually make reality. We just dream the forms and give them substance so they don’t blow away.”
A jet turns from the volcanic plume, heading out to sea, trailing thick smoke from one engine.
“You’re telling me that the world is run by a bunch of catnapping party girls and club boys?”
She sets down the glass and lets her head loll back.
“Not all reality. And some of the dreamers are old. There’s houses all over the world. But ours is the biggest. Duh. Hollywood. The big dream machine. This is where the world’s imagination lives. The power spot for collective unconscious. All that crap. Anyway we’re here and it works, so why fuck with it, you know?”
“I’ve never heard of you. Does everybody know?”
“Of course not. Just the right ones.”
“How long have you been around?”
“How many birds on a wire? That long.”
I hate these grade school history lessons. They’re embarrassing and they’re my fault. I didn’t want to know how the world worked when I was young. Didn’t want to know about the Sub Rosa or anything they cared about. Then, when I wanted to know, it was too late and I was busy just trying to stay alive Downtown. I’ve been playing catch-up ever since. Probably always will be.
“Okay. You’re a dreamer and there’s other dreamers and the whole nondreamer world will lose its Rice Krispies if you stop dreaming. Why were you arguing with Cairo about the job?”
“ ’Cause we’re dying. That crazy little ghost bitch has something against us.”
“The Sub Rosas being killed are all dreamers?”
“Mostly.”
“You’re why the sky is like a broken kaleidoscope and Catalina went AWOL.”
She rolls her eyes, trying to be sarcastic, but she just looks drunk and scared.
“Now you get it. Murder is a downer and people get scared. Sometimes there aren’t enough of us in any one place to hold reality together right.”