Inside, black velvet posters of Sly Stone and George Clinton adorned the white wall while in front of the rotted wooden pews was a porcelain statue of James Brown.

  “This used to be the Church of Funk,” Haze declared proudly. “I used to come here with my other mommy, before my mean mommy got out of prison. They were shut down by the police for ‘hedonistic behavior,’ whatever that means. I come here now and then to get away from the world, to get away from the pain.”

  “What do you do here?” Sage wondered.

  “Whatever I want,” Haze proclaimed.

  Leaping into the fly girl ride, Sage skidded away from the curb in her Corvette and raced across town towards the Temple of Boom. Blowing her horn, she almost ran over a mangy kitten limping across the street with a bloody mouse in his mouth, dashing through bright red streetlights like the proverbial bat out of Hades. She had little doubt that the Church of Funk would still be standing on the good foot.

  Zooming down unfamiliar streets, Sage was a little turned around, but fifteen minutes later she was there. It was a little more beat down than she remembered it. Sage was convinced that Haze had converted this once holy house into a hellish dungeon for his wretched sexual delights.

  Before getting out of the car, Sage pulled a bulky cell phone from the glove compartment. Dr. Sax picked up the phone on the first ring. “Where are you?”

  “I’m sitting in front of the Temple of Boom, over on Hathaway and Mayfield. I believe this is where the Valentine Killer is hiding.”

  “Sage, I’m not sure if you’re ready for a solo mission. Please don’t go in there alone. I can be there in ten minutes.”

  “In ten minutes, another prostitute might be that much closer to death. I’m going in now,” she declared, hanging up the phone. Sage knew that Dr. Sax was usually right, but she also felt if another whore died, it would be all her fault. Sage already had sorrow in her heart; the last thing she needed was blood staining her soul.

  Slipping down the mouth of the alley next to the boarded-up building, Sage walked gently through the trash-strewn backyard. From the rear, the building looked as spooky as a Francis Bacon painting. Dirty bedsheets hung in front of the window. Putting her ear close to the door, Sage heard a strange moaning coming from inside.

  Pulling out her new 9mm, Sage slammed her muscular shoulder against the splintered wood of the door. The entire room was lit with blue and red bulbs, and the stench of death was thick as soup. Inside the Church of Funk, the sacred altar was covered with a collage of album cover images swiped from Pedro Bell, Overton Lloyd and Erie Barnes.

  It was at that moment that Sage noticed thick droplets of blood dripping from the ceiling into a luxuriant chalice on top of the altar. “Oh, Jesus,” Sage gasped. Bare-chested and bound by thick ropes, Haze was tied to the wooden beams that crossed the church ceiling.

  Badly beaten, his dead body hung down in a grotesque silhouette. Not surprisingly, there was a large valentine carved in his hairless chest and a black-handled Bowie knife sticking out of his heart.

  “Live by the sword, die by the sword, I always say,” came a voice from the back of the church. “Plus that fool was killing my best bitches, costing me money. A brother like me doesn’t know how to act when I’m losing money.”

  Looking behind her, Sage followed the voice to the back of the church. Standing next to the holy water, ten years of nightmares stood in front of her. As though at a slave auction, the man looked her up and down, trying to decide whether he wanted to buy her or not.

  With the suaveness of a perfect showman, he extended his arm. “Sage Steele, I assume.” Staring at the pretty papillon tattooed on her chest, he growled, “What a lovely butterfly. Shame I’m going to have to pluck its wings.”

  “You … ,” Sage muttered, hardly believing that Kidd Babylon was standing a hundred feet away from her, wearing a powder blue fur coat, a matching players hat, a red Flagg Bros. suit and platform marshmallow shoes that made him look like an extra from Willie Dynamite.

  “Word on the mean streets of Onyx City is you been costing me a pretty penny too. Throwing away Zo, beating up workers. Who do you think you are bitch, Batman?” His voice was jagged as a bag of rusty nails.

  In his right hand, Babylon twirled a twelve-foot kangaroo-hide leather bullwhip that he snapped loudly. “I don’t know what you got against me, but truthfully I don’t care. Looks like you might have to pay me back with your pretty brown skin.”

  “You already clipped my wings once, but you won’t get another chance.”

  “You know, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, nor do I give a fuck. If you was smart, you’d come work for me, but I can tell you think you’re too good to be a whore.”

  Lobbing his thick wrist with the bravado of a rodeo cowboy, Babylon snapped the whip and wrapped it around Sage’s ankles. Pulling roughly, she fell to the ground, dropping the gun. Flaying her tied-together feet with the wildness of an trapped animal, Sage reached into her coat and retrieved the large blade Negrito knife Dr. Sax had snuck out of Vietnam.

  With one swift slice, the whip was cut and Sage was on her feet. Wordlessly she charged Kidd Babylon with the fury of a mad bull.

  “Not so fast, bitch,” Babylon screamed as two oversized Samoan siblings dropped down from the balcony bearing machetes. Dressed identically in loose fitting jeans and sleeveless black shirts, they each had blue-inked tribal tattoos on their faces.

  Kidd Babylon snarled, “First you got to speak to the boo yaw Mazariti Brothers, Carl and Mike, and Lord knows they don’t do much talking.”

  Sage stopped on a dime, and threw the Negrito knife at Babylon’s dread-locked head. Breezing between the brothers, the knife lodged in the wall next to Kidd Babylon. “Kill her,” he said.

  Screaming loudly in his native tongue, the one Sage assumed was Carl swung his sharp blade with the force of an express train. Jumping back, Sage felt the wind of the blade blowing against her face. Grabbing her from behind, the other brother squeezed her tightly in a mighty bear hug. Blood rushed to Sage’s face, making her red as a bowl of beets.

  For a brief second, she thought about fainting, but instead slammed backwards into the giant’s shin with the sharpened heel of her boot. He relaxed his grip on Sage, blood gushing from his leg. Diving under the wooden pew, Sage strained her fingers to reach for the gun. Moments later, the blade chopped through the wood, missing her head by inches.

  Finally grabbing the gun, Sage stuck the barrel through the gash the machete had made and fired off ten rounds in as many seconds. The ugly motherfucker was already in the next life before his big body hit the ground. Emptying the nine into the other Samoan’s broad back, Sage threw the empty gun to the ground. Three seconds later, the other twin joined his brother in line at the gates of Hell.

  “Where did such a pretty girl learn to be so mean?” Babylon’s voice taunted.

  Turning around to where he had stood a few moments before, she saw Babylon was gone. “You fucking coward, this is not over!” Hearing a low growl a few pews away, Sage looked down and saw a lean, mean Doberman slinking towards her. With its lush red coat and manicured paws, it was obvious this wasn’t one of the mad dogs from the street. This K-9 had been well taken care of, and trained like a soldier.

  “Easy boy,” Sage whispered, staring the pooch directly in the eyes.

  “Fuck you,” the dog barked twice and leaped towards Sage’s jugular. Still standing in front of the pews, she blocked her neck with her right arm. The dog’s steely teeth bit through her tender skin as though it was a rare steak, and wouldn’t let go. Blood dripped from Sage’s arm like a tiny waterfall. Falling to her knees, she grabbed the deadly Doberman by its neck and chocked the shit out of him.

  Suddenly, the front doors of the church bolted open and Sage almost cried when Dr. Sax stormed into the room. Driving a souped-up motorcycle he had built from scratch, he screeched to a stop a few feet from Sage, wearing riding goggles, oil-stained blue overalls and a white faux-ostrich feathered coat. From a leather case, Sax pulled out a small silver dart that had been soaked in opium oil and threw the point into the dog’s ass.

  Instantly drugged into submission, the dog lay down and closed his eyes.

  Balancing the motorcycle on its kickstand, Sax leaned over Sage. Her stylish vinyl coat and jumpsuit were torn beyond repair. “Are you all right?”

  “It’s nothing,” Sage answered standing up. “Just somebody trying to kill me.”

  “What happened? Where is Haze?” Removing his goggles, Dr. Sax followed her eyes towards the altar; the entire church looked like a herd of buffalo had stormed through it. “Jesus, demolition girl, did you cause this disaster?”

  “Everything, except for killing Haze,” she answered. “That was between him and Kidd Babylon.”

  “Kidd Babylon was here? Oh Jesus, now you’re going to be public enemy number one.” Hearing sirens in the distance, he grabbed her good arm. “Let’s hurry up. Something tells me those cops are more on Kidd Babylon’s side than yours. And there’s a little matter of three bodies and one stoned dog.”

  “Speaking of which,” Sage said sweetly, “I want to take him with us. We can retrain him and make him mine. Next time I see Kidd Babylon, he’ll be in for a surprise.”

  Dr. Sax sighed as he picked up the heavy dog. Cradling the beautiful animal gently, he said, “Fine, let’s just hurry before we have to face those uniformed killers coming our way.”

  As Sage revved the bike, Dr. Sax jumped on the rear. Turning around, Sage said, “I know I’ve never been very affectionate, but I just want to thank you. You’re my only family, and I love you.”

  “And I you, but first thing tomorrow we begin training again. You might have won this small battle, but from this point the war between you and Kidd Babylon is on.” Sage Steele said nothing. As the sirens got closer, she sped the bike out the back door. In times of war, tomorrow always seemed so far away.

  (For Paul Levitz, for encouraging me back in the day)

  HEATSEEKER

  by GAR ANTHONY HAYWOOD

  Later, when the nightmare was over, Heidi Byrd knew she would wonder how in God’s name she could ever have made love to a slug like Garo Harikian. Garo was blatantly repulsive: short and swarthy and as hairy from the neck down as Bigfoot himself, and just to set eyes on the little man’s gnomelike face, let alone his naked body, reminded Heidi of every bad meal that had ever gone sour in her stomach.

  But make love to Garo Heidi did, and with a flourish, because the stakes demanded nothing less. She had to make this night memorable for Garo. They had struck a deal, and this marathon show of sexual submission was Heidi’s end of it, and she didn’t want him reneging afterward because he didn’t think it measured up to what he’d been promised.

  Still, it was hard. The young thug was a pig. Heidi’s every move had him squealing like the springs on the bed, and his sweat seemed to cover everything: him, her, even the goddamn pillows. She had to send her mind off to a universe far, far away from the Foothill Motel in Burbank just to get through it, so that in the end she was nothing more than an automaton in a porno movie, as invested in the moment as a meter maid writing her ten-thousandth parking ticket.

  It also helped to know that things could have been much worse. Heidi could have been here with the Moose instead. Just imagining that, seeing Armen Mooshagian grinning and undulating beneath her in Garo Harikian’s place, was almost enough to make her run screaming from the room. Because Garo was disgusting, but the Moose was subhuman, a giant, two-legged mound of phlegm that was almost, but not quite, as physically repellent as he was evil. To lie with the Moose was to surrender one’s self to death, a walking, breathing death that signified a woman’s loss of all hope, and Heidi was prepared to do anything to avoid such a devastating fate. Even this.

  She would shed many a tear in the days to come bearing the shame of it, because this measure of capitulation was something new to her, and it galled her that she’d been forced to set such a terrible precedent. But life was full of regrettable compromises, and Heidi Byrd was a resilient young woman. Eventually, she would manage to convince herself that fucking a lump like Garo Harikian had been more an act of kindness than humiliation, and put the memory of it behind her.

  A warm bath, followed by a long, hot shower before she jumped in the car and left California forever, and who knew? Maybe she’d have Garo halfway forgotten as early as midnight tonight.

  Seventeen months later, Armen “the Moose” Mooshagian was still not convinced that Heidi was dead.

  And why should he be? He’d given the job of killing her to his sorry-ass little brother-in-law Garo, a proven fuck-up if ever there was one. Armen’s baby sister Yeva was Garo’s unfortunate wife, their three children were Armen’s nieces and nephew, and these four people were the only reasons—the only reasons—the Moose had any use for such a worm.

  Had he a choice, had family not come first and foremost with him, as it did all good Armenians, he would have found someone far more intelligent and reliable than Garo to serve as his first lieutenant. Smart and eager kids were being brought to his attention every day, green and reckless but with limitless potential, and any one of them would probably make a better soldier than Garo. But Armen’s mother wouldn’t have stood for it. His sister Yeva’s husband needed work, and Armen was a successful, prosperous businessman with operations all over the Glendale/Eagle Rock area, so how could he not find something for his brother-in-law to do?

  Naturally, Nairi Mooshagian didn’t know that the only job her son could give Garo suitable to his limited abilities would require him to either injure people or put them in the morgue, any more than she knew that Armen’s business empire, of which she was so proud, was built upon a diverse laundry list of criminal enterprises: loan sharking, extortion, mail fraud, auto theft and tax evasion. The Moose’s mother thought he made all his money running car washes.

  Garo had been working for Armen for a little over a year when Armen gave him his biggest and most sensitive assignment to date: the killing of Heidi Byrd.

  Heidi had been a waitress at the Good Eats coffee shop on Brand and Chevy Chase, where Armen and Garo went for breakfast every day. Armen had been under her spell from the first cup of coffee she ever poured at his table. He didn’t fall in love often-forty-six-year-old, three-hundred-pound men with bad skin and picket-fence teeth didn’t dare, unless they had some kind of sick need for rejection—but he was in love with Heidi, and from the very beginning he hadn’t been shy about making her aware of it. The woman had everything he’d always wanted in a life partner: dark hair, slim yet curvaceous build, a face that could make a man’s jaw grow slack against his will. And fire. A fighting spirit backed by uncommon intelligence one could sense just by watching her move. All in all, Heidi was the perfect soulmate for Armen, save for two small things: She wasn’t Armenian, and she had no interest in the Moose other than as a customer at the Good Eats.

  She had been friendly toward him at first, generous with her smile and even willing to laugh on occasion. But then, as his advances became more and more overt and less open to interpretation, she began to retreat, offering him and Garo fewer and fewer words in the way of conversation until her end of every exchange was strictly business.

  It was a painful thing, watching her recoil from him as if he were rabid and foaming at the mouth, but Armen was unfazed. He probably would have gone on forever trying to win her over, shrugging off her objections like flying pests that would soon grow tired of buzzing around him, had he not finally touched her one day. That had changed everything.

  Heidi was about to make one of her now customary swift departures from his table when he reached out a hand to snare her by the wrist, holding her to the spot the way a dropped anchor could detain a schooner. For all his previous attempts to woo her, this was the first time he had ever actually touched her. And the last.

  “Let go,” she said angrily. Any other woman would have tried to pull away, but not Heidi; she was going to make him release her on his own.

  “I’m sorry.” Armen loosened his grip without entirely dissolving it. “I only—”

  “Take your hand off me now,” Heidi said.

  Stunned, the Moose let her go, not even realizing he was doing it until she was free. She edged out of his reach a few feet and massaged her wrist, Armen only now aware that all eyes were turned in their direction, the sudden silence of anticipated disaster filling the crowded restaurant like smoke.

  When you were as big and indisputably ugly as Armen Mooshagian, the degradation of being stared at was an everyday part of your reality, and he had learned to tolerate it in all but its most blatant and insensitive forms. But this … Having his very touch openly rejected before an audience of strangers by a woman he had feelings for, a woman he in fact believed himself to be in love with … It was too much. Armen was crushed.

  Somehow, he found the self-restraint to leave without killing Heidi right then and there. But the decision to kill her was made, a deal that was done before he’d even shimmied his monstrous girth out of his booth on the way to the door. The only thing he didn’t know, and would take a few days to determine, was whether or not he could trust his fuck-up brother-in-law Garo to do the deed.

  It wasn’t an easy decision. On top of Garo’s general incompetence, the Moose had a nagging suspicion that Garo had feelings of his own for Heidi. He was always as quiet and timid around Heidi as a mouse in a cat’s shadow, as if he were afraid to either embarrass himself or offend her in some way. The Moose had even asked him once, directly, “You like her?” And of course, Garo had said no, no way, dismissing the very idea with a nervous chuckle. What use did he have for Heidi Byrd when he was married to Armen’s sister Yeva, the most beautiful and wonderful woman in the world?