The Perdition Score

He nods vigorously.

“Thanks,” I say. “It’s good to know you’re always there for me.”

I take the vial and unscrew the top. “The angel called this stuff black milk.”

And suddenly I know why. It smells like the curdled insides of a lizard-skin Hellion bovine with shit for blood and fish guts for bones. Even in the gas mask, Vidocq is choking. I get the top back on the bottle fast. Last night’s tamales are seriously considering making a break for it onto Vidocq’s nice rug.

Vidocq shakes his head. Takes the vial from my hand.

“No.”

He points to the candle. The flame is still pale green.

“See? The smell is unpleasant, but not deadly. We must persevere.”

With his other hand, he opens an old medical cabinet on his worktable. The cabinet doors swing apart like bird wings, revealing racks of potions and drawers for instruments.

He takes off the gas mask and pulls some potions from the cabinet. Pours a little of the black milk into a shallow Pyrex dish and screws the top back on. I put the vial back in the box, hoping it will kill some of the smell.

“Mind if I open a window?”

“Mmm,” he mumbles, already lost in the experiment, barely noticing I’m there. I crack a window, letting in the smoggy L.A. breeze.

Much better.

Vidocq uses a dropper to add tiny amounts of a purple potion to the black milk. I take one of his bacon slices and wait to see what happens next.

After almost a minute, he says, “Interesting.”

I look at the mess on the table.

“What’s interesting? I don’t see any difference.”

“That’s what’s interesting. Look closer. The two liquids remain separate. They won’t mix.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have no idea. Yet.”

He pours the mixture into a flask that’s connected to a series of glass tubes and other glass receptacles. As the liquid moves through the tubes, it separates back into black milk and the purple potion. He pours out the potion in the kitchen sink and swirls the milk in its flask.

“I would like to test it with red mercury,” he says. “But I’m out of it and it’s not easy to find these days.”

“What are you going to do?”

He sighs.

“Make some phone calls. Ask a few favors.”

“Did the test tell you anything?”

He crosses his arms, staring at the mystery goo.

“The potion I used is a very simple one. It separates other potions into their basic elements for study. But instead, the milk repelled it.”

“Meaning?”

“As I said, I have no idea. My greatest fear is that being angelic in origin, it might not react properly with any Earthly chemicals.”

“It could be Hellion.”

“True. But Hellions being fallen angels, the problem remains.”

And here we are again. Back to the same problem. I’m stuck in L.A. with no way to get to Hell, where I might find an angel that I could choke long enough to help me. I need to sit Kasabian down for a more serious talk.

Vidocq puts a drop of the milk on a glass slide and places it under a microscope with a PROPERTY OF UCLA sticker partly scraped off.

Among Vidocq’s other interests is burglary.

“Anything?” I say.

He shrugs.

“There’s movement within the fluid. Perhaps living organisms. Perhaps simply repellent elements. It’s too early to say with any certainty. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I knew it wouldn’t be simple. Nothing with angels ever is. For all I know, this whole thing is just a prank. Now that he can’t get at us, let’s fuck with Sandman Slim. Maybe black milk is just an exploding cigar.”

“Please,” he says. “Until we know what this is, don’t say ‘exploding.’ It’s bad luck.”

“I didn’t know you believed in that kind of thing.”

“I believe in everything. It’s what frequently comes with age. We hope for wisdom, but we just end up with more uncertainty.”

“Well, you’re still the smartest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Merci.”

He stands aside and lets me look into his microscope. All I see is black sludge with tiny dots spinning into and around each other.

“I mean it,” I tell him. “I don’t know if I could make it two hundred years and stay sane.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Vidocq says.

“Are you ever going to tell me how it happened?”

He goes back to the microscope and carefully removes the slide.

“It’s a long and not very pretty story.”