Текст книги "Kill City Blues"

Автор книги: Richard Kadrey

Соавторы: Richard Kadrey,Richard Kadrey
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Even in the noise and chaos, it isn’t hard to spot Tykho.

Her table is in the far back, under dim lights and crowded with admirers, both dead and alive. Since she doesn’t have to show off, she’s in a simple black corset with a brocade dragon pattern. Her skin is full-moon white. Her spiky blue hair matches the color of her lips. The real giveaway is her eyes. The pupils are long and horizontal. A birth defect from when her mother tried to chemically abort the pregnancy after she’d been bit. Mom blew it and gave birth to a bouncing baby vampire with octopus eyes.

She waves me over and dismisses her entourage with a single elegant wave. I take her hand when she offers it. It’s cold enough to chill champagne.

“Stark. How nice of you to come.”

“Like I was going to turn you down?”

I sit down and a waiter bustles over to take the entourage’s drinks away.

“Some of my people thought you might be too afraid to come.”

“I just didn’t want to ugly up your joint.”

“Trust me. We get uglier faces in here every night. Fear. Greed. A civilian’s terrible hope that she or he can cheat us. These do worse things to a person’s face than a few scars.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

She gestures to a waiter. He comes over and sets something on the table in front of Tykho. A dried and preserved human heart.

“And for you, sir?” says the waiter.

“Whiskey.”

“Any brand?”

“Whatever costs the most.”

“Of course.”

Tykho stares at me like I’m the unlucky one in a “choose-your-own-lobster” tank.

I say, “Your boy Jimi Hendrix last night seemed to think you had something for me. I don’t suppose it’s another suitcase full of money.”

She starts to reach for the heart and stops.

“You spent it all?”

“Remember when there was that other me running around the city?”

“Yes. The Mouseketeer.”

“He gave most of it away.”

She leans back in her seat, knuckling her upper lip, trying to cover a laugh.

“How awful for you. Betrayed by your own doppelgänger. Does that make him the evil twin or you?”

“Ask me when I have to rob a gas station to buy a cup of coffee. I’m living off bribes from gangs and ne’er-do-wells. Did you know that people will pay you cash money not to kill them?”

“We usually get the opposite. ‘I’ll give you my fortune if only you’ll make me immortal.’ ”

“You ever take them up on it?”

“Rarely. Most people who come around begging for it, they’re not the type you want hanging around for the next thousand years.”

“I don’t know if I want to hang around with anyone for a thousand years. Present company excepted, of course.”

She nods at my weak compliment and pours a shot of blood from the heart flask. The stopper in the aorta has a man’s face. I wonder if all the stoppers have the same face or it’s a likeness of the poor slob that donated the organ.

The waiter comes back with my whiskey. Before I sip it, I say, “I assume there’s no blood in this.”

Tykho shakes her head.

“It’s as clean as a virgin’s pussy.”

I raise the glass in a toast and take a sip. Whatever brand it is, it’s smooth and burns just right. I know instinctively it’s nothing I can afford, but I bet the Chateau has some in stock. I’ll have to find out the name.

“Sorry about Phil. Your little ones play hard. I didn’t know we were just roughhousing until it was too late.”

“Yes. They’re all in a time-out. Seeing how Phil is the first Aeternus you’ve killed since poor little Eleanor Vance, I think we can just chalk it up to bad luck and not a break in our truce.”

Eleanor Vance. I try not to think about her. She’s one of the few kills, and definitely the only shroud-eater kill, I regret. She was a teenybopper turned bloodsucker, young and still dumb enough to be reckless. I killed her for the Golden Vigil. I’ll never forgive Marshal Wells and Aelita for sending me after her.

“I wish I could take back Eleanor.”

Tykho runs a dyed-blue fingertip around the rim of her glass.

“It’s the curse of being a predator with a brain. Creatures like you and me, we’re supposed to kill and move on. We’re not supposed to reflect on it. I’d say it’s proof there’s no God, but I know you’d disagree.”

“He’s around. He just has a really fucked-up sense of humor.”

Or it’s another of his screwups. She’s right about predators. Wolves don’t weep when they take down a deer. And don’t tell me regret is all about having a soul. Everybody has regrets, but most people use their souls about as often as they floss, which is usually two days before they go to the dentist.

“Let’s get down to it, shall we?” says Tykho. “I didn’t invite you here to give you money, but despite last night’s unpleasantness, I do have something for you.”

“All right.”

“It’s about the thing you’re looking for. The Qom something?”

“Magic 8 Ball is okay.”

“I know you were getting nowhere finding it, so you started your blitzkrieg through the city. It unsettled everyone and made our hunting harder, so we made our own inquiries using our own methods.”

I don’t want to think about what their methods means.

“And?”

“We think we’ve found something.” She takes a sip of her blood cocktail and goes on. “Your mistake was thinking all the answers lie in threatening the living. We have connections with a lot of L.A.’s nonliving residents.”

“It’s hard to punch a ghost.”

“Lucky ghosts.”

“So, a dead person told you where to find the 8 Ball.”

“A friend of yours, I think. Cherry Moon?”

Cherry is one of the people I came back from Hell to kill, only I didn’t have to. Another old friend, Parker, got to her first. Then I killed Parker. I tried to help out Cherry after she died. Tried to convince her ghost to cross over. No way she’s going to Heaven, but an eternity in limbo has got to be worse than Hell.

“That’s too bad. I’d hoped Cherry would have moved on by now.”

Tykho holds up a finger.

“Was that your suggestion? It seems that she was considering that very thing and talking it over with another ghost. A very old one and a bit mad, according to her, though I’m not sure Cherry is the best judge of crazy. Anyway, she had almost decided to cross over with this odd ghost when he changed his mind at the last minute. She said he claimed to be guarding a great treasure, something both Heaven and Hell would kill to get their hands on and that he couldn’t desert it.”

“Did she see it? Does she know where it is?”

“Calm down, cowboy. You people always want to cut to the chase. Let me drink my drink.”

By “you people” she means mortals. People with a clock ticking and a death sentence hanging over their heads. Immortals love to play this game. And this is also me paying for Phil. Tykho might not send a hit squad after me, but now that she’s got me hooked, she’s going to take her time giving me what I want.

Above the dance floor, boys dance with boys in one go-go cage and a bunch of girls dance together in another. They’re all wearing black vests and have shaved heads. It only takes a second to see why. Invitation to a Gunfighter is playing on flat-screens all over the bar. I have a feeling the movie is a hit less because it’s a decent studio western and more because Yul Brynner looks so good in his bad-guy black hat and vest.

Tykho finishes her drink and wipes her blue lips with a napkin.

“Where was I? Yes. The crazy ghost. He started to take her to it. They got as far as his haunt when he got cold feet. He even had a little breakdown, according to Cherry. He’s supposed to be guarding some Holy Grail–like thing and here he was about to give it up to a pretty face.”

“Can Cherry take me there?”

Tykho shakes her head.

“No. He scared her too much. But she told me where his haunt is. And that he’s guarding the thing for an angel. You’re part angel, I hear. Maybe you could talk him out of it.”

I’m going to shit monkeys if Tykho drags this out much longer.

“Where’s the ghost?”

She smiles. She’s going to drag it out.

“Kill City.”

Now I wish she’d dragged it out a little longer.

“Is she sure?”

“How many Kill Cities are there?”

“One too many for me.”

“Is the great Stark afraid of a dead shopping mall?”

I finish my whiskey.

“As a matter of fact I’m terrified of shopping malls. If you’d been to Hell, you would be too. All the cute little trinket stores. Fish-eyed mannequins and ladies squirting perfume in your face. Designer toilet seats and chakra-adjusting easy chairs. It’s all so fucking pointless. People using money to run out the clock, trying to find something to occupy their time before they die. It’s exactly like Hell.”

I signal to the waiter for another drink.

“We all have our weaknesses,” says Tykho. “For us, it’s daylight. For you, it’s Cinnabon.”

“Damn. That little girl ghost about killed me last month. I hoped I was done with ghosts for a while.”

This just gets worse and worse. On top of everything else, Kill City is all the way out in Santa Monica. All those tanned tourists might be fun for bloodsuckers, but the stink of SPF 90 sends me into cardiac arrest.

“There’s something else.”

“Good. I was hoping this could get worse.”

“We’re not the only ones who know about the ghost. Don’t bother asking who the other party is because I don’t know, but we have every reason to believe that they’re going after your 8 Ball too.”

“That’s all I need.”

“That’s not all. Medea Bava might be with them.”

“No way. She’s hiding out in Hell.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

This is all I need right now. Kill City, Medea Bava, and now I have to run a footrace to find the Qomrama.

“Thanks for the information.”

“You’re welcome. See? All your muscling people, your Sturm und Drang, got you nowhere.”

The waiter brings my whiskey and I drink it in one go.

“It got people off their asses and it got me answers, which is all I ever wanted. From where I sit, my plan worked fine. By the way, why are you helping me?”

Tykho pours another thick red shot into her glass.

“For the same reason we were grateful you took care of those pesky zombies. Self-preservation. If the stories about angry old gods are true, I doubt they’ll spare the Aeternus simply because we’ve been shunned by the madman in the attic.”

“So, you do believe in God.”

“Only when convenient.”

“Okay, then. Let’s put a team together, go in there, and get it.”

She wags a finger at me.

“No. We’re not going to do that.”

“A second ago you said you had a stake in this fight. Why won’t you step up when it really matters?”

“Who says we won’t help? The problem is this: the Dark Eternal can’t enter Kill City. There’s a long-standing but somewhat fragile détente with one of the federacies inside. A clan of gray fighters. Time has passed them by, but they’re still dangerous. To enter the mall would be a declaration of war, and a pointless war is something we don’t need right now.”

“I know the feeling.”

I order a whiskey for the road.

“So, how are you going to help me?”

“We’re sending a representative with you.”

“You just said the Dark Eternal can’t go inside.”

“He isn’t one of the Aeternus. He’s mortal.”

She looks past my shoulder to a flunky lurking somewhere in the dark.

She says, “Send over Paul.”

He comes from another table across the dance floor. He gives me a friendly smile and puts out his hand. I shake it. I’m not surprised by him one bit. Okay. Maybe a little, but it makes perfect sense when I get a good look.

“Stark, this is Paul Delon.”

It’s another Trevor. An exact copy of a young Norris Quay.

“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Stark. Tykho has told me a lot about you.”

“Paul, is it? How do you know Tykho?”

“We know some of the same people.”

I bet you do. But I don’t get the feeling that Paul knows me. Probably all of Quay’s automata are drones gathering information until their master calls them home. That’s good luck for me. It means he’s on his own until this is over.

“Have you ever been inside Kill City?” I say.

“No.”

“Ever been anywhere, you know, strange? Maybe incredibly dangerous?”

He sits down across the table from me.

“Is that what you expect?”

“From what I hear, Kill City is the last stop for the lowest of the low-life Sub Rosa families and Lurker clans that can’t make it out in the world. It’s a whole society of losers and they’re just looking to take it out on everybody else in the world.”

Paul nods. A waiter comes over.

“White wine, please,” he says. Then to me, “I’m up to speed on that. I’ve also memorized a map of the complex and their clan territories. I’ve never been anywhere like Kill City, but I’m not afraid.”

“You should be. If the thing the ghost is guarding is the 8 Ball, that makes Kill City the most dangerous place in L.A.”

Delon frowns. I can’t get a read on him. If he’s like the other windup clones at Rose’s studio, he’s a mix of meat and machine. He has a heartbeat that’s steady and mechanical. Same with his breathing. Rose’s Trevors bled, so I’m betting this Paul does too. Still, to fool a mob of blood freaks is a pretty neat trick. Atticus is worth whatever Quay is paying him.

I say, “Why don’t you just give me the map and you don’t have to go at all? The fewer people, the faster I can move.”

“No,” says Tykho. “Paul is our representative. He goes with you or you can go in alone. They don’t call it Kill City for nothing. You add up the acreage aboveground and what’s below, without a guide it will be like wandering the Amazon jungle blind.”

“She’s right,” says Paul. “You’ll never find what you’re looking for. That’s assuming the families and the Lurkers don’t kill you. I know what families are there. I’ve studied the Lurker federacies and how to pay them off for safe passage.”

“It’s the Wild West in there,” says Tykho. “You’ll love it. What do you say?”

Tykho might not breathe or have a beating heart, but her type I can read.

“I get it. The boy is our guide but he’s your man on the inside. You’re afraid I might run off with the 8 Ball and take over all of Never Never Land.”

Tykho leans her elbows on the table.

“Like you people say. Trust but verify.”

I turn to Paul.

“I’ll meet you at Bamboo House of Dolls at eight P.M. tomorrow. Don’t wear those stupid loafers. Go get yourself some heavy boots. Maybe some climbing gloves.”

For the first time he looks a little concerned.

“Thank you.”

I stand and nod to Tykho.

“Thanks. With any luck we’ll send Chuck here back with good news.”

“Paul,” he says. I ignore him.

“How many people know about the Kill City situation?”

Tykho shakes her head.

“Only a few among the Aeternus. Why?”

“If too many people know, it might leak back to Aelita and she’ll move the 8 Ball. Don’t mention this to anyone else.”

“Of course.”

I start to leave, when she says, “When are you reopening Max Overdrive?”

“There’s not much point reopening if the world is going to end. You better hope your boy knows his stuff or the Dark Eternal is going to be another bunch of suckers streaming whatever movies the corporate big boys want you to watch.”

Tykho looks up at Yul breaking windows and generally busting up the tinhorn town that hired him.

She says, “Save the world and we might find another suitcase of money so you can reopen.”

“Do that and it’s free rentals for as long as we’re around.”

“Done. Try not to die.”

I take one last sip of her good whiskey.

“By the way, do you know a guy named Declan Garrett?”

“He comes in sometimes. He’s always trying to sell the Crown Jewels or some such nonsense.”

“If he comes in tonight tell him I’m waiting for him at Bamboo House of Dolls. We have something to settle.”

“Is he selling you the Brooklyn Bridge?”

“Yeah, but I’m paying in pennies. Think he’ll mind?”

Someone starts this way, sees me, and heads in the other direction. I take off after him and, when I’m close enough, grab his shirt collar and pull him back.

“Mike. What are you doing here?”

Manimal Mike looks like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. He has a fluffy tortoiseshell kitten in a pet carrier.

Mike holds up the cat.

“Trying to earn a living. Someone’s kitten’s on the fritz. What, you think I only work for live people? That’s racist, man.”

“Calm down, Mike. I was just surprised to see you.”

“Me too.”

His heart is going a million beats a minute. The smell of fear sweat pours off him.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Mike? Another reason you’re here?”

I let go of his shirt and he shrugs his shoulder back into place.

“Okay. Sure. You still haven’t come across with my soul. These guys. They’re my backup plan. I buy my way in, let one of them bite me, and I don’t die and I don’t go to Hell. And if I’m dead like them, I can still work.”

It actually makes sense, which is more than I expect from Mike.

“I understand. It’s smart to have a Plan B. Just don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. Don’t let any of these guys put the fangs to you.”

Mike takes the kitten and walks away.

“Give me a reason.”

SOMETIMES YOU GET lucky. Or maybe the angel in my head is a little psychic. Though not nearly psychic enough. If it was, I’d see the shitstorms coming down the road and have a chance to jump in a ditch or hide in a little country church. Let the hellfire-and-brimstone preacher cleanse me of my sins. With a little luck maybe it would be near a roadhouse with local swill on tap and watered-down whiskey behind the bar. The kind of place that would at least let me smoke a goddamn cigarette while I have my drink. But with my normal run of luck, I’ll shelter from the storm in a dry county where the only good times are judging the pigs at a 4-H show or chicken-fried steak at a Cracker Barrel. Like I said, my angel might be a little psychic but he’s not psychic enough to do me a damned bit of good. Probably there’s nothing psychic about him at all. Probably it’s as simple as he talked to Tykho, but an hour after I get to Bamboo House of Dolls, Declan Garrett walks in. Candy sees him first. She elbows me.

“Salesman of the year twelve o’clock high.”

He comes right over and starts in. Not even a “Hi. Sorry about interrupting your donut with gunfire.” I wonder if he knows his gunman was a windup toy.

“I heard you wanted to see me.”

“I’m fine, Declan. How are you?”

He’s agitated. This isn’t his turf. It’s mine and he doesn’t like it. Carlos is looking at him. I raise a hand to let him know that everything is all right and he goes back to serving other customers.

“Listen, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot the other day. You’re right: I do have the 8 Ball, and you can have it for the million you promised plus one more thing.”

“What?”

“Who’s the buyer?”

His lip curls at one corner of his mouth.

“What do you care?”

“Indulge me.”

“No,” he says. “You indulge me.”

He sidesteps behind Candy while pulling something from under his jacket. I don’t have to see the pistol to know it’s there.

“Be cool, Declan. Let’s all just be cool.”

“I am cool, motherfucker. I’m a snowman eating an Eskimo Pie. You think you can call me here and cheat me out of my sale?”

“That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it? . . . Oh, wait. I don’t care. I want the fucking Qomrama or I’m going to shoot the pretty lady. Yeah, you’ll get me, but your Charles Bronson act won’t keep lead out of her spine.”

Candy opens her eyes wide at me. It’s not fear. She’s asking me to let her go Jade on this creep and eat his face. I shake my head ever so slightly. She’s mad but she listens.

“Okay, man. You’ve got me over a barrel. I’ll take you to the 8 Ball.”

“Right now, cocksucker. I mean right now.”

“Sure. It’s close by.”

“Then let’s go.”

We go out to a BMW coupe parked down the block. He and Candy get in the back. He makes me drive. I take us straight down Sunset to the Chateau, obeying the speed limit and stopping for every red light. I don’t know who Candy hates more right now, him or me. Given the chance, she’d probably eat us both just on principle. Him for pulling the gun, and me for not taking it from him. I’m going to have a lot of making up to do, assuming we don’t end up all bullet-riddled.

Declan doesn’t like it when I give his keys to the valet at the Chateau, but what’s he going to do about it? We go through the lobby not looking the slightest bit suspicious. Me a few feet in front while a nervous guy is pressed so close to Mr. Macheath’s squeeze that he might be giving her a high colonic.

We take the elevator to the penthouse. Declan gets extra twitchy when we arrive upstairs and he doesn’t see a room right away.

“Ready to go down the rabbit hole?” I ask.

“Don’t try anything cute.”

I open the grandfather clock and step halfway through.

“The 8 Ball is in here, safe and sound.”

He leans over and squints, trying to see past me.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“No tricks. I’m not going to leave something as important as the 8 Ball in the hotel safe, am I? No. I’ll keep it where no one even knows about it.”

I step through the clock. A second later Candy follows, Declan holding on to her like a leech. I take a quick look around. Kasabian’s laptop is open but he’s nowhere in sight. Good. He’s the last thing I want to have to explain to the shakiest gun in the West.

“What is this place?”

“My Batcave, where I keep all my secrets.”

“You people are even weirder than I heard.”

Candy cracks up and Declan tightens his grip on her arm. He doesn’t appreciate her extreme lack of terror. She should probably be a little more concerned. This guy is armed and unstable, and as far as I know, Jades don’t deal with bullets any better than civilians.

“You can put that gun down now. We’re here and I’m going to get the 8 Ball.”

“Qomrama. Show a little respect, asshole. It’s a holy thing and it’s going to get me a holy lot of money.”

“That’s clever. You wait here and I’ll go get it. You okay, Candy?”

She’s stopped laughing.

“Hurry up. I’m hungry. I want to order a lobster.”

I give her another don’t-do-anything look. She narrows her eyes at me. When this is over I’m going to need a thesaurus to show me how many ways you can say “Sorry.”

The fake 8 Ball isn’t in any safe. It’s in the one place no one is going to go pawing around. Under a pile of my dirty clothes, the bloody ones piled on top.

I bring the 8 Ball into the living room, bouncing it in one hand. Declan tenses but doesn’t let go of Candy.

“Good. Now put it on the table.”

“No. Who’s it for?”

“I’ll shoot the bitch.”

“No.”

Candy looks at me.

“The bitch doesn’t want to get shot,” she says.

I look at Declan.

“You could have shot her before and the 8 Ball is right here, so why would you shoot her now?”

Declan’s eyes flicker microscopically. He knows what will happen if he pulls the trigger and he doesn’t want to die. But he also knows that I don’t want Candy shot.

“Heads up,” I say, and toss him the 8 Ball.

He lets go of Candy and lunges for the Qomrama. Catches it with his arms, close to his chest like a football. Candy steps away from him. Declan now has the gun leveled at both of us.

I say, “Who’s it for?”

Declan looks at his bouncing baby 8 Ball and smiles.

“No one. Last time I was buying for a bunch of bankers with their own Angra group, Der Zorn Gottes. The Angra they worship is a fucking flower. Can you believe that shit? ‘Zhuyigdanatha.’ A real mouthful, huh? But his friends call him the Flayed Heart, so it’s okay.”

“But you’re not selling it to them now.”

“Damn right,” says Declan. “Your little blitzkrieg drove the price way up. Now it goes to the highest bidder.”

“That sounds dangerous,” says Candy.

“Nothing ventured nothing etcetera, sweetheart. I saw the light after he killed Moseley.”

“I didn’t kill him. He jumped in front of a bus.”

“Same thing, you fuck. He was a true believer and happy to die for the Angra cause. I’m not. Whoever ponies up can have it. That includes you, you know. You find a buyer and we can do some real business.”

“You suppose your Flayed Heart buddies know how the 8 Ball works?”

“What the fuck do I care? They can give it to their kids at Christmas instead of an Elmo doll.”

I don’t know any other actual Angra freaks. This might be my only chance to meet some real ones.

“I know someone who wants the 8 Ball. You sell it to your people, then put me in touch so I can make a bid on it.”

Declan considers this.

“I don’t know that I’m going to sell to Der Zorn Gottes. Why don’t you tell me your buyer and I’ll sell to him? I’ll give you a ten percent finder’s fee.”

“No. I want to meet your people.”

“I have the Qomrama and the gun. What you want isn’t really relevant to the discussion.”

This is starting to piss me off. Ten more seconds I’ll be chewing his face off myself. I could throw some hoodoo at him, but he still might get a shot off and hit Candy. I’ve got to find another angle.

“I have to make a tiny confession.”

Declan is already edging for the door.

“What?”

“That 8 Ball is a fake.”

He stops and looks at it like maybe he can tell the difference.

“It better goddamn well not be,” he says, and shoots a glass vase holding some long-stemmed lilies. Thank God. I was planning on knocking the ugly thing over myself. Declan shakes the 8 Ball. Uses his gun hand to try to make it do something.

A whirring, clicking noise starts behind me.

“What are you two doing out here? Fucking each other with cannonballs?” says Kasabian, bleary-eyed, creaking out of his room on all fours. He sees Declan with the gun and jerks upright, which, if you aren’t used to it, looks even worse.

“Shit!” yells Declan. He shoots at Kasabian, hitting him in the leg. I pull the Peacemaker from the waistband behind my back and, before he can turn the gun on me, put a hole in the side of Declan’s thick skull. He drops the 8 Ball, but Candy’s Jade reflexes are quick-like-a-bunny fast and she catches it before it hits the ground.

“What the fuck?” yells Kasabian, grabbing his injured leg. “Your fucking hit man crippled me,” he says. He hobbles over to Declan’s body. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about. You don’t kill me, so you bring in someone to do it for you.”

“Calm down. I didn’t know he was going to shoot you. I wanted to see if he knew how to use the damned 8 Ball. Someone besides Aelita must.”

Candy sets the Qomrama on the coffee table and looks at dead Declan like she still wants to eat him.

“Fumbling with the 8 Ball, he looked like a junior high kid trying to take a girl’s bra off for the first time.”

I put the pistol back in my waistband.

“Hey, the first time can be confusing. And then some girl fools you with the kind that closes in the front and you start getting worried about how many other ways bras can open.”

“That’s the girl IQ test,” says Candy. “Can the rat run the maze and find the cheese?”

“I knew it was a conspiracy.”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

Kasabian drops down into his desk chair. He tries to straighten his bum leg, but can only manage to get it about two thirds out.

“I’m fine over here, Nick and Nora. Thanks for asking.”

Declan has a pretty big hole in his head and it’s bleeding all over the Chateau’s pricey carpet.

I say, “I’m going to dump the body. Why don’t you two clean up the blood as best as you can and cover what you don’t get with a throw rug or the sofa?”

Kasabian shakes his head.

“Forget it. I’m not cleaning up your mess.”

“I kept this asshole from killing you.”

“You brought him here.”

Kasabian and I have ended up here before, but this is the last time.

“You’re right,” I say. “I put you in danger. Maybe it’s time for you to take all that money you have stashed away and find your own place.”

He frowns.

“What?”

I point to Declan’s corpse.

“This isn’t the last time this shit is going to happen. If anything, things are going to get worse as the Angra get closer and people start scrambling for whatever they can grab.”

“See? Looking for any excuse to get rid of me. I told you you’d do this.”

“I brought you here to save your sorry ass, but I guess you forgot that. What we’re talking about right now, though, this is your choice. You don’t want to be a team player? Fine. I’ll help you get back in our old room at the Beat Hotel. But just remember that from now on you’re going to be watching your own back, and if you want any more work from Manimal Mike, you’ll be paying for it yourself.”

“You’re going to let him do this?” he says to Candy.

“Sorry. I’m on the crazy man’s side on this one,” she says.

“This is how it is from now on. Everyone works with everyone else. You want to play lone wolf, you’re on your own.”

Kasabian rubs his chin with a metal paw.

“So what, we’re going all Super Friends now?”

“Something like that.”

“He wasn’t trying to get me shot?”

Candy shakes her head.

“No. The bastard was trying to get me shot.”

Kasabian thinks for a minute.

“Okay. You have your demands. I have mine. You drop all the ‘Old Yeller’ stuff. You want me to be a team player, you treat me like part of the team and not the equipment.”

“That’s downright cruel, man.”

He holds up a finger.

“And my leg. I want it no-shit fixed.”

I nod.

“I’m working on that. There aren’t a lot of listings for hellhounds on Craigslist. I’m going to have to go Downtown and beg or steal one.”

Candy clears her throat.

“You know, it might pique someone’s interest if you call the concierge for a bunch of bleach and a body bag.”

“Use the blankets and towels to get up as much blood as you can. Then call down for new ones. If they ask about the old ones, tell them we’re taking care of them.”

“That won’t make them suspicious.”

“I’m Mr. Macheath. I work in mysterious ways.”

Kasabian gets up and whirs and clanks into his bathroom to get towels. Candy gives me some of the cash people have been paying me not to bend them into balloon animals.

“Sorry about making you play damsel in distress tonight.”

“Tell me you didn’t plan it in advance.”

“I was improvising. I promise.”

She looks at all the blood.

“It’s like Sweeney Todd’s rumpus room in here.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

I FIND AN all-night market a few blocks from the Chateau. I buy garbage bags, bleach, duct tape, and a shovel. The clerk doesn’t bat an eye. I sneak back through a shadow in the parking lot and come out in the penthouse, my stomach catching a little, not just from the typical nausea of coming through the penthouse’s magic defenses, but from the thick smell of blood in the room.

While Candy and Kasabian pat down the carpet with towels and sheets, turning them bright crimson, I stick Declan’s head in one of the garbage bags, securing it with tape around his neck. I don’t want any more of the red stuff splashing around. I know I should feel bad about wrapping a dead man like pork chops for the freezer, but I can’t work up much sympathy. He was a greedy fuck who was going to shoot Candy. That’s after he almost got her shot at Donut Universe. No. Declan Garrett deserves what he got and what he’s going to get.