“Why? You’ve got arms and legs. Get yourself some clothes and some gloves and you’ll be dancing in the rain.”
He picks up a burger wrapper, sniffs it, and drops it in with the other trash.
“If only. The body works okay dicking around here but I can’t go much further than the corner for beer. The legs won’t hold. Like I said, the guy never finished the job.”
“Take some of the Dark Eternal money and pay off the charm guy yourself.”
After I snuffed all the zombies in L.A., one of the local vampire cohorts, the Dark Eternal, handed me a suitcase full of cash as a reward for saving the city, i.e., their snack supply.
“Saint James took it. Gave it all away.”
“What?”
“Right before he disappeared. Got all pious about it being dirty Lurker money. That kind of bullshit.”
I bite into the donut, talking with my mouth half full.
“I can’t tell you how many ways I’m going to kill that prick.”
Kasabian takes the bulging garbage bag, pushes open the alley window, and drops it into the pile on the Dumpster.
“That’s why the trash is piling up and downstairs isn’t finished.”
“Smart boy. Now tell me what number I’m thinking.”
He sits down at the desk and reaches past the overflowing ashtray to get a pack of Maledictions. Takes one for himself and holds out the pack to me. I take it and light our smokes with Mason’s lighter.
“What are you watching?” I ask.
“The Long Goodbye.”
“Nice.”
“The best movie ever made about L.A. Fuck Chinatown. And don’t try to argue with me ’cause your opinion is going to be wrong.”
We smoke and watch the movie for a couple of minutes. A gangster is starting to strip and he’s telling Elliott Gould to do the same. I want to ask about Candy but the words won’t come out. I had this fantasy that she would have moved in here, taken my place, and be waiting for me. Being alone makes you stupid.
“If the money’s gone, why are the lights on? How do you pay for all this takeout?”
Kasabian blows smoke rings at the video screen.
“Not all the money’s gone. Just what he knew about. I embezzled some. You tried to throw me out enough times, so I set myself up a trust fund.”
“I know.”
He turns and looks at me.
“When?”
“Always. You’re a thief. You can’t help stealing. And I probably gave you some cause to do it. How much did you get?”
“About two hundred grand.”
I cough, almost choking on the cigarette.
“Two hundred grand and you’re still hiding and living off delivery-boy donuts?”
He shakes his head.