“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Best news I’ve heard all day,” he says. “Now here’s some for you. The rope and poison industries are way up in Hell. Suicide looks like the new thing with the cool kids. Those demonic sad sacks don’t need back into Heaven. They need a teddy bear, a warm glass of milk, and some Prozac.”
I take a hot shower and go back to the living room. Kasabian has the news on with the sound turned down. The shots are fast and jittery, like whoever has the camera is running.
“Do you know about the Mile High Club?”
He doesn’t look up from the big plate of fried shrimp he’s shoving into his face.
“Sure. Mason talked about them sometimes.”
I’m so out of the goddamn loop.
He points to the flat-screen with a shrimp in one of his metal doggie hands.
“Did you see when you came in? Big Bill Wheaton is dead. Laid low by the crazy little ghost not five minutes ago at a press conference he called to—you’ll love this—announce a special serial-killer task force. Is that fucking funny or what?”
He eats half the shrimp in one bite.
“They sure it wasn’t a volcano or dinosaur?”
“Nah. That stuff seems to have calmed down some.”
If that’s your doing, Patty, thanks.
“If you know something about that stuff, keep it to yourself. I’m working on some serious denial over here,” says Kasabian.
I button another of Samael’s dark shirts over the armor.
“A while back you said that spending all that time alone at Max Overdrive, you’d developed some nefarious computer skills.”
“Yeah. You looking for missile-launch codes now?”
“No. Child murders. Maybe ritual killings. Not beaten or abused, just cut up. See if you can find anything.”
He frowns.
“What, the mayor getting murdered by a ghost isn’t interesting enough for you?”
Big Bill’s bloody mug fills the TV screen. One clean slash across his throat. A long defensive wound across both arms. The cuts are deep red valleys in his skin. They almost look fake, the way violent death often does. The camera stays on Bill for a long time. Somewhere in L.A., a news director thinks he’s going to win an Emmy but all he’s really going to get are bad dreams.
“You think the dead kids have something to do with the Spirograph sky and the girl?”
“Look for possessed children too. The village murdered the Imp because she was a monster. Maybe there are other monster tots.”
“This shit’s depressing, man.”
“Try to squeeze it in between looking for Brigitte’s videos. Pretty please with shut-the-fuck-up on top.”
Ain’t this the funniest thing since corn beef hash? Here I am looking for big bad King Cairo and scary Aelita, and Captain Beige has been running the girl all along. I’m still going to kill the other two but now I have to pay Teddy a visit and make him tell me his deepest darkest secrets. It’s great timing. I really need to hit someone.
Hell looks better and better the longer I’m here. I knew there was no one to trust and no one I could count on besides Wild Bill. One guy in a land of billions. I bragged to Saint James about people who’d watch my back in L.A. but who’s that now? Allegra and Vidocq won’t be inviting me over for whist anytime soon. Candy is Switzerland. Neutral territory between hostile nations. Kasabian is a half-broken whiner. Maybe I should have sucked up my pride and merged or whatever it is I was supposed to do with Saint James. At least I’d have the Key. Then I’d be able to walk away from this veil of shit. But I had to shoot my mouth off. And Saint James is right. I’m usually the one backing us into corners. He was the smart one who got us out. I got us out too sometimes but mostly by shooting out the windows, jumping, and hoping there was something besides dead air on the other side. If he shows up again and doesn’t want me to grovel, maybe I’ll give merging a shot. What I’m doing now isn’t doing me any good.
My phone rings. This time I check the caller ID.
“Father. Nice to hear from you but this is a bad time. Can we talk after I beat the holy hell out of someone?”
“We really should talk now. I think what’s happening is bigger than a ghost and a few murders.”