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And that’s the other reason we’re at the hotel. I don’t want some schmuck carpenter wandering upstairs and getting an eyeball-ful of Kasabian’s disembodied cranium. When the guy’s brain explodes, our insurance would go through the roof.
I go right to the game room set up for the guests. There’s an “Out of Order” sign outside. I rap on the door using the secret knock Kasabian insisted on. (He’s been watching too many spy movies.) Knock. Pause. Knock. Knock. Pause. Knock. A second later I hear something scrape behind the door and it opens a few inches. I look around to make sure no one can see me and slip inside. When I get in, Kasabian uses his little legs to wedge a wooden chair under the doorknob, then tells me to throw the lock.
I say, “You’re riding the paranoia pony pretty hard today, Alfredo Garcia.”
“Blow me, biped. I have to be security-conscious or I’ll end up freak of the month on YouTube.”
“Don’t sweat it. We’re both going to end up a couple of pickled punks in the Museum of Death someday.”
“Yeah, but I’m not looking for it to happen tonight.”
He clambers on top of the pool table and gives me a sometime-today-asshole look. I roll the cue ball and we lag for break. Kasabian wins. I rack the balls and step back to light a Malediction, Lucifer’s favorite cigarette. You can only get them Downtown, and since I haven’t seen Lucifer in a while, I’m running low. It might almost be worth chancing going back down to snatch and grab a pack or three. Almost.
Kasabian shooting pool is as graceful as a lobster playing soccer. He scuttles around the green felt tabletop, lines up his shot, and kicks the cue ball with his stubby metal legs. I’m not sure if him playing like that is fair, but y">
“What’s that smell?” he asks.
“Me. I got parboiled by a demon when I was out with Vidocq.”
I shrug off the rifle frock coat Muninn gave me and show him the burns on my arms. I’m doing my best to ignore the pain, but I’m going to need a drink soon. Getting tossed in a meat grinder every now and then is part of what I do. I came back to earth to kill things, so I have to expect things to fight back occasionally.
“Nice. New scars to add to your collection. You collect getting fucked up the way old ladies collect state spoons.”
Kasabian takes a shot and sinks the nine, eleven, and four. Two stripes and a solid.
He says, “I’ll play stripes. Thirteen in the corner,” as he lines up the shot. He sinks it.
I puff on the smoke. I get the feeling he’s not going to leave me much else to do.
“So what kind of a demon was it?”
I shake my head.
“Damned if I know. I’d never seen one like it before.”
He creeps around the table, not looking up.
“What did it look like?”
“Not much. I mean, from a distance it looked like a guy in a cheap suit. But when it got closer, it was all Jell-O and acid. When it grabbed me, bang, I was burning.”
He takes one of the blue chalk cubes from the side of the table and uses it on his stubby legs.
“Sounds like a Gluttire.”
“A what?”
“Gluttire. A glutton. He wasn’t burning you. He was trying to dissolve you. Gluttons are pretty rare and mostly eat other demons. You been around any recently?”
“Yeah. The guy whose house we hit had a digger in the wall safe.”
“There you go,” he says, and sinks the fourteen. “He smelled the digger.”
“I need to start bringing cologne on robberies.”
“There’s a ton about demons in the Codex. There’s a lot more kinds of them thalis of than you think, but Gluttires are the rarest. Most people never get to see one.”
“Lucky me.”
