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Tykho is the new boss of the Dark Eternal. I heard a freelance Bela hunter staked Jaime Cortázar, the old boss. Too bad. He once gave me an attaché case full of hundred-dollar bills. I gave him free movie rentals at Max Overdrive. But Tykho’s okay. Smart too. Like Cortázar, she once assured me that “Dark Eternal” sounds a lot scarier in Latin.
“If Tykho is summoning me to demand to buy the 8 Ball, she can kiss my ass and your ass, and she can dig up Gary Cooper and kiss his ass too.”
“She didn’t say anything about wanting to buy anything. It sounded more like she has something for you.”
Interesting. Vampires aren’t the giving type.
“Okay. What time?”
“Midnight.”
“Seriously? A vampire queen wants to meet me at midnight?”
Hendrix shrugs.
“She likes to watch Leno.”
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
“ ‘Fine. I’ll be there,’ ” says the Goth girl in a high, mocking, nasal voice. She shakes her head while she talks. “I’m not telling Tykho about this. She told you to give the creep the message. I’m not even supposed to be here.”
“Are we done?”
Hendrix shoots me the finger.>He sets down his drink and thinks.
“Just because a collector buys, say, an antique Gatling gun, does that mean he intends to rob a bank? Of course not. He admires the object for itself.”
“And yet.”
“You said you didn’t have it.”
“It means if I do, it’s not for sale.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m sorry not to get paid the fortune you were going to offer me, but there we are.”
“I’m starting to think that perhaps you do have it.”
I lean forward.
“By the way, what you said about not being afraid? It’s bullshit. I can read people. You’re lousy with fear. You’re like Hitler in his bunker just waiting for the commies to storm Berlin and kill him dead. And all those Trevors or whatever you call them, you didn’t make them just to collect death art for fun. You’re looking for a way out. You don’t want to die.”
He leans back in his chair.
“What man isn’t looking for a way out from death? However, I assure you I’m not going to die. But the art is nothing more than appreciation for the forms. A bit morbid to most people, I suppose, but we can’t deny our true natures, can we, Sandman Slim?”
His heart and breathing don’t change. He’s a really good liar if he’s telling the truth. He really thinks he has death beat and he’s just a compulsive collector. I don’t know if that’s better or worse. Is it worse to want the 8 Ball because you think it has the magic to make you immortal or because you want to put it on a shelf with your bowling trophies?
“Let me say it one more time and for the record. I don’t have the Qomrama.”
Quay sighs. Picks up a pen and doodles on a pad for a few seconds.
“I’m afraid I believe you. Were you another sort of man, I’d have Sean over there in the corner hurt you or hurt one of your friends until I was entirely convinced.”
“Lucky for you you have an open mind. You touch my friends and I’ll kill you.”
“Naturally. As I was saying, I know it’s pointless to threaten you, and anyway, I don’t want us to be enemies. Do you know who has the Qomrama?”
