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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?”>“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?”
