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“Right. The one where my father broke things because he bet on the games and always lost. Always. My whole childhood, I don’t remember him winning once. Shouldn’t a man win once, just out of sheer statistics?”
“He wasn’t your father. Doc was,” says Candy.
She’s right, but what difference does it make? I don’t want to think about it or get into an argument about it. Doc Kinski means a lot more to Candy than he does to me. He took care of her. Got her started on the potion that makes it so she doesn’t have the hunger to drink people. She loves him and I only met him after the point in my life when meeting your real father isn’t much more than a technicality. Something to check off a life list. Smoke your first cigarette. See your first porn flick. Meet your real father.
Candy sees I’m not happy with her bringing it up. She picks up the box and puts it in my lap.
“I was keeping this for Christmas, but saving the world is a good time for presents too.”
I unwrap the box and take out a gun.
“Do you know what it is?”
“I think so. I’ve seen pictures of them. It’s a presentation pistol.”
“It’s from Tiffany’s, the old jewelry place. They made fancy pistols since before the Civil War. I couldn’t find one of those. This one is, like, from the eighties.”
It’s a Colt, with a matte-black finish and gold filigree on the cylinder and golden eagle wings along the barrel. The ivory grips are carved with talons.
“Does it work?”
“I don’t know. Test it.”
I pull back the hammer and dry-fire it several times. The action feels good. I know these things are supposed to be for show, but it feels like a good piece of hardware.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s great. Where did you get it?”
“Doc had it. A civilian gave it to him when he fixed him up on the sly.”
Now I see why she brought him up. Don’t get me wrong. Doc was a good guy, considering he was a deadbeat dad and, worse, a goddamn angel. He’s the one who filled me in on my background. Told me I was a nephilim, an Abomination in both Heaven and Hell and the only one of my kind left alive on earth, so, you know, lucky me. Back in Doc’s prime he was known as Uriel, one of the warrior archangels. He fought in the Heavenly war against Lucifer and the other rebels. Knowing all that, I still find it hard to picture him with a gun in his hand, even if he was just stashing it in a box, never to be fired.
“Is that okay?” says Candy.
“Yeah. It’s great. You’re great. Thanks.”
I kiss her and put thoughts about where the gun came from out of my head. I’m good at that. And I’m damned sure not going to let a good gun’s origins stop me from using it.
She smiles and sits up straight.
“So, where’s my present?”
“What makes you think I have one? It’s only Thanksgiving.”
“People have been bribing you all over town, and not just with money, I bet.”
I look at her. She’s still smiling, but there’s something in her eyes.
“You didn’t give me this because I’m trying to save the world. You did it became you don’t think we’re going to make it to Christmas.”
She lets her shoulders fall.
“So? What if I did?”
“Assuming I have anything for you, you’re not getting it now.”
“Why not?”
