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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?”
“Because I’m more optimistic than you. You can wait for Santa.”
She throws a pillow at me.
“You dick.”
“If I have to twist the head off every Angra freak in L.A., we’re going to make it to Christmas.”
She takes the Colt and levels it at objects around the room. Snaps the gun back each time she pretend-shoots it.
“Head twisting. You know how to sweet-talk a girl. At least give me a hint.”
“It’s red and it doesn’t fit in your pocket.”
“Fuck you. That’s not a clue.”
“It’s all you’re getting.”
“I repeat, you’re a dick,” she says, setting the gun back in the box.
We call downstairs for food. Order a real spread, like we did when we first got to the penthouse. Ordering one of pretty much everything on the menu. But not the duck. The waiters line the food carts along the wall, and because this is the Devil’s room, they don’t ask questions. When I sign the check, I always add a nice tip after one of these blowouts. I still don’t know who pays the bills here, if anyone. Maybe Lucifer having a room on standby is just part of the cost of doing business in L.A. For all I know, there could be other hoodoo penthouses where Odin, the Easter Bunny, and Amelia Earhart are living as large as we are and not paying one red shekel.
PEOPLE START COMING through the clock around three. First Vidocq and Allegra, then Brigitte and Father Traven. I want to grab them and start talking right away, but I keep my mouth shut. There’s plenty of food and wine and beer for everyone, though I notice that Father Traven is just drinking coffee. Brigitte stays close to him. Smiling. Talking to him. Making sure he remembers to eat. She’s not watching him to keep him off the booze. You can see it in her eyes. She’s trying to protect him from the world.
I pass the Tiffany pistol around and everyone tells Candy about what great taste she has. She loves it. Then I can’t stand waiting anymore.
“I’m going on a ghost hunt in Kill City.”
That gets people’s attention.
“I’ve been looking for the 8 Ball for over a month. All it’s gotten me is tall tales that I have the shitty thing. Yesterday, the Dark Eternal told me that there’s a ghost hiding in Kill City that might know where the 8 Ball is, so I’m going in to check it out.”
