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“I can’t stay long,” I say. “Tonight’s a work night. Are there any Cold Cases around?”
“Again? Are you still on them?”
“Don’t send them any love notes yet. They’re the ones that shot up the front of your bar the other day.”
He slams down the bottle.
“Those dog-dick pendejo motherfuckers.”
I swallow the Aqua Regia.
“I’m sorry that I can’t help you with that one, though. I have to make nice with them tonight.”
Carlos shakes his head, staring at a table by the jukebox. Martin Denny is playing, “Was It Really Love?”
“Do what you got to do. I’ve got some potions back here that’ll have them puking frogs and shitting bottle rockets.”
“Thanks for the drink. I’ll be nice as long as they are.”
“Just leave some of them for me. That’s all I ask.”
I head over in the direction of the jukebox. The Cold Case I levitated a while back sees me coming. He stands and then the rest of them follow, grabbing for their most fearsome weapon. Their phones. I hold up my hands so they know I’m not here to hurt anyone.
“Sorry to show up still alive, boys. Tell Nasrudin no hard feelings but he’s on my naughty list. But I’m not here to talk about the past. I’m here to talk business. Who here wants me off his back? The first one to raise his hand gets a free pass from here on out.”
They all raise a hand.
“I forgot to mention. You have to do something for me first.”
Hands waver. A few go down. In the end, only two stay up. I pick the guy closest to me. He looks at me like he thinks I might bite off his face at any minute, so I speak in short sentences and use small words. He seems to understand. In a few minutes we have a deal. We even shake on it. I’ll be washing that hand before I head home.
I TAKE BACK streets as far as I can before cutting over to Sunset to reach the Chateau. Lucky me, it’s late enough that there aren’t a lot of tourists around to gawk at me with a hellhound across my handlebars like demon roadkill.
I get the Hellion hog back in its space in the garage and put the cover back on. I miss it already. Who knows when I’ll get to ride it again. If the world is still around at New Year’s, maybe then. Put Candy on the back and take her down the Pacific Coast Highway. Open the throttle up a little. Maybe I’ll even get a speedometer installed and see if we can top 200 mph.
I’m in a funny mood when I get back. Kind of light-headed. Halfway between sad and still riding on the adrenaline of the last few hours. I saved Traven from damnation, but only after I killed him. I accomplished everything I set out to do on the trip Downtown, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I guess nothing will be enough for a while. A dead friend stashed under floorboards. Monsters from another universe bearing down on us. A brokenhearted friend and a girlfriend who’s sick of me riding off to my doom every ten minutes. Yeah, I guess you could call the last day or so a real mixed bag. And I don’t know if things are going to get any better anytime soon. Right now, though, I just want to see Candy and get something to eat.
I have to admit that I’m tempted to take the hellhound upstairs in the elevator. Just stroll through the lobby with it on my shoulder. Mr. Macheath back from another night out on the town. But I check the impulse.
The hound is so heavy I have to dance it around to get it off the bike and onto my shoulders. No showing off this time. I find the nearest shadow and go through, coming out in the penthouse. Candy is sitting on the sofa with Kasabian, drinking beer and watching Destroy All Monsters. She looks up at me.
“Look. The ramblin’ man made it back. And he brought dinner.”
I drop the hellhound on the floor. It sounds like I shot-put a piano.
“I’m glad to see you too. I told you I’d make it back in time.”
“Is that what you said? I thought it was ‘I’m sorry I took off again like that and I’ll worship you as a goddess when I get back.’ ”
“That doesn’t sound like me. Maybe one of your other boyfriends.”
“Yeah, I have their bodies stacked on the roof. It keeps the cat burglars away.”
Kasabian comes around to check out the hound. It takes him a minute to crouch on his gimpy knee, but he makes it and runs his hands over the hound like it’s Ali Baba’s treasure. He examines his fingertips and squints.
“This is the best you could do? It looks like you pulled this thing out of a garbage dump.”
“You’re welcome to go back and get one of your own.”
