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“How much do you want?”
“Someone offered me a million dollars for it. Match the offer and we’re both yours.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“I’m the weapons guy. Tell them I invented a nuclear water balloon or something.”
“You mean this, don’t you? You’d kill the world for money?”
“The more people like you tell me I can’t have things, the more I want them. And you’re forgetting something.”
“What’s that?”
“I have the key to the Room of Thirteen Doors. My girlfriend that you’re so worried about . . . we can hide in there. God can’t get in there. Lucifer can’t get in there. I bet the Angra can’t either. We can drink champagne in my own little bomb shelter while the rest of you are snacks for demon dogs.”
Wells doesn’t say anything. Candy winks at me. Matthew doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.
“I might be able to do a hundred-thousand-dollar consulting fee.”
“Not even close.”
“One and a half.”
“Nine.”
“Two and a half.”
“Eight.”
“Four.”
“Seven.”
“Five.”
“Six and a half.”
“Five and a half.”
“Deal,” I say.
“I’ll have to confirm with back east.”
“Tell them if anyone tries to lowball me, the Qomrama disappears with me and mine.”
Matthew yells, “Let me talk to the man.”
I put the phone on speaker and hold it out to him.
“Mr. Wells? It’s Matthew.”
“Matthew? You’re still alive? Stark really is getting soft.”
Matthew frowns. He’s not getting the sympathy he was hoping for.
“Listen, Mr. Wells, this psycho set me up. He robbed a drugstore and left my wallet behind.”
“And a gun,” I say.
