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“Feel free to let yourself out,” I say. “And you’ll want to be quick about it. The cops will be at the pharmacy by now and I kind of left a trail of pills from there to here. See you in the funny papers, Matt.”
We leave and I pull the broken door shut.
Candy says, “You didn’t really leave a trail of pills to the apartment, did you? Allegra could get in trouble.”
“No, but Brainiac back there doesn’t know that. Anyway, even if he cuts himself out of the wire, I give him forty-eight hours before he’s back in county.”
The rain has slacked off a bit. Just a slow drizzle. Maybe global warming will wash L.A. away before the Angra get a chance to.
Candy says, “I’m sleeping with a G-man.”
“A rich G-man.”
“Let’s go home, J. Edgar. We have money to break furniture again.”
I DUMP THE Escalade across from Donut Universe and Candy and I walk home in the rain like a stock photo on a greeting card.
When I open the front door to Max Overdrive, Kasabian gimps over to us like his tail is on fire, glancing upstairs and talking quietly. The rain has cooled down the city, but he’s pale and sweating.
“What’s going on?”
He looks over his shoulder.
“They’re upstairs. I told them that’s your room.”
“Who is it?” says Candy.
Kasabian goes back behind the video racks that form the walls of his bedroom shanty.
“You deal. I don’t want any part of this shit.”
Candy and I look at each other. She gets out her knife and I pull the Colt. We walk into the bedroom.
Samael is sitting on the bed drinking one of Kasabian’s beers. Mr. Muninn is in the swivel chair by the desk drinking coffee from a ceramic Max Overdrive mug. I hope to hell Kasabian washed the thing before giving it to him.
“Hi, Samael,” I say. He raises his beer to me in greeting. “Good evening, Mr. Muninn.”
He doesn’t say anything for a minute. I turn to Candy.
“Why don’t you go downstairs and keep Kasabian company for a while?”
“You’ll be all right?”
“No, he won’t,” says Mr. Muninn. “Nothing is all right, young lady.”
Candy stands in the doorway.
“Go on. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” I tell her.
Mr. Muninn says, “Don’t worry. There won’t be any floods or lightning bolts tonight at least. We’re just going to talk like reasonable beings.”
“That leaves out at least one of us,” says Samael, glancing at me.
Mr. Muninn sets down his coffee cup.
“You’re not helping the situation.”
“Just trying to clarify which side each of us is on,” says Samael.
