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“Good-bye,” he says and walks away.
“Bye,” Candy calls. “It was strange meeting you.”
No one talks until Declan gets outside.
Samael says, “You realize that he didn’t believe a word you said. He thinks you still have the Qomrama and that you’re selling it to me.”
“How do you know that?”
Samael pushes Candy’s hands away from the laptop and closes the lid.
“Because the man I said was a pious bore? He’s about to shoot you.”
He pushes Candy down and ducks himself.
The guy fires just as I turn. The shot is close enough that I feel it breeze by my ear. It hits Candy’s laptop dead center. Her head pops up from under the table.
“You killed La Blue Girl, you asshole!”
Samael pulls her back down.
The guy pulls the trigger again, but I’m looking at him this time. I think he’s more used to shooting people in the back because the moment we make eye contact his hand shakes and his next shot goes through the window, cracking the safety glass. He pulls open the door and takes off across the parking lot. I’m not wasting time going for the door. I go out the window, broken glass flying across the windshields of parked cars.
Samael was right that it looks like things haven’t worked out for the shooter. He’s in a tan raincoat wrinkled enough that it looks like he sleeps in it. He’s an older guy. Midfifties. A bit of a gut hanging over the top of his jeans. But he runs like a fucking demon.
I chase him across Hollywood Boulevard and down La Brea. The shooter lane-splits between the gridlocked traffic, gracefully sliding across hoods and car roofs when they’re too close to squeeze between. I chase him as hard as I can, but I’m not gaining much ground and I can run damned fast. This tubby sad sack isn’t normal. He’s potioned up or there’s hoodoo on him. I could fry the shooter’s fat ass with a hex, but I learned my lesson after blowing up Rodeo Drive. Zipping through traffic at Mach 5 isn’t exactly low profile, but it’s better than launching hoodoo RPGs at the guy. I don’t need a beef with the Sub Rosa right now. So I suck it up and run faster.
He cuts to his right, running behind a gas station. I follow him but he clears a fence in one jump. I have to climb the damned thing. He’s gone when I hit the ground. I take off after him again.
uo;M IN A window seat at Donut Universe eating heart-crippling lumps of deep-fried dough with the Devil. Ex-Devil technically, but then technically we’re both ex-Devils. He was Lucifer before I was. Now he’s Samael and I’m back to just plain Stark.
I take a bite of an apple fritter.
“How’s your donut?”
Samael eyes his glazed old-fashioned suspiciously, like maybe it’s haunted.
“Charming. Did I invent these? They taste like something designed to destroy mortals from the inside out.”
Candy says, “Nope. We came up with them all on our own.”
“How wonderfully suicidal you people are. Donuts must be the very essence of free will.”
As for the Devil job, I stuck another poor son of a bitch with that. Mr. Muninn. Some days I feel bad about it. Some days I don’t. Today the sun is out, I’m eating donuts with my girl and another ex-Devil, and it’s all pretty goddamn heartwarming.
Samael says, “That blond woman buying coffee. She sold me her soul for a 1956 Les Paul Goldtop. I don’t think she ever learned to play it. The man behind must be a pious bore. He’s virtually free of sin sign.”
The Devil can see people’s sins. They’re like streaks of black tar on skin. Since I quit the damnation biz, I can’t see sin sign, but as an angel, Samael can still pull that rabbit out of the hat. I don’t miss doing that trick.
I say, “This is why I don’t take you to Bamboo House. I don’t want you taking an inventory of my friends.”
“Sorry. It’s a hard habit to break.”
Candy is sitting next to Samael, trying not to let on how thrilled she is to meet the original Devil. I haven’t seen her this excited since we met a furry, six-foot-tall Pikachu at the Lollipop Dolls store in Beverly Hills.
She has her pink laptop on the table, open to Wikipedia. She’s updating the Sandman Slim page. And by “updating,” I mean taking out all the dumbest rumors about me.
“Does it say anything about me being Lucifer?”
