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“I told you to read books. If you’d been more curious, you would have found your way out sooner. You’re always complaining that I don’t do enough for you.”
“You do plenty, but even when you help, I end up with more scars.”
“Then you should thank me,” says Samael. “I mystiqued you even more.”
Candy giggles.
“You have no idea how hard it is not to put everything you boys say on Stark’s page.”
Before Samael can explain to Candy all the reasons she shouldn’t call him a boy, a guy walks up and stands next to our table. He’s wearing a loose, expensive-looking black jacket. A dark red silk shirt open at the neck. An alligator belt with a gold buckle. He looks like a rep from a talent agency that could have handled Traci Lords in her jailbait prime.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation, Mr. Stark, but can I speak to you in private?”
“Do my friends look like cops? If you can’t talk in front of them, you can’t talk to me.”
The guy holds up his hands defensively.
“I didn’t mean to offend anyone. My name is—”
“Declan,” I say.
His eyebrows furrow.
“Yes. Declan Garrett. How did you know?”
“It’s just a trick I can do.”
He looks skeptical, then his inner hustler takes over and he keeps talking.
“I just thought that you and the gentleman might be doing some business and I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“Yes, you did,” says Samael. “That’s exactly what you wanted. To stop a business deal.”
“I see. Because he’s in a suit and I’m not, we can’t just be a couple of friends eating donuts,” I say.
Samael looks at me.
“Are we friends, Jimmy?”
“Pipe down, Hugo Boss.”
I look back at Declan.
“You just hurt my feelings.”
“He’s very sensitive,” says Candy. “He might cry.”
“I might cry.”
Declan steps closer to the table. A salesman trying to establish intimacy with the mark.
“Would a million dollars soothe your wounded soul?”
Samael tsks.
“Do you really think a man like this can be bought with money?”
“Hell,” I say. “For a million dollars you can call me Suzy Quatro.”
