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Once we get to the magnetic chamber, he shuts it down and opens the door. I pull off my glove and take out the 8 Ball with my Kissi hand. The Shonin gives me the box Father Traven made to hold the Qomrama. I put it inside and drop it into my coat pocket.
“There,” he says. “If anyone is watching us, we are both complicit.”
“Thanks, old man.”
I help him back to his chair. He sits and scratches his head with his good hand.
“What time is it?” he says.
I get out my phone.
“A little past eight-thirty.”
He doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move when I go over to him. That’s it then. Four hundred years hanging around this rock and it ends in a broken-down Beverly Hills country club. A funny end to a strange life. But he came through when he had to, and that’s more than I can say for most people.
I straighten him upright in the chair and lay his hands in his lap in the Dhyana mudra, the only bit of dilettante L.A. Buddhism I can remember.
Someone is at the door. I look up and see Julie. She stops and grimaces.
“You’re shot.”
“Yeah. I’m hard on clothes.”
“Where have you been?”
“I just got my ass kicked in Hell. How are you?”
She comes in and looks around the room.
“I never know what to believe when you open your mouth.”
“Want to meet the Devil?” I put out my hand. “Just say the word.”
“I’ll pass.”
I try to angle myself between her and the magnetic chamber, hoping she won’t notice that it is gone. But she isn’t looking at me. She’s spotted the Shonin and goes over to him.
“My God. What happened?”
“I think the book finally finished him. Will you take care of his body?”
She shakes her head.
“I can’t. We have a report of a mob of Saint Nick’s corpses around Hollywood Forever Cemetery. They’re starting to move into the streets, destroying everything in the way. Believe it or not, there are still civilians in the city.”
Hollywood Forever. I can’t get away from the place. When I die for the last time, dump me in the ocean or a landfill or chop me up and serve me as corn dogs at the state fair. Just don’t bury me in Hollywood Forever.
“Let me handle it.”
“By yourself?” she says.
“I’ll have backup, but your agents won’t want to meet them. Give me an hour before you send anyone in.”
“Listen. After everything that’s happened, these cowboys want to get out and shoot something. I don’t know how long I can keep them here.”
“Think of something. I’m just asking for an hour. It’ll save some of your people’s lives.”
She thinks for a minute.
