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“Then they’ll kick your ribs. There’s always something left to kick. Trust me. It used to be my specialty.”
“Trust me. I remember.”
A stretch Lincoln Town Car rolls slowly down Las Palmas.
Samael drops his Malediction, stubs it out with the toe of one exquisite shoe.
“I should get going before the winged pests discover I’m on Earth. They’ll know I’ve been talking to you and I won’t be able to get a decent seat at any of the good restaurants.”
“Know any tricks to get me out of having to drive everywhere?”
Samael walks to the curb, turns around, and looks at me.
“Grow wings, little angel.”
“I’m only half an angel.”
“Then grow one and learn to glide. Squirrels do it. Surely, you can figure it out.”
The limo pulls up. A driver gets out and comes around to the passenger side of the car, opens the door for Samael. I toss my cigarette into the alley beside the store.
“Nice to see how modest you’re living in these uncertain times.”
Samael stops halfway into the car. He puts his hands together like he’s praying.
“Lord, grant me chastity . . . but not yet.”
“See you around, Augustine.”
He drives away and the car disappears into traffic.
I was hoping Marlowe’s threat, saying something knew I was coming, was just a line. Now it sounds like it might be true. But I can’t do anything about it right now. Given a choice between worrying about Death and having breakfast, I’ll take breakfast.
I head inside.
THE STORE IS empty of customers. It’s just Kasabian and Death in a cozy little homespun scene. Kasabian labeling discs. Death putting them in cases and shelving them, sometimes stopping to sniff them. They smile at me as I come in. Domestic bliss. There’s a movie playing on the big screen. An operating room lit up like something on the Discovery Channel, only there are a few too many neat stacks of wet, random organs and body parts laid out like a cannibal buffet to be TV-friendly.
“David Cronenberg’s version of Frankenstein,” says Kasabian, catching me watching. “He tried to make it in the eighties, but couldn’t get the cash. Now we have it. Maria brought it by after you left.”
I nod, remembering what Maria said.
“That ought to bring in some cash.”
“Damn right. People will pay blood money for this one.”
I look at Death. He’s happy with his discs, but ignores the screen. Guess he’s seen plenty of stuff like this before. I scratch the palm of one hand with the top of the Gentleman Jack bottle.
“Cherish it. We might not be getting any more movies for a while.”
Kasabian looks stricken.
“What do you mean?”
“Dash, Maria’s movie hound, took a powder. She asked me to find him.”
“You’re going to do it, right? I mean, this is our livelihood.”
I hold up the bottle to point at Death.
