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“I wonder if the maze goes anywhere besides Hell?” says Candy.
“You looking to catch some rays in Maui?”
“I was thinking more like Disney World in Florida.”
“You can take a plane to Florida.”
She grabs my arm and jumps a little.
“Then we can go?”
“I suppose. If we live.”
“Finally. Incentive.”
I look back at the sushi bar.
“You’re probably right, though. I bet that maze will take you anywhere you want to go. If you can deal with its complete and utter bullshit.”
“Where to now, Dr. Quest?” she says.
“Fancy a drink?”
“Always.”
We head up the hill to Wild Bill’s bar.
Back when I did a stint as Lucifer down here, I had the engineers build me a watering hole that looked as close as possible to Bamboo House of Dolls. I gave the place to my great-great-great-great- (I’m not really sure how many greats is appropriate) grandfather, James Butler Hickok, better known as Wild Bill, the greatest shootist in the west.
It’s been a while, though. And because I’m not sure what we’ll find behind the door, I get out my Colt and Candy levels her Benelli, ready to fill any crabby Hellions inside with double-O buckshot.
As quietly as possible, I turn the handle on the saloon door. It unlocks easily. I give Candy a nod and shove the door open as hard as I can.
We charge inside, ready to blast at anything with too many heads. Nothing does because there’s no one inside . . . except for a depressed one-headed bastard behind the bar. He sets down the Hellion newspaper he’s reading and glances over at us.
“If you’re looking for trouble,” he says, “take it down the street. We’re closed.”
I put the Colt back in my waistband.
“I thought you were a better businessman than that, Bill. From what I hear, Armageddon is a thirsty business.”
He squints through the gloom. Walks slowly to the end of the bar.
“You silly son of a bitch,” he says, and comes over. He catches me in a big bear hug, something he’s never done before. Times change, even in Hell.
He takes a step back and looks me over.
“Ugly as ever, I see.”
“Even got a few more scars since we saw each other last.”
“Me too, son. Me too.”
He glances at Candy.
“That’s a handsome street sweeper you have there, miss. Mind if I have a closer look?”
Candy looks at me. I nod.
