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“You saw him, then?” says Wanuri. “You saw Death?”
“That’s why I went out there.”
She cocks her head, more than a little skeptical.
“What does Death look like?”
“He’s not a creep with a robe and a scythe scaring little kids on Halloween, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then what does he look like?”
“Picture the handsomest guy in the world. Now put him in the most expensive suit you can imagine. Now put a lot of dirt and scratches on his shoes.”
“Death wears shitty shoes?”
“No. They’re really nice. Probably custom. But we met at a gas station in the Tenebrae and they got kind of fucked up.”
Wanuri shakes her head.
“I think nothing happened out there and you’re pulling all of our legs, Mr. Pitts.”
“Yeah? If he wasn’t there, where did I get this?”
I’m not about to show them the amber knife, so I hand her the lighter.
“He said it’s Tournaire Red Ligne made by P. T. Barnum or someone.”
Doris looks over Wanuri’s shoulder.
She says, “Did you mean S. T. Dupont?”
“Yeah. That’s it. How did you know?”
“My husband’s dear departed father, Jeremiah, had a Dupont.”
Wanuri gives it to her. Doris looks it over carefully.
&n
bsp; “It’s a bit dirty.”
“I dropped it.”
“Of course you did.”
“Death said it was expensive.”
“I’ve seen other Duponts similar to it. Jeremiah’s cost twenty thousand dollars.”
“You’re not serious,” says Daja.
“Completely. He tried to bribe me with it. Wouldn’t shut up about the damned thing. I cut his head off to shut him up.”
Maybe I should let her keep the lighter.
I say, “Knife or ax?”
She looks at me.
