In the morning I kick the bloody clothes I left at the end of the bed into the pile I want cleaned instead of burned.
I seriously don’t like the idea of Brimborion being able to walk in here anytime he likes. Just because I took his passkey doesn’t mean he doesn’t already have a spare squirreled away somewhere.
My whole life is ruled by magic keys and the assholes who do or don’t have them. I found a key in Mason’s room, but unless I want to start prying open Hellion skulls, it’s not going to do me any good.
Hell’s carved enough meat off me that there’s no way I’m touching the Magic 8 Ball with my real hand. I use my Kissi hand to move the ball from the pocket of the peacoat to the bottom dresser drawer with the revolver. Until someone can tell me what the thing is, I don’t want it near me. Which means no one down here. Not after what I saw it do in the market.
My head pounds from all the Aqua Regia last night. I let the pulsing pain behind my eyes take over, an old arena trick. Dropping down into the center of the pain means I don’t have to think, and not thinking means I don’t have to find answers, and not needing answers means I might be able to get through the day without homicide.
I don’t feel one bit bad about killing those leggers last night. But I don’t know how it happened or how that thing got in my pocket. Down here in the pain, I don’t have to know. I just note the question and move on. Answers are rare and come in their own time but hangovers are reliable and never in short supply.
After a while the pulse of the pain syncs with my heartbeat. Some old Greek philosopher said there’s nothing but atoms and empty space. My head is one very big empty space right now. I take the bottle of Aqua Regia from the nightstand and swallow a short gulp. Hair of the dog. Got to balance the humors. Hippocrates said so. Blame him.
I open my eyes and look out the window. It’s around four o’clock. Clouds tumbleweed across a bruised sky. A few fires have flared up again south of the city. The backlight looks like a slow-motion nuclear blast. My Golgotha L.A. has never looked more beautiful.
I don’t hear from Brimborion all day. I wonder if he got someone to sew the finger back on. I don’t even know if they do that kind of thing down here. Probably they think if you’re dumb enough to lose a finger, you deserve for it to stay lost.
Vetis comes by to check on me later.
“You were burned in effigy in the market last night, lord.”
“I heard. And don’t call me ‘lord.’ ”
“I’ve doubled your personal security and stationed more legion troops downstairs.”
Ms. 45 pokes her head around the door. Vetis takes a step back. She waits a couple of beats and moves down the hall.
“Thanks. I’m feeling pretty well protected these days.”
It’s the middle of the night when the bedroom phone rings. It’s never done that before. I’ve never used it. I pick up the receiver on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Still alive and kicking, I see.”
“Who is this?”
“Puddin’ ’n’ Tain. Ask me again and I’ll tell you the same.”
“Fuck you. I’m hanging up.”
As I put down the receiver the voice comes again.
“You’re always so serious. So linear. You’ve got to get into the spirit of things.”
I almost recognize the voice but not quite.
“What spirit is that?”
“That you’re nothing. You’ve been flailing at the universe your whole life, and where has it gotten you? You’re not really the Devil. You’re not Sandman Slim. You’re not a man and you’re not an angel. Some people live in gray areas but, friend, you are a gray area.”
“Am I supposed to understand any of that?”
“You could always kill yourself now and save us the trouble.”
“What would that solve? I’d just end up right back here. Did Brimborion put you up to this?”
“What do you think?”