“It sounds like a lot but it’s not exactly the rest-of-your-life money. At least the store brought in a little cash but with that gone . . .”
A few months back, Samael gave Kasabian the power to see into the Daimonion Codex, Lucifer’s Boy Scout handbook of clever awful things. Through it, Kasabian can also lurk behind the scenes watching parts of Hell like a surveillance cam.
“Did you ever look into the Codex? Did you see me Downtown?”
“Candy used to come by and ask me that.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Three weeks. Maybe a month ago.”
“What did you say?”
He takes the Malediction out of his mouth with metal fingers stained yellow with nicotine.
“What I see is kind of erratic. I can’t see everywhere. I could see you on and off for the first few days, then you went off the air.”
“Maybe because of the Lucifer thing.”
“Lucifer thing?”
“Never mind. I killed Mason, by the way.”
“You sure?”
“There was a big hole in his head where his brains used to be.”
“Oh man.”
He leans an elbow on the desk and runs a metal hand over his head.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. I used to dream about him coming back and finding me all crippled up and not able to run away.”
I say it without giving myself time to think about it.
“Where’s Candy these days?”
Elliott Gould is on a bus to Mexico. His suit is wrinkled and worn and his eyes are dark, like he hasn’t slept in days. He looks like half the population of Hell and most of Hollywood, the half not working out in gyms so they look like lunch meat stretched over Beverly Hills mannequins.
“She didn’t give me her fucking itinerary. The last number I have is for your friend’s clinic.”
He crushes out his cigarette and says, “You’re not moving back in here, are you? I’m kind of used to having the place to myself.”
I stand up, brushing the donut crumbs off my lap.
“Do you know who I am these days? I’m Lucifer, the lord high asshole of the Underworld. I’ll sleep anywhere I want.”
Kasabian tilts his eyes toward me without turning his head from the movie.
“You mean you’re broke.”
“Completely.”
He opens one of the desk drawers and pulls out a carton of Maledictions. Instead of cigarettes, it’s full of cash. He peels off two hundred-dollar bills and holds them out to me. I don’t move to take them. After a minute he peels off a few more bills. I take them and stuff them in my pocket.
“Don’t think I’m always going to let you be so stingy with my money.”
“This is my money,” he says. “You gave your money away.”