“I didn’t do it for you,” she says.
Vidocq, Allegra, and Traven are behind the bar. Carlos is down. His shoulder and one arm are badly burned. He has a .44 Magnum in his other hand. He must have been trying to pop off a shot when he got hit. I pick up the gun.
“Who the fuck told you to turn Wyatt Earp?”
He smiles then winces as Allegra pulls scorched bits of his shirt from around the wound.
“It got boring watching you fight all the time. I thought I’d get in on it. I hope you don’t mind if I never do it again. This shit hurts.”
“You’re lucky to be alive, you fucking idiot. Those fuckers were pros.”
“At least now I know you’re you and not your cabrón brother.”
“I told you, he’s not my brother.”
Allegra says, “This is too severe to treat here. We need to get him to the clinic.”
“Can you and Vidocq take him? I need to check out the dead man.”
“Which one?” says Vidocq.
“Not the one the little girl got.”
“Do you know who she was?” asks Traven.
“I don’t care right now. I want to know who sent the boys in black.”
“What should we do about the other dead man?”
“Leave him. Someone’s probably already called 911. It’s better to give the cops a body than have them asking why there isn’t one.”
“They’ll be able to find his next of kin too,” says Traven.
“Right. That too. You can’t help being a good guy, can you?”
“I suppose not.”
“Good. Someone needs to be.”
While the three of them get Carlos into Traven’s car, I go to the dead hit man. Rinko’s carnivore tendencies have worked in our favor. She’s gobbled up enough of the guy’s blood that there’s hardly any left on the floor. That means the cops won’t be looking for two bodies and Carlos won’t have to explain why he had a bunch of James Bond villains in his bar.
I carry the dead man into the bathroom and drop him on the dirty tile. He doesn’t have any pockets, so I get out the black blade and slice off his shirt. No dog tags, gang burns, or tattoos. I pull off his gloves and find something even more interesting. He has no fingerprints. His fingertips are smooth as the Venus de Milo’s ass. Only hoodoo could take them off that cleanly. I check behind his ears and the inside of his arms and there it is. Barely visible. I probably would have missed it without the Lucifer eyes. It’s a faint laser brand, and like his fingerprints, it’s been removed using magic.>When Brigitte sees me, she smiles and comes over, every bit the legit starlet she is these days. We lost touch when she dumped me for a movie producer who could help her career and because I’m a shit magnet. It’s nice to see she doesn’t hold a grudge.
She gives me a quick hug and kisses my cheek.
“Hello, Jimmy,” she says in her breathy Czech accent.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came by to say hello. That’s all right, isn’t it? I heard you’ve been off having adventures.”
“Of course it’s all right. It’s great to see you. What I meant was how did you know I was here?”
“You are so wonderfully stupid. People are talking about you now that the other one is gone and you’re back.”
“I just got here. How do they know?”
“Oh my. How would they? Perhaps the huge motorcycle that fell from the sky by Hollywood Forever. Unlike you, normal people think that’s unusual.”