“First off, I’m not moron enough to carry the 8 Ball or the singularity with me. Second, I just bought this shirt. You owe me twelve dollars.”
Cairo hangs onto my arm like a life raft in a storm, so it takes him a minute to grasp the situation. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some bills. They’re all high denominations. I take the lowest.
“This is a twenty. I don’t have any change. Is it okay if I go ahead and keep it?”
Cairo gurgles.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I throw him on the floor. He goes for a knife. I put the steel toe of my boot into his balls and he curls up like a kitten.
Heavy footsteps down the stars toward the parlor. Ten of Cairo’s security punks fan out across the doorway. They’re holding the same rifles as the bunch at Bamboo House. The parlor crowd doesn’t like being between a kill squad and an armed loon. A few grumbles. A couple of cries. But no one is dumb enough to run.
I lower my arm and let Cairo go wild and free like a ferret returned to the wild. With him out of the way, everyone in the room can see Lucifer’s armor. A few in the know recognize it and mutter personal protection hoodoo. Good timing.
I let the darkness flow out of me, across the floor, up the walls, and across the ceiling, making sure the hit men at the door are the first to be swaddled all comfortable in the nothingness. In a moment, thorn vines and tentacles wriggle up from the void. Wrap around people’s legs. When the screaming gets good and loud, I raise my arm to manifest the Gladius and become the only bright thing in a universe of darkness. The Light Bringer.
“I didn’t ask to be Lucifer but I am and that’s the end of it. If any of you still doubts it and has the sand, you can come after me, but remember one thing. I run this particular horror show, and if anyone lays a hand on me, my friends, my bar, or my store, I’ll drag you Downtown and make you into my own personal amusement park. It starts like this.”
The dark snakes up and around Cairo’s men. A couple actually have time to scream before black tentacles shoot down their throats, cutting off their breath. The room shrieks as all ten men are dragged down into the void.
That’s my cue to exit stage right. I’m not going to get anything more out of this useless bunch. When I make it to the front door, I turn off the dark. No need to kill everyone. They know not to let their Chihuahuas piss on my lawn.
“Wait a minute. Hey.”
I’m almost at the first of the house’s protection spells when the woman’s voice catches me by surprise. I turn and there’s the scarred girl coming outside. She has her hands up in front of her.
“Don’t hurt me. I’m just here to tell you something.”
“Who are you? Why would you want to talk to me?”
“I’m Lula Hawks. I don’t like Cairo or his thugs. I don’t trust that Aelita woman either. And I don’t like where the Sub Rosa are headed. I might be able to help you find your double. Maybe the crazy little girl too. Can you do something about her? She’s hurt an awful lot of people.”
“If the kid doesn’t work for Aelita, then she’s not my problem. If you know something about Saint James, tell me. If it pans out I’ll owe you one.”
She comes a couple of steps closer like she doesn’t want anyone inside to hear her.
“Do you know a Tick Tock Man called Manimal Mike?”
“Never heard of him.”
“He knows a lot of things. He might be able to help you.”
“Why would he?”
“You own his soul.”
Good reason. She writes something on a piece of paper. Hands it to me and I look it over. It’s an address in Chatsworth.
“Don’t tell him I sent you. Or that you know me at all. Good luck,” she says, and goes back inside the abandoned hotel.
I put the paper in my pocket. Walk through the wards and into the street where the Augur’s mansion is just another anonymous shit shack in a neighborhood full of them.
A block away a gray-haired homeless guy, not much more than a pile of rags with a face, puts out his hands for spare change. He smells like Four Roses and death. I’m the Devil. I don’t save people or souls, my own included. I reach into my pocket, pull out Cairo’s crumpled twenty, and drop it into his hands.
“You might buy a sandwich along with the jug,” I say, knowing he’ll never do it.
I walk on. I want out of this dead zone and back to the Beat Hotel. I’ve got no girl, no home, a gun I hate, and I have to beg a talking head on a dog’s body for pocket money. Still, I wouldn’t trade lives with anyone back at Blackburn’s.