“Until I leave.”
“Of course. You remember the way to the room?”
“Second star to the right, then straight on till morning.”
“Excuse me?”
“Top floor. Grandfather clock.”
I take the elevator up. I’m a little surprised to see that the hall is exactly the way it was the first time I saw it. Since the night I locked Koralin Geistwald and her clan in here, I’ve always pictured the place as a Playboy Mansion slaughterhouse. I hold my breath, open the front of the grandfather clock, and step through.
The suite is perfect. Like nothing ever happened. Clean and bright and full of brand-new Architectural Digest furniture. The kind that under any other circumstances would reject me like a dime-store kidney in a billionaire’s back. I guess they gave up trying to clean brains and eyeballs out of the old furniture and brought in new stuff. And I have the place all to myself until Amanda and her demonic brownnosers get here. Saying the place is a step up from the Beat Hotel is like saying Jean Seberg was pretty. I should take some phone shots and send them to Kasabian. THANKS FOR KICKING ME OUT. DON’T WORRY. I’VE LANDED ON MY FEET. But even I’m not that much of a bastard.
Samael was alone a lot when he was up here the last time. I don’t know how he did it. The place is so huge it echoes when I walk around. I need to treat it like that library Downtown. Build myself a little vacation home in one part of the room and stay there. Over by the giant flat-screen. I’ll bet my hooves and horns this place has every channel and every movie ever made on tap. With a little fixing up I could get used to the place. Maybe there are some earthly perks to being Lucifer after all.
I wonder if they miss me in Hell yet? And if enough people know about it to matter. Semyazah can hold things together, and if he has troops rounding up red leggers, it’ll keep them too busy to think about offing themselves. Or me. I’d still like to know who made those crank calls. But I’m not worried. There’ll be more. Maybe the hotel can tap my phone so I can trace them. I’ll have to remember to ask.
Watching my back has left me exhausted. I want to find Saint James and I want to kill King Cairo and Aelita. Not necessarily in that order. After shooting Carlos and spilling good whiskey and the stunt on the freeway this afternoon, I want to put the hurt of all time on someone. Saint James included. Throw Blackburn in too in case he switched the hit from Saint James to me.
I take a couple of pictures with my phone and e-mail them to Candy. Let her see what she’s missing. So much for not being a bastard.
I dial Traven.
“Hey, Father, with all the diabolical stuff you studied, have you ever met real-life, honest-to-God devil worshippers?”
“No. I don’t think I have.”
“You should come over. I have some stopping by. You’ll see how lame the Devil’s minions are. Maybe it’ll make you feel better about Hell and things.”
“I’m not sure about that but it would be good to talk about what you showed me in the bar. Your hand, I mean.”
“I’ll send a cab for you. When you get to the hotel, call me from the lobby and take the elevator to the top floor. I’ll come out and get you.”
“All right.”
I pick up the house phone and dial room service.
“Yes, Mr. Macheath?”
“Hi. I’d like some food sent up.”
“Certainly, sir. What would you like?”
“I don’t know. What do you have?”
“Our steaks are very good. And we have a chef’s special salmon today. It’s grilled and rubbed with a—”
“That sounds good. I tell you what. I don’t know what my guests will want, so send up a little bit of everything. Whatever you think is good. And not too many frilly dishes with mango-chutney goddamn glaze or diarrhea chilis. You don’t have to tart up meat to make it good. Make sure there are some ribs and a porterhouse steak medium. And desserts. Send a bunch of those. And black coffee.”
“Will there be anything else?”
Drunk on power, I say, “Yeah, a bottle of Aqua Regia.”
“Just one?”
I move the phone to the other ear to make sure I heard him right.
“You have Aqua Regia?”