“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?”
“We have several bottles left from the case in your private stock.”
Goddamn Samael was smart. I have a lot to learn about the evil game.
“Just one bottle for now but stand by for a possible drinking binge.”
“Yes, sir. The first dishes will start arriving in thirty to forty minutes.”
“You’re my hero.”
Hell yes, it’s good to be king.
Father Traven and the first round of food arrive around the same time. All he says as I take him through the grandfather clock is, “Oh.” Then, “Oh my” on the other side.
“Welcome to the dark side, Father.”
Waiters wheel in cart after cart of food and line them up neatly against the wall like a satanic buffet.
I pick up a pork rib in Texas red sauce and take a big bite. It isn’t Carlos’s tamales but it’ll do.
“Eat up. The Christians said this much food is gluttony and the Greeks said it’s a sign of a small mind. Might as well dive in because we’re already fucked.”
He smiles but approaches the food cautiously, like there might be a tiramisu-shaped pipe bomb somewhere. Traven picks up some red grapes and puts one in his mouth. Smiles and nods.
“Weak, Father. Very weak.”
He walks over and sits on the arm of a plush light blue sofa. He’s a little like Merihim. Out of his own space, all he can do is wander and perch.
“Have you ever heard of Blue Heaven?” I ask.