Devil Said Bang (Sandman Slim 4)

Kasabian crushes a beer can in one of his hellhound hands and opens another one-handed. Neat trick.

“Speak for yourself,” he says. “I’ve got my future locked. Between the Codex, your magic eyeball, and the Hellion translator you said you’re getting, I’m going to become the biggest medium on the Web. I can actually see into Hell, which is where most people’s asshole relatives are going to be. Isn’t that something? I’ll be the only honest online psychic in the world. I’ll make a fortune.”

“Yeah. Telling people their loved ones are burning in eternal hellfire will have the money rolling in.”

He nods his head from side to side.

“Well, I might have to leave out a few details. Shave the truth a bit. I already know how to do that.”

“Good. Then I’ll move back in; we’ll use the rest of the money to fix up the store and reopen.”

“Slow down, Seabiscuit. I don’t even have a site yet.”

“We’ll fix the store or you can give me my money back.”

“It’s my money.”

“We’ll see.”

I get a bottle of Aqua Regia. Light a Malediction and dial the clinic to check on Candy. No one answers. I dial again.

Bamboo House of Dolls is crowded. Packed in like cavity-search close. Just like the old days. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It always works this way. A little mayhem. A touch of homicide without too many casualties. Just enough to give you a good story. And the Bamboo House is on the map again. Home sweet home.

“Here’s to two weeks under the radar,” says Candy, holding up a glass of Jack Daniel’s.

I clink my glass against hers.

“They haven’t tossed your asses out of the Marmont yet?” says Carlos.

His arm is still in a sling but it’s not his pouring arm, so who cares?

“Not yet,” Candy says.

“I have a feeling Mr. Muninn has something to do with it. I don’t know how long the ride will last but I’m ready to go till the wheels come off.”

Candy brightens.

“You ought to take a night off and come over,” she says to Carlos. “I’ll make dinner. And by ‘make dinner,’ I mean I’ll call down for enough food to sink the Titanic.”

“It’s a date,” says Carlos, and he pours us another round of Jack.

Father Traven pushes his way inside. He looks a little overwhelmed. I wonder if he thinks every bar is like Bamboo House. Will he be disappointed the first time he goes to a civilian one?

“Hey, Father. Damned anyone today?”

He smiles.

“Not a single soul.”

“The night is young. How are you holding up?”

He shrugs. Takes a sip of red wine.

“Fine. Still processing it all. The newspapers are saying that the Osterberg family had investments in the defense industry and that his death is being investigated as a possible instance of domestic terrorism. Apparently Homeland Security is involved.”

I put my Kissi arm around his shoulders. I have long sleeves and a glove on so he doesn’t have to look.

“Don’t sweat it. I used to do jobs for them. They’re looking for guys in ski masks, not a priest and some monsters. We’re not even on their radar.”