On TV, a reporter is trying to interview a cop, but everyone behind them is pushing up their noses into pig snouts and grunting.
“One more thing. If you ever spot Medea Bava Downtown, let me know. She’s supposed to be hiding with Deumos, but I don’t trust the vindictive hag.”
“She’s the Inquisition. Even the milk on her cereal comes from angry cows.”
“Just let me know if you see her. And stay out of my phone.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t see any of those private pictures Candy sent you.”
“Fuck you.”
THE HOUSE PHONE rings.
“Hello, Mr. Macheath?”
“Yes.”
“An envelope arrived for you. Should I send it up?”
“You mean an envelope envelope? I don’t want any packages.”
“No, sir. It’s just an envelope.”
“Okay. Send it up.”
I go out the grandfather clock and wait for the bellhop. He comes up in the elevator and gives me the note. I hand him a table lamp.
“My girlfriend has all the money and she’s asleep, but I think this lamp is Tiffany, so Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you, sir,” he says like this happens to him all the time.
I wait until he’s in the elevator before going back through the clock.
In the penthouse, I tear open the envelope. It’s heavy cream-colored paper and lined with thin gold foil. Very pricey. Inside, there’s a note containing three words:
Stop it.
Blackburn
Add him to the list of people who might have put up the nithing pole, though it’s not really his style. That means my game has gotten under the skin of at least two people. That just leaves four million to go.
I GET AN unexpected phone call and head for Bamboo House of Dolls. Go inside for a drink and wait. I drop Declan Garrett’s name a few times. Let people know I’m looking for him. What the hell? It’s worth a shot. Allegra shows up a few minutes later in a jean jacket over her scrubs, looking like she came straight from the clinic. I’m going to need a smoke for this. I head outside and she follows me.
We get to the end of the building by the alley. I light up and Allegra leans against the wall, arms and legs crossed. She’s nervous. So am I. We haven’t been alone together in months. Not since she found out I’d been playing Lucifer.
She says, “Thanks for meeting me.”
“No problem. So, what are we here for? Sorry if I’m blunt, but if you’re going to yell at me and call me evil, maybe you can get started? I hear there’s liquor inside.”
“If I just wanted to yell, I could’ve done that on the phone.”
She gives me a weak smile to say she’s joking, but I don’t smile back.
“I’m just trying to understand,” she says.
“Instead of telling me you have questions, why don’t you ask them?”
“Okay. You were really Lucifer? Tell me about it. What is Hell like?”