“If I pick it up in the morning, I can probably give you a rough estimate tomorrow night.”
“Great,” says Kasabian.
Mike gets up and wipes his eternally grimy hands on a dirty rag he pulls from his back pocket.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, and heads for the door behind the grandfather clock.
I follow him over and cut him off.
“The other night at Death Rides A Horse . . .” I say.
He holds up his hands in apology.
“Sorry about that. I was in a bad mood and embarrassed that you caught me there.”
“You haven’t done anything stupid, have you? Pledged yourself to some bloodsucker or let one of them put their fangs in you?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Good.”
I reach into my pocket and take out a small bottle.
“Here’s the straight-up truth. I can’t give you back your soul because it’s not mine to give anymore. Never mind how or why, it’s just how things are.”
“Then I’m screwed.”
I hand him the bottle I got from the Cold Case.
“This is a clean soul. It doesn’t belong to anyone. It’ll substitute for yours when the time comes.”>“You just pulled me out of damnation. I think I can stand whatever it is you’re going to show me.”
“Strap in, preacher.”
I gun the bike and aim at the shadow of one of the guard towers. Traven tries to be cool, but I feel him tense against me and hear him, I can’t fucking believe it, saying a Hail Mary as we pick up speed.
I hit the brakes when we’re halfway into the Room and we slide the rest of the way in, leaving a nice line of rubber across the floor.
He gets off the bike and looks around in wonder.
“We’re at the center of the universe.”
“Yep.”
“Where nothing can go in or out without your say-so.”
“Pretty much.”
“How does it work?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. It works and that’s good enough for me.”
“That’s called faith, son.”
“That’s called not looking a gift horse up the nose. I’ll be back soon with some books. Don’t worry. I’ll let Vidocq pick them out.”
“One thing,” he says as I angle the bike to take it back to L.A.
“Yes?”