The Getaway God (Sandman Slim 6)

I take a chance and look around the shade that covers the door and recognize Marshal Julie Sola. I stuff the Colt in my waistband and unlock the door. She brushes past me to get out of the rain. She’s in a long slicker raincoat with the hood pulled up over her head. Still, she’s drenched and making a puddle on the floor. I point to the peg on the wall where ­people can hang their raincoats. She gives a soft “Ah,” takes off her coat, and hangs it up.

Her hair is long and dark, pulled up high and pinned in place. It was, at least. Now it’s a wet rat’s nest. She’s dressed in light, loose-­fitting sportswear, a kind of idiot camouflage the Vigil makes many agents wear to try and blend in with their country-­club location. She looks vaguely embarrassed, but quickly shakes it off.

“Thanks,” she says. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“You’re half drowned. Why didn’t you wait till I came in tomorrow?”

“Would you have really come to see me?”

“Maybe not first thing, but sure. I like you fine.”

“That isn’t what I mean,” she says. “This is what I mean.”

She hands me the manila envelope she’s been holding. She had it under the jacket, but the front is still damp.

I open the envelope and find official Vigil stationery and forms. Many pages of forms. It’s my psych evaluation.

“I have to do all this?”

“Ah no. This is just part one. There are three parts.”

“Fuck me,” I say. The pages are full of word problems, shapes I’m supposed to group together, drawings, and questions about my parents.

“I can help you,” she says. “I know the right answers to give so Washington won’t ask any questions.”

“You think Washington is going to buy it if I come off like Mike Brady?”

She smiles and rubs her hands together to get the circulation going.

“So we’ll leave some rough edges on. The point is you’ll pass. We need you.”

I drop the envelope on the counter.

“Why are you back working with them? Last I saw you, you were happy in the Mike Hammer PI biz.”

She shrugs.

“Look at things. The world is too crazy to want one more inexperienced private investigator. Don’t get me wrong, I was good at my job, but I was slowly starving to death. Eating through my savings and playing a lot of Tetris waiting for the phone to ring.”

“Bad timing, I guess.”

“To say the least. When Marshal Wells called and offered me my old job back, it wasn’t hard to say yes. What about you?”

“Not so different. But he told me he knew how to work a weapon, something to fight the Angra with. Turns out it was a fib. He has a bag of bones working on it. Maybe he’ll figure it out.”

“I met him once. Creepy guy. He called me ‘tubby.’ I don’t look fat to you, do I?”

“I don’t know. He called me ‘lardass’ last time I saw him.”

Candy comes down the stairs.

“Is this where the party is?”

“Candy, this is Julie Sola. Marshal Sola these days. Julie, this is Candy.”

Candy comes down and they shake hands. She has powdered sugar on her fingers and it rubs off on Julie.

“Sorry,” she says, and holds out the bag she’s holding. “Want a donut?”