The Getaway God (Sandman Slim 6)

“You want a drink?” he says. “I’ve still got some Belgian beer Fairuza brought over.”

I shake my head.

“Some other time.”

I start upstairs.

“She’ll be all right,” says Kasabian. “Allegra knows what she’s doing.”

I don’t say anything. I go upstairs and close the door. Find a bottle of Aqua Regia and don’t bother with a glass. I fire up a movie on the big screen, but when I finish the bottle I realize I have no idea what I’ve been watching.

AT THREE A.M., Sola and I drive down Wilshire in an empty sixteen-­wheeler. My head hurts—­hell, my eyes hurt and I’d rather be at home waiting for a call about Candy, but maybe this is a little healthier. Getting a little action instead of sitting at home drowning myself in Aqua Regia. I put a glove on to match the one that covers my Kissi hand. It covers the gauze on my wrist and Sola will think I’m getting into the James Bond spirit of things. I’m not.

“Christ, if we’re going to work together I wish you’d call me Julie instead of Sola,” she says on the way over.

“Careful. You took the Lord’s name in vain. Wells probably has the truck bugged.”

“Not for long,” she says.

She pushes the heavy truck through the gears like an expert and parks it on Wilshire a block away from Robertson. I start to help her drag our passenger into the driver’s seat, but she waves me off. Our passenger is a corpse in a T-­shirt and jeans. Apparently, the Vigil has an arrangement to pick up the occasional unclaimed body from federal prisons around the country. So much for respecting the dead. I get out while she wrestles the corpse into place behind the wheel. She does the dirty work cleanly and efficiently. I’ve never seen this side of her before.

“Julie,” I say.

She looks at me.

“What?”

I shake my head.

“Nothing. Just practicing.”

“Okay.”

She smiles and hops down from the cab, slamming the door shut. We’re both dressed in black coveralls, courtesy of the Vigil. Mine are too tight. Julie’s are too loose. We look like a ­couple of idiot thrift-­store ninjas. She slings a pack onto her shoulder and we cross the street, heading for our target.

Walking makes my head hurt, but sitting made it hurt too. The night rain is cool. It helps wake me up and get focused. No one at the Vigil knows anything about Candy. Rogue Lurkers are subject to immediate arrest, no questions asked. I’m not going to take a chance on that happening.

We walk to an empty store that used to sell high-­end sound systems. We’re near the corner and have a great view of the Pickman Building. Inside the store, power cords, stereo cables, and coax snake the floor and hang from the ceiling like jungle vines.

I say, “What were those three things again?”

Julie kneels and starts taking things out of the pack, laying them in a semicircle around her.

“Diversion, intrusion, and extraction.”

“This is the first one.”

“It will be in a minute.”

She looks at me.

“You’re not drunk, are you?”

“I toasted a friend’s health tonight, yes. But I’m fine.”

“Damn,” she says. “I need you Johnny on the spot tonight. Can you handle that?”

“No problem.”