The Getaway God (Sandman Slim 6)

“Not if you want to live,” I shout. “Don’t touch her. None of you.”

For thirty seconds it’s a High Noon standoff. The Vigil punks try to stare me down, but none of them make a move.

Finally, Julie puts her pistol back in its holster and says to one of the agents, “You have video?”

“Yes, ma’am,” says the Pinkerton with the camera.

Julie waves to her posse.

“Back on the trucks. The tape will do. Washington doesn’t need any more pixie corpses contaminating the facilities.”

Julie leads her agents to an ASV parked down the street. The asshole with the camera lingers for a few seconds. Gets some good footage of me crouched over Candy’s body like a dumb animal.

When they’re gone, I call Allegra. She says she and Vidocq will be right over.

Kasabian is back hiding in his room again.

AND THEN IT’S Christmas. I’m at Bamboo House of Dolls and I’m drunk. The bar is as close to crowded as it’s been in weeks. Vigilantes burned a lot of the other Lurker bars in town, or they flooded, so Carlos has a whole new clientele.

How many days has it been since the scene outside the store? I’m a little blurry on the matter. Anyway, it’s the jolly time of year, right? And in a ­couple of days it will be exactly a year since I escaped from Hell, a place that, by now, might not exist anymore.

I’m back drinking Jack Daniel’s. It’s not bad, but it’s not Aqua Regia and I can’t go Downtown to get more. I’m down to my last carton of Maledictions. The world is closing in fast and I don’t like it one bit.

People tried talking to me earlier, but I’m not in the mood, so now they’re mostly leaving me alone. Except for Carlos. For once he’s not tending bar. He hired Fairuza for the holidays. Turns out she can pour beer and whiskey in glasses as well as anyone, and she even knows how to make a ­couple of cocktails. Kasabian hangs around the end of the bar chatting her up at every opportunity. She even smiles back at him. I guess she’s gotten over the Mason-­is-­coming-­to-­swallow-­our-­souls thing. Carlos is still pouring drinks, but I’m his only customer at the moment. I’m happy that the Sub Rosa stepped in and got the Lurkers released, but I don’t want drinks from Fairuza because it makes me think about Candy’s band and I don’t want to go there right now.

Carlos and I are hunkered down at a table in the back corner of the bar, a bottle of Jack between us and two shot glasses. On the jukebox, Martin Denny is playing a tiki version of “White Christmas.”

“You are one morose fuck, you know that?” says Carlos. “You’re literally sucking the entire concept of happiness from my body.”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“I know. I’m just saying that you’re a holly jolly black hole and I thought you ought to know that.”

“Your advice is much appreciated.”

“That wasn’t advice. That was an observation. If you want advice, it’s to have another drink.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I concur.”

Carlos pours us both shots.

Vidocq and Allegra are at a table by the door. Cindil is with them. She doesn’t look like Cindil anymore, but she doesn’t look like the chop-­shop train wreck I put her in. Allegra has been using the divine light stones and other medical hoodoo to fix up Cindil’s face and erase the scars. She’s dyed her hair magenta. It looks good on her.

Manimal Mike, the Tick Tock Man, is at the end of the bar deep in discussion with Tykho, the head of the Dark Eternal vampire gang. Most vampires don’t do Christmas, but here she is. I guess we all need our secret vices.

I packed up the last of Candy’s things and put them in the storage room this morning. I put her guitar in last.

It’s a good thing Carlos is having this sort of reopening party. Kasabian and I don’t have enough cash to throw our own party. Even after saving this sorry rock one more time, the government welshed on paying me because I never did turn in those psych evaluation forms. A technicality, but isn’t that what bureaucrats exist for? Max Overdrive needs money and I’ve lined up work. It might be a huge mistake, but it’s one more favor I owe.

Carlos pours us another round and goes off to make sure that in all the merriment Fairuza is remembering to charge ­people for drinks.

I wonder if I should get rid of all the sheets and pillowcases too. Candy brought them with her when she moved in.

Word is that the Vigil is cleaning up the last Der Zorn Götter cells around L.A. What do you charge ­people with for trying to murder the world? I’m sure the Vigil will come up with something suitably creative and vindictive. I hope so.

I’m learning to use the coffeemaker. Turns out there are manuals for that kind of thing. I hope the wash-­and-­fold place opens again soon. I need to clean the blood out of a few delicates.

The Sub Rosa is doing double shifts this holiday season, springing Lurkers like Fairuza from federal pens and covering up for dying Gods, walking buildings, and all the other catastrophic hoodoo that’s been going down in L.A. The Augur might be gone, but the Sub Rosa still have friends in high-­and-­mighty places. Tuatha is running things temporarily while the board of directors searches for a new scryer. Lots of luck. If any Sub Rosas come around looking for trouble, I won’t hit them. I’ll tell them the one thing that they won’t want to hear. That they’re Qliphoth. Just Eaters, Diggers, and Gluttons in designer shoes.