The Perdition Score (Sandman Slim 8)

I actually meant would he mind if I had some Aqua Regia from my flask, but I’ll always take free alcohol.

I sip my drink. It’s smooth as a newly polished blade. But why did I ask him if I could have a drink? Why didn’t I just have one? This Citizen Kane world is getting to me. I’m like goddamn Oliver Twist begging for more gruel.

I look at Abbot.

“Maybe it’s better if everyone thinks it was a Lurker.”

“If it wasn’t, what was it?”

I take a gulp of his good stuff.

“It was an angel. But I don’t suppose Ivy League types believe in spook stories like that.”

Abbot fiddles with one of his cuff links.

“I’ll admit, an angel wasn’t my first thought. But if you say that’s what it was, I believe you.”

“Just like that?”

“The Golden Vigil believed in you. Why shouldn’t I?”

For a second, I want to kiss the son of a bitch.

He looks into his drink.

“The question is, why would an angel come after you like that?”

I reach into my pocket and hand him the box.

“Because of that.”

He sets down his drink and looks the box over. Opens the top, looks at the vial of black milk, then closes it again and hands it back to me.

“What’s so special about it?”

“It’s not the box. The black stuff. The angel wanted it back. She was very clear on the matter.”

“I saw. Do you know what it is?”

I could tell him what Vidocq said, but the fewer people who know anything about the stuff the better.

“No.”

He thinks for a minute.

“Do you think it was a coincidence that all this happened while you were following Charles?”

I put the box back in my pocket.

“Nope. He has a box like this too. That’s why he went to Musso’s last night. It’s where he picked it up.”

“Are you sure? A box like yours.”

“He was shit-faced and dropped it on the street. I got a good look.”

Abbot stares off into space again, wheels turning in his head.

“Charles and angels. You’re the expert. What do you think it means?”