The hotel phone rings.
“Candy?”
The line crackles.
“That was a hell of an exit, Lord Lucifer. I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”
It’s a man’s voice.
“Were you relieved or disappointed?”
“Relieved. Thrilled even. The worlds below and above would be much more boring without you.”
“Who is this?”
“Not Vetis. But you knew that.”
“You’re not speaking Hellion. You’re either a possessed mortal or a damned soul. I don’t think a soul could call up here even with heavy hoodoo, so my guess is a mortal.”
“Listen to you go, Deep Blue.”
“Did the hounds make it back all right?”
“The ones that didn’t follow you over the edge. More blood on your hands. You’re like death on a bender.”
“Your voice is familiar but so what? You’ll be someone different next time.”
“Chances are.”
“Then what do we have to talk about? Fuck off.”
I slam down the receiver and rip the plug out of the wall.
I should have known the moment I decided not to go back Downtown. I don’t have to. Hell will follow me here.
In the morning, when I start to go out, I reach for a gun and remember that all I have is the Glock. A sleek manly gun. Guys who love Glocks love Corvettes because Dad had one and they’re still trying to crawl out of the old man’s shadow. Glocks: the only guns that come with a side of daddy issues. I hate Glocks. But I take it anyway.
I spend the day just walking around breathing in the perfume of car exhaust, dry air-conditioned air, and greasy Mexican food. I buy a fish taco from a van on the street. It looks like the Mona Lisa and tastes like God’s own Lunchable.
I’m still getting used to a sky. And lost and frantic civilians piling up on the street corners, fidgeting, waiting for the green light. Running at the wrong time on the red and almost getting hit by a bus. They gasp like they’re all gut-punched, never catching their breath from the endless running. If they knew they had a billion billion years of Heaven or Hell to look forward to after their measly eighty on Earth, would they slow down or would they get even more wired?>“Are you him or are you the boring one?”
“Do I know you?”
“I used to hang out at the Bamboo House of Dolls. Till he came around.”
“Princess, did the boring one go around kicking in doors?”
“It sounds like you. Wait here.”
“Twenty seconds.”
Twenty seconds come and go. Too bad. I always liked this door with the gold letters flaking off. But never make a threat you’re not willing to go carry out. I step back a good kicking distance. The door doesn’t look like much, so there’s no need to get dramatic. Just bring up a leg to kick out the lock. I draw it up and for a second I’m standing on the street like a leather flamingo. The door swings open and Candy is standing there. She looks at me on one leg, in dirty leather and a road-rash coat. I look at her. The same ripped jeans and Chuck Taylors. She has on a T-shirt covered with Japanese writing. Looks like it’s for an all-girl band I never heard of. Then we’re both looking at each other. Then it occurs to me to put my leg down.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
She looks at me like I’m a ghost or trick. Saint James must have done a number on these people if no one trusts their eyes. A minute later a grin spreads across her face. She comes out and throws her arms around my shoulders. Jumps and wraps her legs around my waist. She stays that way for a minute before climbing down. And John Wayne roundhouse punches me in the face. I put up my arms to rope-a-dope her in case she decides to punch again. She does, throwing haymakers to my body every couple of words.