I ditch the bike on the sidewalk behind a pickup truck with a camper shell big enough to hide it from patrol cars rolling by.
There are six more cop cars outside Donut Universe. Patrons are out in the parking lot yammering to the uniformed cops all at once. One takes statements but the others don’t want to hear about it. They just want the cattle to wait for the detectives while putting up yellow tape around the crime scene.
I spot Candy waving to me on the opposite corner, near a Christian Science church. Samael has his hand to his ear, talking on his phone.
Candy squeezes my hand when I reach them. She worries. It’s sweet. A second later Samael closes his phone.
“Did you get him?”
“He got himself. Strolled off the curb and kissed a bus.”
“Why? You’re not that scary.”
“Yes, I am.”
“If you say so.”
“How much do you have to pay a guy to go out like that?”
“You don’t. He chose to do it himself. It’s the mark of a true believer. In what, I don’t know and I don’t care. But you should.”
I thumb on my phone and go to the picture of the shooter’s driver’s license. I read it out loud.
“Trevor Moseley. Either of you ever hear of him?”
I show them his picture.
Candy shakes her head.
“I took a lot of souls back in the day, but I don’t recognize his name or face,” says Samael.
Candy beams at Samael.
“Sam just called some people. He’s getting me a new laptop.”
“Sam?” says Samael.
“Thanks,” I say.
He looks at me.
“Just thanks? Nothing pithy or sarcastic?”
“I’m capable of appreciating when someone does something nice for someone I care about.”
Samael looks at Candy.
“Good lord. What have you done to him?”
“Shocking, isn’t it?” she says. “Pinocchio is almost a real boy.”
I take a bite of my donut.
“Fuck both of you.”
Samael nods.
“Ah. There’s the Jimmy I know.”