“I know. Trust me. If I could, I’d be the most boring bastard in the world.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” says Vidocq.
“Okay. Tenth most boring bastard.”
Candy says, “Sometimes you get worked up. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Really? How does stopping to grab money in the middle of an explosion count as careful?”
The fake Qomrama and the cash are lying nearby on the bed. I pick up the money.
“Did you count it?”
“It’s just shy of four thousand dollars.”
“Chicken-and-waffles money.”
Along the edges, the bills are as crisp and singed as I am. I show them to Vidocq. He chuckles and leans in closer.
He says, “That’s a strange design on the clip. It almost reminds me of the Golden Vigil. Though not entirely.”
The Golden Vigil. God’s Pinkertons on earth. They were a Homeland Security offshoot that Vidocq and I used to work for. The Vigil worked with a special group of agents using angelic tech, supposedly monitoring and policing nefarious hoodoo-related activity. Zombies. Rogue vampires. Demon attacks. Hell, they even put Lucifer on a terrorist watch list. Mostly, though, they were just another set of bullheaded cops in better suits. U.S. Marshal Larson Wells and, more importantly, Aelita ran the show. That’s until she went on her god-killing crusade and the government shut the Vigil down. Not a tear was shed.
“Not quite? You’re sure?”
Vidocq nods.
“I’m positive. Not the Vigil.”
“But still similar.”
“Yes. Similar.”
I toss the money back on the bed.
“I wish I could have talked to Garrett. All this cash. Passports. A mechanical familiar. Who the hell was he waiting for?”
“And who was the bomb for? Monsieur Garrett or the party buying from him?” says Vidocq.
“He had a familiar?” says Candy.
“Yeah; a good one too. I should have grabbed the asshole’s wallet.”
I can see Kasabian banging away on his own computer, building his Web site.
“Did Old Yeller find out anything on Moseley?”
Candy says, “Not much. He had a record but all minor stuff. He was kind of a religious nut. A couple of arrests for protesting outside abortion clinics. A fine for trashing a Scientology office and some Orthodox graves at Hollywood Forever Cemetery. It looks like he’s been through every religion on the planet. There’s photos of him in a dozen getups from different religious sects and cults.”
“A lost soul in a hard city. A volatile combination,” says Vidocq.
“I got the 8 Ball and the cash,” I say to him. “You steal anything fun lately?”
He shakes his head.
“Jewelry here and there. A vase for the apartment. Helping look for your weapon puts too many temptations in my path and the old habits are the hardest to break.”