“It will take us a while to get the logistics worked out. After the meeting, you can have a few days to see the Mouse.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“What are friends for?”
He holds out his glass and I clink mine against it.
It feels like I’ve been drinking a lot of toasts in the last few days. If I can trust my life to an angel, I guess it’s no stranger than partnering up with Abbot and some Sub Rosa 007s. It might even be fun. Maybe they can find me a new Colt.
Abbot and I shoot the shit for a few more minutes, but then he has to get to a meeting.
I take the binder and head back to the limo.
Willem is on the pier with some of his men.
“See you around, Willem.”
“Have a nice drive home.”
“Thank you.”
“Watch your back.”
“Love you too.”
We hit traffic on the drive home. While we’re sitting bumper-to-bumper, I thumb through the binder. I’m a little disappointed when I don’t find Willem’s name among the Wormwood suspects. I know it’s kind of a dickish thing to hope for, but I’m not used to this forgive-and-forget thing yet. Maybe Allegra’s PTSD pills will help. They still scare me, but what the hell? I’ll give them a try. But no yoga.
That’s a deal breaker.
IT’S ANOTHER DAY before I get on the Hellion hog. I wait until Candy’s at work, of course. No need to worry her. But if I can deal with Abbot’s whiskey, I think I can keep my balance long enough to make a couple of runs. My first stop is Griffith Park and Quay’s mansion.
Unlike his Hellion digs, Quay’s pied-à-terre in Earthly L.A. is underground. He might not have been Sub Rosa, but he was rich enough to afford a Sub Rosa mansion. Not many civilians can say that. I was only there once, but it was a memorable meeting.
The entrance to the place is in Griffith Park’s abandoned zoo. Through a graffiti-covered cage big enough for a bear or tiger. The mansion’s entrance is controlled by a hoodoo code you have to punch into a crack in the floor. I only saw it used once, so I never got a chance to memorize it. I should have brought Vidocq with me. He’s good at breaking into things. But I wouldn’t want to get him involved with this kind of trip, so it’s up to me. I might be able to blow the place open with Hellion hoodoo, but that would make the kind of awful racket guaranteed to attract a crowd. I could get in through the Room, but, well, you know. I can’t think of any way in that doesn’t wreck something, so I decide to do it fast and dirty.
I manifest my Gladius and cut a hole in the floor of the cage where I sort of remember the entrance is.
And get it right after just a couple of tries.
There aren’t any lights on in the dead man’s digs and I can’t find a switch, so I keep my Gladius burning and use it like a torch.
The place is just as I remember. A kind of faux-Greek palace full of sculptures and death charms. Not the kind that cause death, you understand. These are the kind that the user hopes will chase death away. The collection didn’t work out like Quay planned, but it left him with a nice assortment of morbid tchotchkes.
I wander the marble rooms checking out every flat surface. I’m looking for something very specific.
It doesn’t take long to find his office. The door is covered in wards and charms to keep prowlers exactly like me out. Only, none of this backwoods magic can stop a Gladius. I cut straight through the heavy oak door and
kick it off its hinges. Now I need to pick up the pace. The charms might not have been a problem, but there’s a better-than-even chance that Quay still has a civilian alarm system running down here. He’s the type to want to protect his toys even after he’s gone. I probably have just a few minutes before hired goons come speeding up the hill.
I go for his desk first. Pull out all the drawers. Check underneath and along the sides for hidden compartments. Nothing. Next, toss all the furniture and pull up the rugs to check for a floor safe. Again, nothing. Pull all the paintings off the walls and the books out off the shelves. I still can’t find anywhere he might hide his most valuable possession.
Next, I head for his bedroom. Yank the drawers out of the bedside tables and check under his bed. Pull down more paintings and kick up more carpets. Not a goddamn thing.
Where would a fucker like Quay hide his ticket to immortality?
On a stand in a corner of the room is an interesting object. I turn to the frontispiece to make sure I’m right, and bingo, I am. It’s a Gutenberg Bible, dated 1452. Now why, of all his death charms, would he keep this one in his bedroom? Quay never struck me as a sweet-blood-of-Jesus type. I turn a few pages looking for markings, ciphers, codes, anything that might lead to a secret hiding place. Naturally, I’m overthinking the whole thing. That’s why people like Quay get away with so much. Those of us trying to guess their supervillain moves get so clever with ourselves that we miss the most obvious answer. The smart guys like Quay expect that, so while we’re looking for Dr. Moriarity puzzles within puzzles, they go with the simplest solutions possible. And Quay’s is wonderfully simple.
I flip to the end of the book, wondering if maybe he’d get a giggle from writing his clues in Revelation, and find that he’s outsmarted everyone, especially me.