As quietly as they could, Jim and Semple merged with the spectators. They were inside, and if the guard outside was as good as his word, they had five minutes to figure a way to get Doc out of there. Jim spotted the small bar and decided that it was as good a spot as any to set up a vantage point-and a shot of something would certainly help him think on his feet. It was only as, with Semple right behind him, he eased toward the booze that he spotted Nixon as one of the players. In the same instant, Nixon saw him and frowned slightly, as though not quite recognizing him. Suddenly Jim knew he wasn’t going to keep his mouth shut, despite what the guard outside might have told him. He stepped forward into the light and glared at Nixon. “You may well frown, you son of a bitch.”
Semple grabbed him by the arm. “Jim!”
Jim shook his head. He wasn’t going be silenced or deflected. “I may have let Hoover slide, but I’m going to have my say with this bastard.”
Doc looked up and recognized Jim. “Hello there, young Morrison.”
“Hi, Doc.”
Lucifer looked at Doc. “You know this guy?”
Doc nodded. “Sure, I know this guy. It’s Jim Morrison. A little confused and headstrong, but basically he’s all right.”
Two large men in back of Lucifer moved forward. They looked to be at least kissing cousins to the sumo wrestler outside, with very much the same taste in clothes. They waited on Lucifer for the word to remove Jim and Semple. Lucifer frowned at Doc and pointed to Semple. “And the broad?”
“Semple McPherson.”
“As in Aimee Semple McPherson?”
Doc nodded again. “The very same-at least, half of her. She’s going to be the love of young Morrison’s life.”
Semple started to protest. “Who says I’m going to be the love of his life?”
Everyone ignored her. Lucifer was studying Jim. “And what do you want here, Jim Morrison?”
“I came here to get Doc out of this game . . . ”
Lucifer shook his head. “Doc can’t leave this game. He’s still ahead. It’d be more than his reputation is worth.”
Jim gestured to Nixon. “ . . . but now that I find him here, I may have to change my plans.”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “You have a beef with Tricky Dick?”
“My whole generation has a beef with Tricky Dick.”
Nixon’s face twisted into a familiar sour scowl. “Are we here to play poker or listen to this hippie bum run off at the mouth?”
Lucifer smoothed his pencil mustache while he considered the situation. Kali and the Korean carefully placed their hands flat on the table. Their faces showed no easily read expression, but later Jim would swear that Kali was amused. Finally Lucifer made up his mind. “Let him say his piece. We’ve got free speech here in Hell.”
Nixon looked outraged. “I’m sorry. I really have to protest. Since when was there free speech in Hell? I never heard that. Where is that written? Particularly for long-haired troublemakers who come barging into a private card game.”
Lucifer grinned, apparently enjoying baiting the onetime president. “There’s been free speech in Hell since I said there was free speech in Hell. And besides, my boys are probably going to beat the shit out of him afterward for his temerity.”
Nixon quickly picked up on the nearest available red-herring detail. “Extreme. That’s the word. On the lifeside, I was forced to deal with these kinds of extremists all through my career.”
“You mean like your goddamned enemies list?”
“I did what was needed to protect the national security and the office of the president.”
“You had Groucho fucking Marx on your list.”
Doc leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “Groucho has already moved to the higher level. One of the fastest move-ups on record. Nearly as fast as Einstein.”
“He advocated my assassination.”
“He said you were the only dope worth shooting.”
“Is that your problem, young man? You didn’t like the way I treated Groucho Marx?”
Jim leaned angrily forward. “Yeah, I didn’t like the way you treated Groucho Marx, or the Black Panthers, or John Lennon, or the people of Cambodia, or the fact that you let tens of thousand of poor bastards like me go on dying and getting maimed so you could look good in the history books.”
“I presume you’re talking about Southeast Asia?”
“Can’t you even say Vietnam, you bastard?”
“That war is history.”
“I recently visited a kid called Chuck who’s still living it over and over.”
“You can hardly blame me if some unfortunates are unable to move on.”
“I’m not talking about blame. I’d just like to see you sharing a piece of their suffering instead of sitting here playing fat-cat five-card stud with Lucifer.”
The entire room was silent as Nixon looked coldly back at Jim. “And how exactly do you intend to do that? I would remind you that I more than earned my place here.”
“I can believe that.”
“So this is just hot air, isn’t it, Morrison? There’s really nothing you can do.”
Jim looked around the table. Everyone seemed to be waiting to hear his response. “Maybe, maybe not.” He looked at Doc “Do you still have that piece of Elvis Presley’s former property?”
Doc nodded. “I certainly do.”
“Could I take a look at it?”
Doc nodded again. “I don’t see why not.”
Nixon shook his head as though he considered Jim completely out of his mind. “Elvis Presley? My God, he was another one. A drugged-out, pill-swallowing maniac.” He turned to Kali and the Korean. “I met him, you know. He was completely insane. He actually tried to hug me, just like that crazy coon Sammy Davis.”
Kali spoke for the fist time. Her voice was a steely purr of death and seduction. “You had your photograph taken with him, though, didn’t you?”
Nixon gestured impatiently. “It was that fool Haldeman. He thought it would raise my standing with the country’s youth. But let me make it perfectly clear, I was against it. I was against the whole thing. I kid you not.”
Lucifer lit a fresh cigar. “Elvis was what he was, but the blue lights were there when he was born. No blue lights in Yorba Linda, Dick. That’s why you’re here and he moved on a long time ago, just like Groucho and Einstein.”
Nixon was about to respond to Lucifer when Doc casually pulled the Gun That Belonged to Elvis from where his coat was draped over the chair and handed it to Jim. At the sight of the pistol, the entire room froze. The Korean’s hand started to edge toward a bulge under his own uniform coat, and Kali’s extra arms rematerialized. Lucifer merely exhaled, a stream of blue smoke aimed directly at Jim. “And what do you intend to do with that?”
Nixon was now sweating profusely, his eyes fixed on the gun. “You’re being ridiculous, Morrison. You can’t kill me. I’m already dead, damn it.”
“Like Doc once told me, a golden bullet from the Gun That Belonged to Elvis might not kill you, but it’ll sure fuck you up.”
Lucifer seemed highly amused by the situation. He gestured to Jim with his cigar. “You know what would happen if you fired that thing in here?”
Jim smiled wryly. He was starting to like Lucifer, although he knew that liking the Devil was no reason to underestimate him. “No pun intended, but I figure all hell would break loose.”
“And there will also be hell to pay.”
“I don’t have any beef with you.”
“I know that.”
Jim turned to Kali and the Korean. “I also have no problem with either of you.”
Lucifer took another drag on his cigar. “I still can’t allow you to put a bullet in Dick here.”
“You can’t stop me from pulling the trigger.”
“I can make you wish that you hadn’t.”
“Suppose I were to take his money?”
“You want to rob Lucifer’s poker game? You’ve got a lot of gall, kid.”
“I don’t want to rob you, or Kali, or the Korean gentleman.”