Mike takes the kitten and walks away.
“Give me a reason.”
SOMETIMES YOU GET lucky. Or maybe the angel in my head is a little psychic. Though not nearly psychic enough. If it was, I’d see the shitstorms coming down the road and have a chance to jump in a ditch or hide in a little country church. Let the hellfire-and-brimstone preacher cleanse me of my sins. With a little luck maybe it would be near a roadhouse with local swill on tap and watered-down whiskey behind the bar. The kind of place that would at least let me smoke a goddamn cigarette while I have my drink. But with my normal run of luck, I’ll shelter from the storm in a dry county where the only good times are judging the pigs at a 4-H show or chicken-fried steak at a Cracker Barrel. Like I said, my angel might be a little psychic but he’s not psychic enough to do me a damned bit of good. Probably there’s nothing psychic about him at all. Probably it’s as simple as he talked to Tykho, but an hour after I get to Bamboo House of Dolls, Declan Garrett walks in. Candy sees him first. She elbows me.
“Salesman of the year twelve o’clock high.”
He comes right over and starts in. Not even a “Hi. Sorry about interrupting your donut with gunfire.” I wonder if he knows his gunman was a windup toy.
“I heard you wanted to see me.”
“I’m fine, Declan. How are you?”
He’s agitated. This isn’t his turf. It’s mine and he doesn’t like it. Carlos is looking at him. I raise a hand to let him know that everything is all right and he goes back to serving other customers.
“Listen, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot the other day. You’re right: I do have the 8 Ball, and you can have it for the million you promised plus one more thing.”
“What?”
“Who’s the buyer?”
His lip curls at one corner of his mouth.
“What do you care?”
“Indulge me.”
“No,” he says. “You indulge me.”
He sidesteps behind Candy while pulling something from under his jacket. I don’t have to see the pistol to know it’s there.
“Be cool, Declan. Let’s all just be cool.”
“I am cool, motherfucker. I’m a snowman eating an Eskimo Pie. You think you can call me here and cheat me out of my sale?”
“That’s not it at all.”
“Then what is it? . . . Oh, wait. I don’t care. I want the fucking Qomrama or I’m going to shoot the pretty lady. Yeah, you’ll get me, but your Charles Bronson act won’t keep lead out of her spine.”
Candy opens her eyes wide at me. It’s not fear. She’s asking me to let her go Jade on this creep and eat his face. I shake my head ever so slightly. She’s mad but she listens.
“Okay, man. You’ve got me over a barrel. I’ll take you to the 8 Ball.”
“Right now, cocksucker. I mean right now.”
“Sure. It’s close by.”
“Then let’s go.”
We go out to a BMW coupe parked down the block. He and Candy get in the back. He makes me drive. I take us straight down Sunset to the Chateau, obeying the speed limit and stopping for every red light. I don’t know who Candy hates more right now, him or me. Given the chance, she’d probably eat us both just on principle. Him for pulling the gun, and me for not taking it from him. I’m going to have a lot of making up to do, assuming we don’t end up all bullet-riddled.
Declan doesn’t like it when I give his keys to the valet at the Chateau, but what’s he going to do about it? We go through the lobby not looking the slightest bit suspicious. Me a few feet in front while a nervous guy is pressed so close to Mr. Macheath’s squeeze that he might be giving her a high colonic.
We take the elevator to the penthouse. Declan gets extra twitchy when we arrive upstairs and he doesn’t see a room right away.
“Ready to go down the rabbit hole?” I ask.
“Don’t try anything cute.”
I open the grandfather clock and step halfway through.
“The 8 Ball is in here, safe and sound.”
He leans over and squints, trying to see past me.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
“No tricks. I’m not going to leave something as important as the 8 Ball in the hotel safe, am I? No. I’ll keep it where no one even knows about it.”
I step through the clock. A second later Candy follows, Declan holding on to her like a leech. I take a quick look around. Kasabian’s laptop is open but he’s nowhere in sight. Good. He’s the last thing I want to have to explain to the shakiest gun in the West.
“What is this place?”
“My Batcave, where I keep all my secrets.”
“You people are even weirder than I heard.”
Candy cracks up and Declan tightens his grip on her arm. He doesn’t appreciate her extreme lack of terror. She should probably be a little more concerned. This guy is armed and unstable, and as far as I know, Jades don’t deal with bullets any better than civilians.
“You can put that gun down now. We’re here and I’m going to get the 8 Ball.”
“Qomrama. Show a little respect, asshole. It’s a holy thing and it’s going to get me a holy lot of money.”
“That’s clever. You wait here and I’ll go get it. You okay, Candy?”
She’s stopped laughing.
“Hurry up. I’m hungry. I want to order a lobster.”
I give her another don’t-do-anything look. She narrows her eyes at me. When this is over I’m going to need a thesaurus to show me how many ways you can say “Sorry.”
The fake 8 Ball isn’t in any safe. It’s in the one place no one is going to go pawing around. Under a pile of my dirty clothes, the bloody ones piled on top.
I bring the 8 Ball into the living room, bouncing it in one hand. Declan tenses but doesn’t let go of Candy.
“Good. Now put it on the table.”
“No. Who’s it for?”
“I’ll shoot the bitch.”
“No.”
Candy looks at me.
“The bitch doesn’t want to get shot,” she says.
I look at Declan.
“You could have shot her before and the 8 Ball is right here, so why would you shoot her now?”
Declan’s eyes flicker microscopically. He knows what will happen if he pulls the trigger and he doesn’t want to die. But he also knows that I don’t want Candy shot.
“Heads up,” I say, and toss him the 8 Ball.
He lets go of Candy and lunges for the Qomrama. Catches it with his arms, close to his chest like a football. Candy steps away from him. Declan now has the gun leveled at both of us.
I say, “Who’s it for?”
Declan looks at his bouncing baby 8 Ball and smiles.
“No one. Last time I was buying for a bunch of bankers with their own Angra group, Der Zorn Gottes. The Angra they worship is a fucking flower. Can you believe that shit? ‘Zhuyigdanatha.’ A real mouthful, huh? But his friends call him the Flayed Heart, so it’s okay.”
“But you’re not selling it to them now.”
“Damn right,” says Declan. “Your little blitzkrieg drove the price way up. Now it goes to the highest bidder.”
“That sounds dangerous,” says Candy.
“Nothing ventured nothing etcetera, sweetheart. I saw the light after he killed Moseley.”
“I didn’t kill him. He jumped in front of a bus.”
“Same thing, you fuck. He was a true believer and happy to die for the Angra cause. I’m not. Whoever ponies up can have it. That includes you, you know. You find a buyer and we can do some real business.”
“You suppose your Flayed Heart buddies know how the 8 Ball works?”
“What the fuck do I care? They can give it to their kids at Christmas instead of an Elmo doll.”
I don’t know any other actual Angra freaks. This might be my only chance to meet some real ones.
“I know someone who wants the 8 Ball. You sell it to your people, then put me in touch so I can make a bid on it.”
Declan considers this.
“I don’t know that I’m going to sell to Der Zorn Gottes. Why don’t you tell me your buyer and I’ll sell to him? I’ll give you a ten percent finder’s fee.”