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“That’s everything I need,” he says.

Candy is holding on to my arm.

“Don’t go. Don’t leave me again.”

“That’s the whole point. I’m doing this so I don’t have to leave. I’ll see you soon.”

I lean over and kiss her on the cheek and whisper, “No matter what happens, I’m killing this guy. But I have to take this chance first.”

She loosens her grip for just a second.

I grab Howard and we’re gone.

WE’RE ON THE street by the converted industrial building where Vidocq lives.

“What now?” I say.

Howard looks up and down the street.

“We’re going to need a car. I hear you have a knack for stealing them.”

I walk past a few until I find an older-model Mercedes convertible. Jam the black blade into the door handle. It opens without setting off the alarm. I slip the blade into the ignition and it starts without a hiccup.

I sit in the driver’s seat for a minute as the street tilts one way and then the other.

“Maybe I should drive,” says Howard.

“Maybe you should.”

I have to use the cane to get out and walk around to the passenger side.

When we’re both in I say, “Put the top down. I want to feel the wind.”

“I didn’t think you’d be feeling much of anything at this point,” he says.

“I’m just being optimistic.”

He looks at me.

“I suppose if I’m driving, you can’t slit my throat or kick me out. All right.”

He plays around with the dashboard buttons until he finds one that retracts the roof.

“Seat belt, please,” says Howard, slipping into his. I do the same. Actually, it feels better this way. Strapped in like this, I’m less likely to slide onto the floor. I’m feeling weak right now. Even with the cane, I’m not sure I could stand.

I say, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. It’s not far. Depending on traffic, we should be there in thirty minutes.”

Even belted in, I slide down some in the seat. I did a piss-poor job with the duct tape. My stomach is still bleeding. I hope whoever details this car knows how to get blood out of leather.

Howard steers us to the 405. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes open.

My vision is going funny again. The city is one big blur.

This isn’t the first time I’ve come this close to death. A little over a year ago, when High Plains Drifters were all over the city, one of the bastards bit me. I started dying then too, on my way to being a full-blown flesh-eating zombie piece of shit. The funny thing that happened was that as my mortal half died, my angel half started taking over. And it was a real bastard. Half cold-blooded killer and half Dudley Do-Right. Running around doing good deeds. Ruining my reputation. But he’s not here now. I was hoping he’d show up. He was strong and might be able to keep us going or, at least, think things through in ways I can’t. I should have known he wasn’t going to this time. As my body dies, so does he. I wish I could feel him now. It’s kind of lonely here. No angel. No Candy. No friends. No smokes or whiskey or donuts. Just me and a clown I’m only counting on to keep his word to prove he’s stronger and smarter than me. It’s okay. I’ll take whatever I can at this point.

I’m glad I made Howard put the top down. I can feel a little bit of the breeze and smell the freeway exhaust fumes. It’s very soothing. L.A. aromatherapy.