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Finally, we make it to the car. I step left, bringing us back into the regular world, and slam my knee into the crew cut’s lower spine. He collapses beautifully, falling headfirst into the Crown Vic’s spacious trunk. I slam the top down and get behind the wheel. He doesn’t make a sound the whole drive.

BEFORE RETURNING TO the Beat Hotel, I stop at a bodega and buy a roll of duct tape.

The asshole is waiting for me when I open the trunk, but being an asshole myself, I’m waiting for him.

When the trunk is half open, he kicks out with both boots, aiming for my head. He’s fast, I’ll give him that. So fast he doesn’t see the black blade in my hand. I step back as he kicks and stick the knife through the sole of his right boot until he can feel it, but not so far it cripples him. He howls and thrashes around like a wolf on acid, so I pop him on the chin to bring his temperature down. While he’s lying there stunned, I wrap duct tape around his head, from nose to scalp. Ball up my fist and make like I’m going to punch him again, and he doesn’t flinch, so I know he’s blindfolded enough to take inside. While he’s still loopy, I flip him over and tape his wrists together behind his back. Before finally hauling his ass out of the trunk, I wrap more tape around his mouth. Give him a ­couple of slaps and all he can do is mmmm and rrrrr through the gag. One more loop of tape goes around the foot I stabbed so he won’t bleed all over all the hotel’s theoretically clean carpets. I wrap Crew Cut in my coat, toss him over my shoulder like a sack of Nazi potatoes, and head inside to our room fast. Even at the Beat Hotel, which is used to some weird sights, ­people might think twice about me carrying a body inside.

Vincent and Kasabian are in their room, so I head straight in and dump Crew Cut on the floor. Candy wanders out of the kitchen. When she sees the lump on the floor, she mouths a silent What the fuck?

I put a finger to my lips to let her know to stay quiet. Lean in and say, “He was with Tykho at the Murphy Ranch ritual. You go Jade and I’ll ask questions.”

She grins and does it, her eyes going black, her teeth going to points.

I rip Himmler’s gag off, taking some skin off with it. He blurts “Shit!” and tries to get up. I grab him and plant his ass in a chair.

“You’re dead,” he says. “Do you fucking know who I am? My ­people, they’re going to find you, cut you up, and feed your soul to those crazy French cannibals.”

“You’re really that important?” I say.

He smiles big and wide. One of his canine teeth is gold.

“I’m core, man. Inner circle. You made a big mistake.”

“You’re one of the White Light’s magic men? Use your Vril power and Pelley superbrain tricks to deal with the dead?”

He nods.

“That’s right, fuck heel. I know the teachings. I’ve seen the sights. I’m fucking Gandalf, motherfucker. What are you? Some little bitch thinks he’s going to get a ransom?”

“Well, Gandalf, just how good is your kung fu if you can get snatched by a little bitch?”

“Fuck you. I’m going to kill you myself.”

“We’ll get back to that later. Right now tell me more about your magical, mystical tricks. You a necromancer? You Sub Rosa?”

“Hell no, I’m not one of those Sub Rosa faggots. And I’m not any goddamn Dead Head. I’m a lightning rod. A strange attractor. The mystic loves my shiny ass.”

“I get it. You’re a channel. Like a human wand. A necromancer or whoever can use you to concentrate their hoodoo in one spot.”

He leans back a little.

“How come you know so much about it?” he says.

“I’m one of those Sub Rosa faggots.”

“Bullshit. Sub Rosa would have hexed my ass on the spot, not thrown me in the trunk like his bitch laundry.”

Candy goes back to human.

“Stop saying that,” she says.

“Who the fuck is that?” says Crew Cut, craning his head around trying to zero in on her voice.

“Never mind,” Candy yells. “Stop saying it.”

“Saying what?”

I say, “I think she wants you to stop saying ‘bitch’ all the time.”