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“I never had a reason. If I knew Karael was telling the truth and angels were fighting each other, it would make it easier to believe him about other things.”

“What do you care what some angel says? They’re all assholes.”

“I met a couple of okay ones over the years. Not many. One or two. Karael gave me something. And he said no souls would get into Heaven as long as the war lasted.”

“What did he give you?”

“No clue. I’m taking it to Vidocq tomorrow. Do you know much about Wormwood?”

“Only what you told me.”

“How about Norris Quay? Do you ever see him Downtown?”

“Now, him I’ve seen,” Kasabian says. “He’s a real player in Pandemonium. Got himself protection. A nice setup in an office building. Norris is doing fine, making bank on everything that goes down.”

“Any new souls hanging around with him?”

“They come and go. You know more Wormwood faces than I do. I just see creeps in tailored suits and limos with Hellion escorts.”

I pick a DVD of David Cronenberg’s Frankenstein and Kasabian plucks it from my hand, slipping it into its case.

“I need to get down there and see the place for myself.”

&n

bsp; “I need a week in Fiji with Brigitte Bardot, but that’s not going to happen either.”

“You’re right about that.”

“I’m always right, but you won’t admit it.”

“There’s no Nobel Prizes around here. Just tamales.”

“It’s time for you to call the missus. Tell her I’m going to die sorting discs.”

“Good. More tamales for us.”

“And once again, you’re not allowed down here. Go upstairs and stay out of my way.”

“Yes, boss.”

I go upstairs and pour myself some Aqua Regia.

If Abbot is right and Wormwood is playing games up here and Quay is doing business down there, it makes sense that they’re connected. I wonder if he’s the source of black milk? But how would he make money off it? And who else could be working with him? Maybe David Moore. He’s dead and had connections through a talent agency run by the Burgess family—Wormwood heavyweights. But that wouldn’t help Kasabian. He wouldn’t recognize Moore. Fuck me. I should have brought more peepers with me when I came back from Hell that last time. Just another in a long series of mistakes. Maybe there’s some other way I can see Downtown like Kasabian. Who could help with that? Maybe go back and ask the powers that be in Piss Alley? Maybe not. When they gave me the power to sidestep for a week, it aged me enough that I’ve got a few gray hairs. Who knows what price they’d want next time?

I go into the bathroom, strip off my clothes, and get into the shower. I need to wash the fight and as many lies off me as I can.

When I get out, I can hear Candy and Kasabian talking downstairs. She comes up and the first thing she says is, “Kas says you have a black eye. Are you all right?”

If Kasabian wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him tonight.

“I’m fine. I just bumped my head getting off Abbot’s damned boat.”

“Poor baby,” she says, and drops her vinyl eyeball bag on the kitchen counter.

She comes over and kisses my bruised eye.

“Maybe I can take your mind off all the pain.”