“I promise.”
I go out onto the balcony, closing the door behind me.
IN THE PARKING lot, foreign exchange students are playing basketball and eating burritos from a taqueria truck parked on the street. A couple have their laptops out and are video-chatting with their families back home.
I head to my room with Kasabian.
Someone taps me on the shoulder.
“Hey.”
Candy comes around in front of me.
She says, “When you’re born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it’s not.”
“What is that?”
“It’s something Doc told me. I didn’t get it at first, but later on it made sense. I thought maybe it could help you.”
“Thanks.”
I nod at the door.
“You coming in?”
She smiles a little and nods.
We go in.
Vidocq, Allegra, and Father Traven are inside talking. Vidocq and Allegra are sitting on the bed and Traven is on a chair across from them. Kasabian is by his computer listening to them and smoking. Candy goes over and sits by Allegra.
There’s a small single bed in the corner. It never gets used, so junk just gets piled there. Magazines. DVDs. Dirty clothes. A few bottles of Jack Daniel’s. I sweep it onto the floor and think about sitting down, but it doesn’t quite happen.
“Is this my going-away party or a wake? ’Cause if it’s supposed to be a party, you’re doing it wrong.”
“We knew that you being you, you would just creep off into the night like a thief,” says Vidocq. “So we decided to force our company upon you for a little while before you left.”
I look at Vidocq.
“Yeah. You’re right. I would have—so you don’t have to watch me twitch until sundown.”
“What happens at sundown?” asks Allegra.
“I make like Robert Johnson and go down to the crossroads.”
Candy says, “Is that what Mustang Sally said?”
“Yes. I can find a back door to Hell there.”
“Who’s Mustang Sally?” Allegra asks.
“The patron saint of road rage.”
Vidocq puts a hand on her arm.
“A significant local spirit. I’ll tell you about her later.”
I’m standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. They’re all gawking at me like I’m made of peanut brittle and might fall apart any second. I want to toss everyone out. I need to get my brain wired tight for Hell. And the Black Dahlia. I’m trying not to think about that. I’ve been nearly killed a hundred ways, but never in a car, and I never had to actually die to pull off any hoodoo before. What if it all goes wrong? What if I end up just another tangle of ground meat and chrome on the side of the freeway? I’d get a great obituary. “A suspect in the murder of his longtime girlfriend Alice, a man who was declared legally dead seven yeredead seears ago, finally turns up really and truly dead in a stolen car wrapped around a freeway support while rushing to have tea with the devil.”
Mason would love to have me stuck in Hell. Just another damned dead asshole. So would all the generals and aristocrats I didn’t get a chance to kill and the friends and families of all the Hellions I did kill. If I end up dead down there, it’ll be one long endless Dante gang bang. Get out the chain saws and pass the mint juleps. It’s party time down south.
“Why don’t you sit down for a while?” says Candy.
Allegra chimes in, “Even Sandman Slim can’t make the sun go down faster.”
“I was going to stamp my feet and hold my breath, but you’re probably right.”
I sit down on the small bed.
“What happens now? Did anyone bring cake? Or is it a sleepover and we’re going to do each other’s nails?”
“Don’t be like that,” says Candy. “Your friends are just worried, is all.”
“I appreciate that, but if you want to help, we should switch beds. I need to get some stuff from under that one.”
Candy, Allegra, and Vidocq come over to the small one and I go around them to the big bed. It’s a clumsy little square dance, but we make it. Candy squeezes my arm as she goes by and whispers, “Don’t be a little bitch,” in my ear.
