“American tombstones point east at the rising sun. Those face west. I think your necro-Teamsters blew the gig.”
He shakes his head.
“You have a good eye for someone so . . . excitable.”
“I’m an asshole. I’m not blind.”
“To answer your question, it’s an English Gnostic plot. They were contrarians to their very core, rejecting the reality of this world. When they died they were buried and marked in the wrong direction to display their disdain for this world for all time.”
“You’d make a billion dollars on
“Would you mind putting your gun away, Mr. Macheath? I think you can see that I’m no threat.”
“Yeah, but I’m a nervous passenger and it’s kind of like my security blanket.”
Teddy brings us back to the front of the house. He parks the cart back in the shade. Gets out and waits for me like an obedient kid.
“I hope there’s no hard feelings, Ted. After the ghost went after Saint James, you understand I had to check you out.”
“Of course. May I go now?”
“Sure. Run along, you scamp.”
He doesn’t move until I put the gun back in my waistband.
“Thank you for stopping by.”
“My pleasure. See you around the afterlife.”
Teddy heads for the house fast. He doesn’t run even though he wants to. Yeah, someone did a real number on him if he thanked me after what I put him through.
I take it all back, everything I’ve ever said about the rich. I love the loud rich. I want the rich to be coked up, ugly, flashy, and decked in blood diamonds. Teddy’s kind of mousy Emily Dickinson rich is so much worse. Trying to hate Teddy is like trying to hate wallpaper paste. When I get home, I’m going to write a love letter to the loathsome rich letting them know how much I appreciate them. Their glorious excess gives me something substantial to despise and I love them for it.
It takes twenty minutes to get down the hill. The sky is blue again when I climb on the bike but the clouds have turned a dull gray. I swear I can see rivets along their sides like they’re floating islands of steel.
I’m about to kick-start the bike when my phone rings. Candy is as bad at patience as I am. But it’s not her.
“Are you settling into your new home all right? Good water pressure? Is it clean under the bed? I hear the Chateau is close to all the hot spots.”
It’s a different voice this time. A woman’s voice but I know who it really is. This isn’t going to stop.
“You again. I know you’re speaking through a mortal. Why don’t you come over to the Chateau and we’ll talk things over like a couple of friendly, reasonable monsters?”
“What would Alice say about you settling into Satan’s residence so quickly and easily? Good thing she went back to Heaven when she did. Who knows what would have happened to her if she’d stayed with you.”
“Don’t talk about Alice, you Hellion puke. I know what you’re trying to do. You want me back down there.”
“Can you see her now? Her pretty face on the wall
