“You can’t just walk in here without an appointment. Cabal won’t like it,” says Cosima. “We met at the Geistwalds’ party.” “I know who you are and he still wouldn’t like it.” “I don’t like having to walk in here and I’ll like having to walk out even less, so you can let him know I’m here or I will.” Cosima looks Brigitte up and down and goes back through the curtain. Brigitte and I follow. The next room is similar to the one we just left, but the furniture is a lot more comfortable. Plush sofas, love seats, and pillows on the floor. At least a dozen people are passed out asleep around the room, some dressed and some not. They were really living it up. Wonder what they were celebrating? Cabal comes out of a door that looks like it was looted from Lucifer’s broom closet. He’s wearing a stained floor-length black robe, a little like a cassock. He looks skinny out of his rags and is cleaner than he was at the Geistwalds’, but he still smells like he uses sewage for aftershave. He’s holding a half-empty wine bottle in one hand. Cabal smiles, showing big yellow teeth, and holds out his hand. He knows I don’t want to shake it. I’ve met guys like this before. Everything is a test with them. Will I shake his hand? Do I get mad when he makes a dumb joke at my expense or weepy when he insults me? Alpha-male bullshit. But I can’t get too mad. I’ve done it plenty myself. I take his hand and shake like we just bought Manhattan for some M&M’s and a carton of Luckies. Cabal waves us back into the other room and away from his snoring guests. He stumbles and sways trying to step over them and almost dumps his wine on a naked kid sleeping in golf shoes. Cabal waves us over to the big table and drops down into the head seat. Brigitte and I sit next to each other. He offers us the bottle. Brigitte puts up a hand and I shake my head. “To what do I owe the honor of such an unexpected, but charming visit?” “I wanted to ask you something.” “Goodie. I love twenty questions.” “You can drop the drunk act. If you were drunk, I could smell it in your sweat. All you did was take a hit off the bottle and swish it around your mouth so your breath would smell of wine.” He gives me a wink. “Clever boy. Cuts right to it, doesn’t be? We can’t put anything past this one, can we, young lady? I didn’t catch your name.” “Brigitte Bardo.” “Of course. Ritchie’s darling. Forgive me, my dear. I only know you from your work and I didn’t recognize you without a cock or two in your mouth. It’s lovely to finally meet you in the flesh.” “And you.” “If you don’t mind me inquiring, do you have just the tiniest bit of Gypsy blood in you?” “I don’t mind you asking. And yes, I do.” “I thought so. You people play some glorious music. Of course, you weren’t so appreciated where I’m from. Most likely it was all the stealing.” “If there’s anything missing after our visit, send a bill to Simon’s and I’ll have it taken care of.” He laughs and takes a swig from the bottle. “Love your Nazi curtain,” I say. Cabal turns in his chair and looks at the Black Sun like he’s never seen it before. “Oh, that. One has to keep up appearances. Clients expect a bit of the scary-scary when they call on me.”
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