“Dammit, boy. This isn’t the time to be bullheaded. I’m telling you to get Eugène and Allegra and get out of L.A. Bring the other girl along if you need to.”
“I’ll tell them what you said, but I’m going to stick around.”
“You saved the city once already. You don’t have to make a habit of it at the expense of dying.”
“Trust me, I know. But I’m staying anyway. See, I was bumming a smoke off a zed tonight and got bitten.”
There’s a long silence this time.
“That when the girl got hurt?”
“Yeah. Her name is Brigitte. She got bitten, too. Vidocq’s planted her in the Winter Garden. I got the feeling it wasn’t safe to be dragging her around in that condition.”
“Okay, but getting bit doesn’t necessarily mean anything for someone like you,” he says. He says it quietly. I can barely hear him over the noise on the line.
“I was just explaining that to someone. But the truth is I don’t want to risk it. And even if nephilim don’t start seeing everyone as finger food, I’m feeling sick and not very good company right now. It’ll be better for everyone if I stay.”
“Maybe Candy and me ought to come back.”
“Yeah, the two of you getting shot will fix everything.”
“I’m not going to just leave you there.”
“Stay the hell out of L.A., doc. This isn’t your town anymore. It’s mine and I’ll burn it to the ground if I have to. You take care of yourself and Candy. Thanks for calling and thanks for the offer. Tell Candy hi for me.”
I hang up before he can say something else stupid about coming back. I’m not afraid. I should be, but my head is a little funny, so I’m not.
My head is clear, not clear like before the drinking got out of hand. Clear for the first time in my life. I feel like a blind man who traded up for new and better eyes. The world has never looked like this before. Like deep, bottom-of-the-ocean fish. They’re so far down there isn’t any light and their skin is transparent. You can see the fish and through the fish at the same time. That’s the way the world looks to me. I can see it, but see inside and through it, too. This is how the world looks to angels. Real, but only as real as the souls of the almost-dead waiting to be the completely dead. We’re a world of ghosts to them. That’s how angels can turn cities to salt and rivers to blood. To them, we’re already 90% corpse and the part that’s alive is made of glass. And glass is meant to break.
When Stark is gone the angel is all that will be left.
Check me out now, boys and girls. I am become Death. The destroyer of worlds.
I dial the bail bondsman again.
The line clicks.
“Yeah?”
It sounds like a woman’s voice.
“Is this McQueen and Sons?”
“Is this the guy who calls over and over in the middle of the night and never does anything but breathe into my voice mail?”
“That was probably me.”
“I don’t recognize your number and caller ID says you’re not dialing from lockup. What do you want?”
“I want to meet Johnny Thunders. Don’t say no. I didn’t remember your name at first, but I do now because it was on a matchbook I had in my pocket when I crawled out of Hell. We’re connected somehow. You’re going to get me an audience with Pope Johnny because if you don’t this whole city is going to die and I guarantee that you’re going to be among the first.”
Someone else says something. McQueen and Sons puts her hand over the mouthpiece. More muffled talk. Then she’s back again.
“Come to the office at nine-thirty. You know what to bring?”
“I know what to bring.”
“Good. Don’t cheap out on the jelly beans.”