The little man peeks around the side. He’s holding an impressive iron morningstar over his head.
“You planning on tenderizing some steaks? Are we going to have a barbecue?”
He lowers the weapon.
“Stark? What in the name of all the gods living and dead are you doing here? And how did you end up in the Backbone?”
Mr. Muninn is probably the oldest man in L.A. I hope he is. The guy talks about ice ages the way most people talk about lunch. He’s a merchant to the stars and connoisseurs of esoterica. He can find you anything old, discarded, or forgotten and a few things from worlds I don’t even want to know about.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. Why are you dressed like Diver Dan and giving Drifters physicals?”
Muninn likes silk bathrobes and dapper little suits. Right now he’s dressed in a skintight rubber getup, like something a scuba diver would wear. On his round little body it makes him look like a boiled egg with legs.
Muninn shakes his head, tosses the night-vision gear and morningstar aside. He pulls a bottle and glasses from a shelf and pours a couple of glasses of wine. I go over and sit down across from him.
“You scared the devil out of me, young man. In all the centuries I’ve been looking after the dead, I’ve never encountered another living being. When you introduced yourself with a gun, I should have known it was you.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. What were you doing back there?”
Muninn unzips the top of his bodysuit and takes a gulp of wine.
“I was looking for specimens. You know I collect and preserve ephemera from the world outside of here. When I realized that the Backbone might empty completely, I went looking for a few interesting examples of these lost souls to keep for archival purposes.”
“So what are you, like a caretaker for shamblers?”
“Something like that. The resurrected are technically dead, but still ensouled beings. Someone should look in on them every now and then, don’t you think? Now let me ask you a question or two. How did you find your way into the Backbone and why would you go there? Oh, and there’s the small matter of you not being eaten alive.”
I sniff the wine. Stark wants to drink it, but not-Stark doesn’t and is still annoyed about using the gun. The wine stays put.
“Johnny over there is how I got in.”
I nod toward Johnny as he wanders to where we’re sitting. He’s having a good time looking around. He has a plastic Visible Man model kit in one hand and an old leather-bound dictionary in the other.
>“You need to come home. Kasabian and I are drinking all your beer.”
“Just remember to empty his bucket every bottle or two.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“Hobbies are a good way to forget your troubles. I’ve heard needlepoint is relaxing.”
“Doc says you’re sick.”
“No. I’ve been sick. Now I’m getting better. Soon I’ll be perfect.”
“Please come back.”
“I can’t. We’re here.”
I park across from the address Johnny gave me. We’re in front of a ten-story office building shaped like a cake box sitting on top of a shoe box. The only interesting thing about the place is that it doesn’t seem to have any windows.
I say, “Good-bye, Candy,” and hang up. Good-bye to everyone. Been nice knowing you.
Johnny leans over and stares up at the building, as curious as I am.
“Do you have a way in?”
“You got us the car. I thought you could do it.”