"Ah." He pulls down a box marked u.s. treasury and hands me a neatly banded stack of brand new bills. I riffle the stack, enjoying the feel of money in my hands. The bills are all hundreds. Next to the counter girl at Donut Universe, it's the most beautiful thing I've seen since coming back to Earth.
Over Muninn's shoulder there's a glass decanter with a small blue flame, not much more than a match head, hovering at the center.
"Is that what it looks like?" I ask.
"What does it look like?"
"It looks like the Mithras. The first fire."
"Right you are. The first fire in the universe. And the last. There are many in this world, and others, who believe that at the end of time the Mithras will escape and grow until it has burned down all of Creation. The ashes of our existence will fertilize the soil for the universe to follow."
"How much is something like that worth?"
"It's not for sale. And if it were, not in this lifetime or with the accumulated wealth of your next thousand lifetimes could you afford it. Don't be too ambitious too quickly, my friend. If we're able to do business more regularly-and I think that we can-then your payment will increase and become considerably more interesting."
I put the bills Muninn gave me into the inside pocket of the tuxedo jacket.
"Who were we working for tonight?" I ask.
"That's confidential."
"Not even a hint?"
"Answers are easy, but hints cost money. Save yours for now. You're going to need a new suit," he says, fingering a hole in my sleeve where some of the golden sparks have burned through.
We say good night and start back up the steps to Muninn's store.
"Would you mind picking up those coins you dropped?"
I wave to him and pick up each one as we pass. When we reach the shop, I drop them in the bowl I'd stolen them from.
In the elevator, Vidocq asks, "Why do you care who Muninn's client is?"
"That's was a big coincidence walking into Jayne-Anne's place tonight. It's the second time since I've been back that I happened to stumble into a member of the circle. I want to know if I'm being set up."
"Muninn will never tell you. It's a matter of honor for men like him. We must be more careful."
The elevator reaches the ground floor and Vidocq slides the brass gate open.
"This is going to get worse, you know. That run-in with those goons tonight? That's nothing."
"Inter urinas et faeces nascimur. We are born between piss and shit," he says. "Many wanted to kill me back in my day in France. The criminals I sent to prison. The local police who never believed I was anything other than the rogue and thief I was in my youth. Even the Surete, the special police force I built for Paris, one based on true scientific principles-even they were corrupted by those in power and turned against me. Most of what I've built or had has been taken away from me by liars and curs, so if you're going to tell me to go away or that I don't have to stay for what's coming, kiss my arse. The things that Mason and his friends do-they are the things of men. Mason has power, maybe more power than any magician in history, but he is still a man. I am not afraid of any man."
"Let's go get drunk."
"And piss on our enemies from a great height."
I'M SITTING AT the bar in the Bamboo House of Dolls, playing with the Barbie-size keyboard on my new phone. Phones are like toys now. They fit in your pocket, light up and vibrate like joy buzzers. Plus, you can get-I mean, "access"-the Internet and find anything you want. Music. Maps. Porn. Anything. If cell phones came with a cigarette dispenser, they'd be the greatest stupid invention ever.
"Googling yourself?" asks Carlos.
"What's that?"
"Searching for yourself on Google. Find out how famous you are. How many places you're mentioned. They call it 'ego surfing.' Just put in your name."
The first thing that comes up is an old L.A. Times Article on Alice's murder. It's just a filler piece with no details because who cares about one more dead punk? It's kind of insulting, but I'm grateful not to know too much about exactly what happened to her. I'm still not ready for that.
Carlos is right. I'm on Google, too. Apparently, LAPD is looking for me as a "person of interest" in Alice's murder. So much for ego surfing.