“No, Mike. It’s not that easy. First, the information has to be real and worth my time. I won’t know that until I check it out. Second, you’re not going to get your soul for a lousy address. I got your address for nothing.”
Mike takes a shop rag from his back pocket and nervously wipes his dirty hands.
“What else do you want from me?”
“Watch your tone, pony boy,” says Candy.
Mike looks like he’s about to keel over.
“Blue Heaven,” he says.
“What’s Blue Heaven?”
Mike shrugs and sits down behind the worktable. Picks up the bottle of vodka and takes a pull.
“I don’t know a lot about it.”
He starts to offer me the bottle but takes another look at the generic label stained with greasy fingerprints and changes his mind.
“All I know is it’s a bitch to get into. Like the most exclusive after-party in the universe. You have to know someone.”
“Sounds like a good place to hide from killers,” says Candy.
“Or the girl,” he says. “She’s killed like a dozen Sub Rosa. She tried to cut your angel. That’s when he disappeared. She’s scarier than anything else around here.”
He smiles at me hopefully.
“Except you, of course.”
“Don’t suck up, Mike. Not until you’ve had a shower. You say the ghost tried to kill Saint James?”
“If that’s the angel, then yeah. Went for him on Sunset in front of a whole tour bus full of witnesses. She got a piece of him too. The girl isn’t subtle.”
“Why would she be? She’s dead.”
I turn my back on Mike and whisper in Candy’s ear. Mike looks nervous. He takes big gulps from the bottle.
“I’ve heard of poltergeists that can toss cups and saucers around, but never one that hacks people up like Jason Voorhees. Have you?”
“No. I haven’t.”
“Remember when the girl came into Bamboo House?”
“Yeah.”
“I tried to grab her and missed. She could have cut me but she didn’t. She said something funny.”
“What?”
“ ‘You’re not one of his.’ ”
“Do you know what it means?”
“Not a clue. Maybe Saint James? Maybe Blackburn?”
“Maybe Colonel Sanders.”
“Yeah. There’s an annoying number of possibilities.”