“It wouldn’t be too bad an idea, a PI firm with a clinic right downstairs to take care of paper cuts and stubbed toes. Maybe Candy can ask her for you.”
“Why Candy?”
“Because she’ll listen to me,” says Candy. “If Stark recommends you, she’ll think you’re running bootleg organs or a cut-rate asylum.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll ask her when we report in.”
Down in the ring, a ghost cleanup crew is swabbing the ectoplasm off the floor and putting the weapons back. I recognize a game-show host and a one-hit-wonder singer in the cleanup crew. I guess even show-biz ghosts can end up on the broom if enough people forget about them. They should have read the fine print.
When the ring is clean again, a pretty ring girl in a bikini made of less material than a cocktail napkin comes out. She waves to the crowd, blows kisses. They love her. She must be a regular at the scene, Miss Texas Chain Saw Massacre, beauty queen of the cannibal set. Soon she waves the crowd to quiet down and someone hands her a microphone. When she speaks it’s with a full-on Texas twang.
“I want to thank y’all for coming out tonight. And, as always, we’d like to thank the White Light Legion for their hospitality and lovely facilities.”
That gets a polite round of applause and whistles.
“And, of course, Evermore Creatives for the super-exciting ring action. Remember their motto, ‘Death is no reason to lie down and die.’ ”
That gets big laughs. The beauty queen eats it up.
“Anyone who wants information on wild-blue-yonder contracts, there are some lovely young ladies circulating through the crowd with brochures and preregistration forms.”
She manages to split the word forms into two syllables.
“And now we have an announcement from the Evermore itself, Mr. Lucius Burgess.”
Burgess gets some serious noise. The crowd knows the guy. He must be the Burgess David Moore talked about before he took a runner. The beauty queen hands him the mic.
“Thank you all for coming. Good evening to our first-timers and to our longtime fans. A few of you veterans for our friendly neighborhood fight club have probably noticed a lot of old faces coming through the ring lately. I want to thank you for putting up with that. With no new dead to bring into the stable, I know there have been a lot of reruns lately. But I have good news. Many of you have heard about the boy in Tulsa and the woman in Brazil who finally shuffled off this mortal coil? Well, you’ll be happy to know that six more people have passed over today alone. And we expect that number to increase every day from now on, so very soon we should see a lot of new talent coming through the door. Thanks again for indulging us during these reruns, and here’s to the good times to come.”
Between the screaming and brain-dead yahoos stamping their idiot feet, the walkway sways under us a little.
Vidocq says something to me, but I can’t hear it over the shouting. He points to the other side of the walkway. I look, and who’s there but Brigitte Bardo and an older guy with a suit sharp enough to cut your throat. The older guy chatters away. Brigitte smiles and nods at his patter, but the smiles look forced and tense. She glances away from him for a moment and our eyes lock. Without missing a beat she turns back to the guy in the suit. When he shuts up long enough to catch his breath, Brigitte leans over and says something him, then kisses him on the cheek. He scurries away like a rat to the bar. I push through the crowd, trying to get to her before Hugo Boss comes back with their drinks.
She turns when she sees me.
“What are you doing here?” she says.
“Why the fuck are you here?”
“I hate this place, but I can’t talk now.”
She looks past me in the direction her date went, then across the way to nod to Candy and the others.
“We’re going to Bamboo House of Dolls. Meet us there later,” I say.
“I can’t just leave.”
“Tell Daddy Warbucks you have a toothache, whatever, just get there.”
“I’ll try. Now you have to go.”
I shove my way back into the crowd and go all the way around the walkway to hook back up with the others.
“Everyone seen enough?” I say.
“Much too much,” says Vidocq. Candy and Allegra agree.