I remember a man I once met. They said he was the richest man in California.
“I bet Norris Quay was part.”
Burgess picks up his whiskey and sniffs it.
“He still is. Our man in Hell, scouting for new investment opportunities.”
I copy Burgess and finish the rest of my drink.
“So, all the White Lights killing people, Vincent and McCarthy, Tykho’s crazy Nazi past, the battle for death, all those poor semidead slobs caught in limbo, all the ghosts destroyed in the club—all that meant nothing?”
Sandoval picks pieces off my chicken with her fingernails. Swallows them.
“Not nothing,” she says. “They were each a factor in an investment decision. Think of it this way. There is war in the Middle East and there are pirates in Somali that seize oil tankers. They both affect the price of oil, but that’s all. There’s always been war and there will always be pirates. No one particular thing is special. But if you understand the markets, there’s always profit and power to be had no matter who wins.”
“The simple point is, Stark, there’s nothing you can do or not do that won’t benefit us,” says Burgess. “Live. Die. Fight for truth, justice, and the American way, put down a zombie hullabaloo, or drown in a bottle. Your actions since your return have made you an investment factor. Even showing up here today made me a few shekels. Kominsky over there thought we’d have to send a riot squad after you.”
Burgess shouts to someone down the table.
“Here he is, Pieter. Don’t forget to pay up.”
Pieter, a fat young man in a Caesar haircut, looks up.
“Don’t bother me. I’m eating.”
The crowd laughs quietly. I don’t.
I say, “But Vincent killed McCarthy. You’re not going to live forever.”
“Please,” says Sandoval. “We’re not naive. We hedged the hell out of that fight and came out fine.”
“Because we always do,” say Burgess. “And there are other roads to immortality that we’re exploring.”
“Why are you telling me all these things? Did you bring me out here to kill me?”
“Of course not. You’re much too valuable. We just thought it was time for you to know who you’ve really been working for all this time.”
“You’re not part of the Golden Vigil, are you?”
“Who knows?” he says.
“No. You’d tell me if you were. You’re fucking with me to see what will happen.”
“We just want you motivated and interesting.”
“Did you have anything to do with Mason killing Alice or sending me to Hell?”
“I wish we’d seen that one coming.”
“When you lived . . . well, it’s our job to spot a good investment,” says Sandoval. “We’ve had our eyes on you for almost twelve years now. Your exploits in the arena did well for us.”
Burgess says, “Of course, we had to adjust our strategy when you kept winning.”
“I hope you don’t mind that we rigged a few of your fights. I mean, you had to lose sometimes to keep people betting. But don’t be too mad. We were the ones who suggested to Azazel that he give you the key to the Room of Thirteen Doors. You weren’t his first choice.”
“So really, you owe us,” Burgess says.
“You sicced the county on us, didn’t you? The fucking eminent domain.”