“I promise not to touch his toys. Will you call him for me, Amanda?”

“Yes, Lucifer.”

She smiles. Finally something she can do without a roomful of minions.

“Swell. Okay. I think we’re done here for now.”

“Lucifer, what about Luke?” says Amanda.

“What about him? He’ll be fine.”

“What about his soul? After all he’s done in your name, it’s unfair that he should be tortured in Hell and not standing at your side.”

“What part of my CV gave you the idea that I’m fair?”

“Please,” pleads Amanda. She puts her hands over her mouth for daring to ask Lucifer a favor.

I nod at the attaché case Muttonchops brought in.

“Are those the guns?”

“Yes,” he says.

“You brought ammo too?”

“Of course.”

I go to the table and pour two glasses of Aqua Regia. Set one down on the table and give a small one to Luke. He sips and spits it out like I gave him a mouthful of hot coals. He’s not happy but he can stand and his pupils have expanded to something like normal size.

“Tell you what,” I say. “You leave the guns, see what you can find out about the Qomrama Om Ya, and fuck off out of here. I’ll see what I can do to keep Richie Rich here out of the meat grinder Downtown.”

“Thank you,” says Amanda, grabbing my hand. I pull it away when she pulls it to her mouth like she’s going to kiss it. She helps Luke to the back of the clock.

Muttonchops makes several small bows on his way out.

“Praise you, Lucifer.”

I shut the door behind them and take the attaché case to where Traven is sitting. Pop the locks.

“Are those what you were hoping for?” Traven asks.

“Oh yeah.”

What’s in the case is a bit like the buffet. A smorgasbord of firepower. It’s good stuff too. Not as flashy as I was afraid it might be. There’s a silver Sig Sauer .45 and a little .38 Special derringer. A nice pistol to have in your pocket for when you’re feeling not so fresh. There’s also a Desert Eagle .50, a gun I hate even more than the Glock. It’s a pistol you see in movies because it’s as big as a turkey leg and shiny as a silver dollar polishing a mirror. When we see it we’re supposed to admire the guy who has it because he can handle something so manly and powerful. What we should be thinking is that unless he’s whale-hunting, the only reason anyone has a gun that size is because he can’t aim worth a damn, so he has to blow garbage-can-size holes everywhere hoping he hits something important. I set the Desert Eagle aside.

There’s a completely impractical but heartwarming .40 mare’s-leg pistol. It’s like a short rifle with a lever action to chamber each shot. I don’t know if I’ll carry it but I’ll definitely keep it around. The last gun is a Swiss 9mm folding pistol. It’s the flashiest piece in the case but still semipractical. When it’s closed, the folder looks like a black lunch box, but hit a switch and it springs open into a 9mm pistol with a rifle stock. Candy would die and go to Heaven and Houston and back if I gave it to her. I might do it but I’m not sure I’m going to give her any bullets. She might like the bang-bang sound too much to be trusted. I’ll take her shooting and see how it goes.

I get the Glock out of the duffel and put it on the table with the pistols.

“Want a gun, Father? These are troubled times.”

“We’re always living in troubled times. It’s why we have religion.”

“Is that why? I thought it was so I could get rid of all the change people gave me that week.”

“You have a very practical view of the divine.”

“I’ve seen how the sausage is made.”

Traven picks up the Sig, weighs it in his hand, and sets it down gently.

“Is that boy really going to be tortured in Hell?”

I shrug.

“I was just giving them something to think about. I can send anyone anywhere I want. And don’t get too weepy about the kid. Everyone has a lousy time Downtown. Even Lucifer. I’ll tell you about my recurring lost-toner-cartridge nightmare sometime.”

Traven sips his mineral water. I probably shouldn’t have said that last part. I spooked the poor guy again.

“I guess I finally saw the famous Via Dolorosa.”

“Yes. After you returned to Hell, I decided I couldn’t just read about all this arcane knowledge and do nothing with it. I had to act. I had to learn to make use of it. How do you think I did?”

“You freaked out the Devil groupies pretty well, so good choice of ways to be scary. Just don’t try it on crackheads knocking over a gas station. It’s a little slow for that.”

Traven smiles his tired smile.

“I’ll remember that.”

“Where does a nice academic like you pick up tips about something like the Dolorosa?”

He hesitates. He runs a hand through his hair.

“I found it in a sixteenth-century book of Baleful magic.”

I nod.

“You know that’s illegal, right? You’re an outlaw. Jesse James with a dog collar.”

“Thank you,” he says. “What are you going to do now?”

I wish I had a Veritas. It would help me answer the question. Muttonchops left his tarnished silver coin on a coffee table. I pick it up with my Kissi hand.

“You’re going to help me decide. Kill King Cairo or talk to Teddy Osterberg about the girl and Saint James?”

I flip the coin high in the air.

“Call it, Father.”

“Heads,” he says.

“Always an optimist.”

The coin hits the floor and I put my boot down on it.

It’s heads.

“You win. Which is it?”

“Go talk to Teddy Osterberg.”

I go back to the buffet.

“You didn’t care what the second choice was, did you? You just don’t want to make it easy for me to kill Cairo?”

He shrugs.

“Damned as I am, murder is still a hard thing for me to condone.”

“Like I said, you can’t help being a good guy.”

“Not yet.”

I wonder if Samael left any Maledictions downstairs.

“You don’t happen to have a cigarette on you, do you?”

Traven shakes his head.

“I don’t smoke.”

“I was hoping you’d started.”

I go back to the food and pick up the Aqua Regia. Set it down and pour myself some black coffee.

“Seeing your world. It’s frightening but exciting,” Traven says.

“Thanks, but the truth is I’d rather you cracked the books. I need information from someone I can trust. Is there a way into Blue Heaven? And what’s the Qomrama Om Ya? I know it’s a weapon and Aelita wants it. But that’s all. Maybe you can find out why.”

“If you think that’s how I can be of the most help.”

I go to the window and look out in the direction of the Hollywood sign. It’s going to take some time to get used to being home.

“Hey, Father. Is it me or did the sky turn green?”

Traven comes to the window.

“When did that happen?”

“I don’t know. What kind of fucked-up poison is this city spewing to turn the whole sky a different color?”

“I heard a strange story on the radio on the way over. They say that Catalina Island has disappeared. There was no earthquake, so it didn’t sink. It’s simply gone. And everyone on it. Almost four thousand souls are missing.”

Killer ghosts and missing islands. That sounds an awful lot like Aelita but where’s the percentage in killing off tourists? It’s not going to get her any closer to offing God. Unless He’s vacationing off the coast of L.A. under an assumed name. Does God have a secret yacht full of bathing beauties?

It’s a fun thought but I don’t think Mr. Muninn is the sunbathing type.

I ride the Hellion hog along the Pacific Coast Highway into the hills above Malibu. I figure that with a Gumby-colored sky and radio tall tales about Catalina as the new Atlantis, no one is going to pay attention to the bike. Manimal Mike has a garage. I’ll ask him if he can set me up with a set of plates. These cardboard-and-Sharpie ones are only convincing if you don’t actually look at them.