It takes twenty minutes to get down the hill. The sky is blue again when I climb on the bike but the clouds have turned a dull gray. I swear I can see rivets along their sides like they’re floating islands of steel.

I’m about to kick-start the bike when my phone rings. Candy is as bad at patience as I am. But it’s not her.

“Are you settling into your new home all right? Good water pressure? Is it clean under the bed? I hear the Chateau is close to all the hot spots.”

It’s a different voice this time. A woman’s voice but I know who it really is. This isn’t going to stop.

“You again. I know you’re speaking through a mortal. Why don’t you come over to the Chateau and we’ll talk things over like a couple of friendly, reasonable monsters?”

“What would Alice say about you settling into Satan’s residence so quickly and easily? Good thing she went back to Heaven when she did. Who knows what would have happened to her if she’d stayed with you.”

“Don’t talk about Alice, you Hellion puke. I know what you’re trying to do. You want me back down there.”

“Can you see her now? Her pretty face on the wall with all the other dead you have to account for.”

“You think you want me back but trust me, you don’t.”

“Speaking of the dead, we’re knee-deep in them down here. No one thinks you’re coming back. Least of all me. Every burble and bubble in every sinkhole sounds like doom to the rabble.”

“If I came back, I figure the best way to find you is to kill every Hellion down there. I don’t know how long that would take but we’ve got all eternity to try. I hope you have a good call plan.”

“If you think things were falling apart before, wait until you see what happens this time. Those poor lost souls without you to protect them.”

“Just because I’m not coming back doesn’t mean I don’t have plans. They’ll be fine long after you’re drytt food.”

“It’s such a comfort hearing your voice.”

“Yeah. You’re my evil past. All the birds come home and shit on your head. A dead girl told me all about it. As far as I’m concerned, Hell can burn to the ground this time. Tell everyone down there I said it.”

“No matter how far or fast you run, it won’t be enough. I’ll always be with you.”

I hang up. Immediately, the phone rings but I ignore it. It keeps ringing all the way through Malibu.

I look for Catalina on the ride back but I can’t find it. Sometimes the weather hides it. That’s probably what it is.

Candy is in the top-floor hall at the Chateau Marmont when I open the grandfather clock.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Are you going to stay out there or come in and see for yourself?”

She comes through and stands just inside the entrance trying to absorb it all. I’ve been here and I’ve lived in Lucifer’s palace Downtown but I’m not sure she’s ever been in such a conspicuous consumption situation before.

She puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me back and forth.

“Nice shirt. You going for your real-estate license?”

“Baby, the only real estate that counts is the pretty grave the other guy goes in.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

She walks around the main room, running her fingers over the expensive furniture and paintings.

I say, “Rinko’s doing better?”

“She’s apprenticing with Allegra. Why don’t you let me worry about Rinko.”

“Okay.”

She circles the room to the area I’ve settled into near the chocolate-brown leather sofa, low coffee table, and a couple of overstuffed chairs near the TV.

“This is all yours?”

“I guess so. They keep it for Mr. Macheath. As far as I know, Lucifer is the only Macheath around.”

“So you can do anything you want.”

“Yeah. But I can’t decide between a gun range or a macramé studio.”

Candy jumps onto the sofa and bounces up and down like a kid on a bed, her short hair flapping around her face, her Chuck Taylors leaving soft footprints in the sofa cushions.

“You having fun up there?”

“This is really well built. They usually collapse by now.”

As she jumps she takes off her jacket and throws it at me. Then her shirt. Then her sneakers and her pants.

Still jumping, she says, “Come on. Let’s break it.”

I catch her on a jump and drop her flat on her back. Climb on the sofa and kneel over her. She unbuckles my pants while I take off my shirt.

This time it’s more like when we first stayed at the Beat Hotel together. We smash the coffee table when I flip her over on top of it. We knock over potted bamboos and splinter chairs. But we never make a dent in the sofa.

Later, my phone rings.

“Answer that and you’re a dead man,” Candy says.

“Since when do you ever not answer your phone?”

“That’s not what I mean. I just don’t want a bunch of monsters or demons coming over so I have to get dressed.”

“There are robes in the bedroom.”

“Really? I love robes.”

She disappears down the hall. The phone stops ringing.

She comes out in a maroon terrycloth bathrobe as thick as the Lawrence, Kansas, white pages.

“Is ‘robegasm’ a word?” she asks. “Because if it is, I just had one.”

My phone pings. There’s a text from Kasabian. Someone broke into Max Overdrive.

I pick up the hotel phone and call the front desk.

“I need a car right now.”

“Of course, Mr. Macheath.”

I put down the phone and start pulling on my clothes.

“If you want to come along, you need to get dressed.”

“I am dressed.”

“No, you’re not,” I say, and hand her the folder pistol.

“What’s this?”

“Push the button on top of the grip.”

The folder snaps open from the bottom, like bomb-bay doors opening on the jet. Candy puts the rifle stock to her shoulder, sights around the room, and pulls the pistol’s trigger making Pow! noises.

“That’s exactly why I didn’t load it.”

“No fair.”

“Them’s the rules.”

“Killjoy.”

“You can always give it back if you don’t like it.”

“Are you kidding? This is my new bedtime teddy bear. You and Rinko can move over. I’m snuggling with this cuddly puppy every night.”

I don’t bother pointing out that she hasn’t spent more than a few hours at a time with me, much less an entire night.

We ride in the hotel limo to Max Overdrive. The driver doesn’t talk to us. Doesn’t even look at the rearview mirror. He must have heard about Lucifer’s last driver. The one who ended up with his lips sewn together.

The side door at Max Overdrive looks like an angry drunk beat it to death with a sledgehammer. The store area on the first floor is as trashed as an empty room can be. Every rack and piece of shelving has been tossed around and smashed. That answers one question. It would have taken at least a half hour for one person to do this much damage. So, there was more than one. How many are left? I take out the Sig and start upstairs.

The door is half open. I push it the rest of the way with the toe of my boot.

Kasabian sits on the floor sipping a beer, his back to the minifridge. The bedroom is trashed but in better shape than the store. Nothing looks particularly broken. Just turned over and dumped on the floor. When Kasabian moves, one of his leg’s gears scrape and crunch together. His left leg is bent to the side just below the knee. Hellhounds aren’t dainty devices. It took a lot of strength to do that kind of damage.

“Goddamn,” I say.

“Careful in case one of them is still around. They were very picky about blasphemy,” says Kasabian.

“Hey, Kas,” says Candy. “Does your leg hurt?”

“Only when I breathe or think.”

Candy and I sit on the bed. Kasabian holds out a beer. We shake our heads.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with you and your beef with King Cairo, would it?”

“I don’t know. Did they say what they wanted?” I ask.

“There wasn’t a lot of chitchat. Mostly it was crashing and throwing and then a couple of them that bounced up and down on my leg asking where it was.”