“No,” says Tykho. “Paul is our representative. He goes with you or you can go in alone. They don’t call it Kill City for nothing. You add up the acreage aboveground and what’s below, without a guide it will be like wandering the Amazon jungle blind.”

“She’s right,” says Paul. “You’ll never find what you’re looking for. That’s assuming the families and the Lurkers don’t kill you. I know what families are there. I’ve studied the Lurker federacies and how to pay them off for safe passage.”

“It’s the Wild West in there,” says Tykho. “You’ll love it. What do you say?”

Tykho might not breathe or have a beating heart, but her type I can read.

“I get it. The boy is our guide but he’s your man on the inside. You’re afraid I might run off with the 8 Ball and take over all of Never Never Land.”

Tykho leans her elbows on the table.

“Like you people say. Trust but verify.”

I turn to Paul.

“I’ll meet you at Bamboo House of Dolls at eight P.M. tomorrow. Don’t wear those stupid loafers. Go get yourself some heavy boots. Maybe some climbing gloves.”

For the first time he looks a little concerned.

“Thank you.”

I stand and nod to Tykho.

“Thanks. With any luck we’ll send Chuck here back with good news.”

“Paul,” he says. I ignore him.

“How many people know about the Kill City situation?”

Tykho shakes her head.

“Only a few among the Aeternus. Why?”

“If too many people know, it might leak back to Aelita and she’ll move the 8 Ball. Don’t mention this to anyone else.”

“Of course.”

I start to leave, when she says, “When are you reopening Max Overdrive?”

“There’s not much point reopening if the world is going to end. You better hope your boy knows his stuff or the Dark Eternal is going to be another bunch of suckers streaming whatever movies the corporate big boys want you to watch.”

Tykho looks up at Yul breaking windows and generally busting up the tinhorn town that hired him.

She says, “Save the world and we might find another suitcase of money so you can reopen.”

“Do that and it’s free rentals for as long as we’re around.”

“Done. Try not to die.”

I take one last sip of her good whiskey.

“By the way, do you know a guy named Declan Garrett?”

“He comes in sometimes. He’s always trying to sell the Crown Jewels or some such nonsense.”

“If he comes in tonight tell him I’m waiting for him at Bamboo House of Dolls. We have something to settle.”

“Is he selling you the Brooklyn Bridge?”

“Yeah, but I’m paying in pennies. Think he’ll mind?”

Someone starts this way, sees me, and heads in the other direction. I take off after him and, when I’m close enough, grab his shirt collar and pull him back.

“Mike. What are you doing here?”

Manimal Mike looks like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. He has a fluffy tortoiseshell kitten in a pet carrier.

Mike holds up the cat.

“Trying to earn a living. Someone’s kitten’s on the fritz. What, you think I only work for live people? That’s racist, man.”

“Calm down, Mike. I was just surprised to see you.”

“Me too.”

His heart is going a million beats a minute. The smell of fear sweat pours off him.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Mike? Another reason you’re here?”

I let go of his shirt and he shrugs his shoulder back into place.

“Okay. Sure. You still haven’t come across with my soul. These guys. They’re my backup plan. I buy my way in, let one of them bite me, and I don’t die and I don’t go to Hell. And if I’m dead like them, I can still work.”

It actually makes sense, which is more than I expect from Mike.

“I understand. It’s smart to have a Plan B. Just don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. Don’t let any of these guys put the fangs to you.”

Mike takes the kitten and walks away.

“Give me a reason.”

SOMETIMES YOU GET lucky. Or maybe the angel in my head is a little psychic. Though not nearly psychic enough. If it was, I’d see the shitstorms coming down the road and have a chance to jump in a ditch or hide in a little country church. Let the hellfire-and-brimstone preacher cleanse me of my sins. With a little luck maybe it would be near a roadhouse with local swill on tap and watered-down whiskey behind the bar. The kind of place that would at least let me smoke a goddamn cigarette while I have my drink. But with my normal run of luck, I’ll shelter from the storm in a dry county where the only good times are judging the pigs at a 4-H show or chicken-fried steak at a Cracker Barrel. Like I said, my angel might be a little psychic but he’s not psychic enough to do me a damned bit of good. Probably there’s nothing psychic about him at all. Probably it’s as simple as he talked to Tykho, but an hour after I get to Bamboo House of Dolls, Declan Garrett walks in. Candy sees him first. She elbows me.

“Salesman of the year twelve o’clock high.”

He comes right over and starts in. Not even a “Hi. Sorry about interrupting your donut with gunfire.” I wonder if he knows his gunman was a windup toy.

“I heard you wanted to see me.”

“I’m fine, Declan. How are you?”

He’s agitated. This isn’t his turf. It’s mine and he doesn’t like it. Carlos is looking at him. I raise a hand to let him know that everything is all right and he goes back to serving other customers.

“Listen, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot the other day. You’re right: I do have the 8 Ball, and you can have it for the million you promised plus one more thing.”

“What?”

“Who’s the buyer?”

His lip curls at one corner of his mouth.

“What do you care?”

“Indulge me.”

“No,” he says. “You indulge me.”

He sidesteps behind Candy while pulling something from under his jacket. I don’t have to see the pistol to know it’s there.

“Be cool, Declan. Let’s all just be cool.”

“I am cool, motherfucker. I’m a snowman eating an Eskimo Pie. You think you can call me here and cheat me out of my sale?”

“That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it? . . . Oh, wait. I don’t care. I want the fucking Qomrama or I’m going to shoot the pretty lady. Yeah, you’ll get me, but your Charles Bronson act won’t keep lead out of her spine.”

Candy opens her eyes wide at me. It’s not fear. She’s asking me to let her go Jade on this creep and eat his face. I shake my head ever so slightly. She’s mad but she listens.

“Okay, man. You’ve got me over a barrel. I’ll take you to the 8 Ball.”

“Right now, cocksucker. I mean right now.”

“Sure. It’s close by.”

“Then let’s go.”

We go out to a BMW coupe parked down the block. He and Candy get in the back. He makes me drive. I take us straight down Sunset to the Chateau, obeying the speed limit and stopping for every red light. I don’t know who Candy hates more right now, him or me. Given the chance, she’d probably eat us both just on principle. Him for pulling the gun, and me for not taking it from him. I’m going to have a lot of making up to do, assuming we don’t end up all bullet-riddled.

Declan doesn’t like it when I give his keys to the valet at the Chateau, but what’s he going to do about it? We go through the lobby not looking the slightest bit suspicious. Me a few feet in front while a nervous guy is pressed so close to Mr. Macheath’s squeeze that he might be giving her a high colonic.

We take the elevator to the penthouse. Declan gets extra twitchy when we arrive upstairs and he doesn’t see a room right away.

“Ready to go down the rabbit hole?” I ask.

“Don’t try anything cute.”

I open the grandfather clock and step halfway through.

“The 8 Ball is in here, safe and sound.”

He leans over and squints, trying to see past me.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“No tricks. I’m not going to leave something as important as the 8 Ball in the hotel safe, am I? No. I’ll keep it where no one even knows about it.”