the story of my life.”
“Speaking of Vidocq, I didn’t see him when the others left. How is he?”
He looks at me.
“You’ve been spying on us? There’s a word for that: stalker.”
“That’s why I came in tonight. I don’t want to be that person.”
“Thanks for making me your shrink.”
“So, where is Vidocq?”
He shrugs.
“Don’t know. I haven’t seen him for a while. Allegra dumped him after the thing with the French chick.”
“He was kind of an idiot, chasing after a girl he hadn’t seen in two hundred years.”
“I’m not sure you’re in a position to judge, window peeper.”
“How’s Brigitte? Working?”
He reaches back and pulls a Blu-ray box set off the wall.
“She’s doing fine. She’s the star of a big cable series. Plays an international spy and hit woman. But she’s a good guy, you know? Anyway, she spends a lot of time kicking the shit out of everybody in six-inch heels.”
I turn over the box set. Queen Bullet, it says in shiny red letters. The back is mostly stills of her snapping necks and shooting bad guys, dressed in miniskirts and evening gowns. She looks like she’s having a ball. Good for her.
I slide the set back to him.
“And how’s the store? Still in business, I see.”
Kasabian sighs.
“It’s doing good. Alessa had the idea to sponsor movie nights every month and Candy lets bands play here sometimes. We put the floor shelves on wheels so we can push them out of the way.”
“That really is good thinking. Are you still getting those special movies?”
“All the time.”
A witch friend used to use her hoodoo to find us movies in other realities that were never made in this one. Then she’d snag us a copy and we’d rent them for a fortune.
Kasabian hands me another disc.
On the front is a drawing of a burning giraffe holding a butterfly net and wearing a cowboy hat. I hold it under the light to make sure I’m seeing it right.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Giraffes on Horseback Saddles,” he says. “Screenplay by Salvador Dalí and starring the Marx Brothers.”
“This is what’s keeping the lights on?”
He takes the disc back and hands me another.
“Right, I forgot you have no sense of humor. This is more the stuff that’s keeping us going.”
There’s a horned red guy smoking a cigar on the front. The cover says, Hellboy 3, directed by Guillermo del Toro.
I hand it back to him.
“That makes more sense. I’m glad you didn’t all lose your minds while I was gone.”
He turns around and gives me a look.
“Don’t worry about us,” he says. “We’re doing fine and making more money than ever.”
“Don’t stab me in the heart so quick. I’m not ready to die again.”
“Okay. But sometimes you have a high fucking opinion of yourself. I mean, if you came back to save us, we don’t need it.”
“Understood.”
I look around the store, feeling like it was a bad idea coming here. The place looks great. Clean. New posters on the wall. And unless Kasabian was lying, they’re making money, which we never did when I was here. It makes me wonder if I was the thing holding the store back. Candy and Kasabian, too. Maybe it’s more than them getting over me. Maybe it’s that I was the problem in the first place. If that’s true, I’m not really sure what I came back for. It’s sure not to fuck up everybody’s lives again. I’m going to have to think about it. See if there’s some small place I can still fit in.
Kasabian is wiping his cigarette ash into a trash can when he says, “So, who brought you back?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do. First time you came back from Hell you were alive. This time, I don’t know. I saw you die. We all did.”
I look at him.
“Wormwood. It was Wormwood who brought me back.”
He frowns.
“Those crazy Illuminati bastards? Why would they do that?”
“I’m working for them. But only for one more day.”
“What the fuck are you doing for people like that?”
“Trying to save your life, for one thing. They might be complete assholes but there’s a worse bunch of assholes that want to blow L.A. off the planet in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Oh,” he says. “Is that why you’re here? To tell us to get out of town?”
“No, because I know when and where it’s going to happen and I’m going to stop it.”
He looks at me.
“Are you sure? I mean, I can get to LAX in an hour. Burbank airport even faster. And don’t worry. I’ll leave a note for Candy and Alessa.”
I tap a finger on the counter.
“Stop it. I told you. I’ve got it handled. After I take out the bombers, I’m free. I don’t owe Wormwood anything. I fact, I plan on killing a whole lot of them soon.”
He puts his hands over his ears.
“I don’t want to hear this shit. Don’t you understand? None of us have had to hear about one of your Superman murder sprees for a year. And I think I can speak for Candy and Alessa too when I say we don’t want to. Things are quiet. We do our jobs and we have fun. We have okay lives. Please don’t fuck that up.”
I look at him, trying to gauge his level of bullshit. Kasabian has never forgiven me for cutting off his head, and I can understand that. Part of me wants to believe that he’s saying all of this because I’m in a weak position and it’s his chance to finally get some revenge. But it’s not that. He doesn’t have a heart for me to listen to, but I can read his eyes and the frightened microtremors around his lips. He’s telling the truth. Barging in here like this, I might as well have driven a tank through the front door. At least I waited for Candy to leave so she didn’t have to see this disaster.
“You’re
