I pull him outside. As we go, he gives his heavy coat to a woman in rags afraid to go into the warm building. She stares at him and kisses his hand.

“Move it, Gandhi.”

He gives her a smile and comes over to me.

“Can’t we take some of them back with us? How big is the Room?”

“Sure, Father. Which of them gets rescued and who has to stay in Hell forever? You choose.”

“I see the dilemma.”

“Lucifer, the first Lucifer, always told me my problem was that I didn’t think big. Well, I’m trying to now. And stashing a few souls in the pantry isn’t the way to do it.”

“I trust you.”

“That makes one of us.”

I strap the dead hellhound to the front of the bike and put Father Traven on the back.

“This won’t be a long trip, but it might be a little weird. You can close your eyes if you want to.”

“You just pulled me out of damnation. I think I can stand whatever it is you’re going to show me.”

“Strap in, preacher.”

I gun the bike and aim at the shadow of one of the guard towers. Traven tries to be cool, but I feel him tense against me and hear him, I can’t fucking believe it, saying a Hail Mary as we pick up speed.

I hit the brakes when we’re halfway into the Room and we slide the rest of the way in, leaving a nice line of rubber across the floor.

He gets off the bike and looks around in wonder.

“We’re at the center of the universe.”

“Yep.”

“Where nothing can go in or out without your say-so.”

“Pretty much.”

“How does it work?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. It works and that’s good enough for me.”

“That’s called faith, son.”

“That’s called not looking a gift horse up the nose. I’ll be back soon with some books. Don’t worry. I’ll let Vidocq pick them out.”

“One thing,” he says as I angle the bike to take it back to L.A.

“Yes?”

“Can you tell Brigitte that I asked about her?”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, but I’m lying.

I COME OUT of the Room, as usual, by the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. I always get the copper jitters when I’m on the bike in L.A., and now I have a dead hellhound strapped across the handlebars. The only way I can attract more attention is if I was towing a Spanish galleon full of half-naked cheerleaders with flare guns. On the other hand, this is L.A. and I can just as easily be another moneyed airhead who scored a big movie prop on eBay. Why not? Ask nice and maybe I’ll trade you Gilligan’s hat for the bones of the Partridge Family’s dog.

I head up Gower Street and across Hollywood Boulevard to Bamboo House of Dolls. I think about parking the bike in the alley next to the bar, but I leave it in a space out front instead. Let the rubes get a look at a genuine hellhound. It’s not like this crowd hasn’t seen its share of funny beasts before. A few people call my name as I go inside, but it’s not a chitchat kind of night and I don’t need strangers buying me drinks in a bar where I already drink for free.

Carlos gives me a funny look when I come in.

“Is that ice in your hair?”

“Probably.”

I run my fingers through it a few times.

“Better?”

“Better. You been sticking your head in hotel ice machines again? I warned you about that.”

He gets a bottle from under the bar and pours me a shot of Aqua Regia.

“I can’t stay long,” I say. “Tonight’s a work night. Are there any Cold Cases around?”

“Again? Are you still on them?”

“Don’t send them any love notes yet. They’re the ones that shot up the front of your bar the other day.”

He slams down the bottle.

“Those dog-dick pendejo motherfuckers.”

I swallow the Aqua Regia.

“I’m sorry that I can’t help you with that one, though. I have to make nice with them tonight.”

Carlos shakes his head, staring at a table by the jukebox. Martin Denny is playing, “Was It Really Love?”

“Do what you got to do. I’ve got some potions back here that’ll have them puking frogs and shitting bottle rockets.”

“Thanks for the drink. I’ll be nice as long as they are.”

“Just leave some of them for me. That’s all I ask.”

I head over in the direction of the jukebox. The Cold Case I levitated a while back sees me coming. He stands and then the rest of them follow, grabbing for their most fearsome weapon. Their phones. I hold up my hands so they know I’m not here to hurt anyone.

“Sorry to show up still alive, boys. Tell Nasrudin no hard feelings but he’s on my naughty list. But I’m not here to talk about the past. I’m here to talk business. Who here wants me off his back? The first one to raise his hand gets a free pass from here on out.”

They all raise a hand.

“I forgot to mention. You have to do something for me first.”

Hands waver. A few go down. In the end, only two stay up. I pick the guy closest to me. He looks at me like he thinks I might bite off his face at any minute, so I speak in short sentences and use small words. He seems to understand. In a few minutes we have a deal. We even shake on it. I’ll be washing that hand before I head home.

I TAKE BACK streets as far as I can before cutting over to Sunset to reach the Chateau. Lucky me, it’s late enough that there aren’t a lot of tourists around to gawk at me with a hellhound across my handlebars like demon roadkill.

I get the Hellion hog back in its space in the garage and put the cover back on. I miss it already. Who knows when I’ll get to ride it again. If the world is still around at New Year’s, maybe then. Put Candy on the back and take her down the Pacific Coast Highway. Open the throttle up a little. Maybe I’ll even get a speedometer installed and see if we can top 200 mph.

I’m in a funny mood when I get back. Kind of light-headed. Halfway between sad and still riding on the adrenaline of the last few hours. I saved Traven from damnation, but only after I killed him. I accomplished everything I set out to do on the trip Downtown, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I guess nothing will be enough for a while. A dead friend stashed under floorboards. Monsters from another universe bearing down on us. A brokenhearted friend and a girlfriend who’s sick of me riding off to my doom every ten minutes. Yeah, I guess you could call the last day or so a real mixed bag. And I don’t know if things are going to get any better anytime soon. Right now, though, I just want to see Candy and get something to eat.

I have to admit that I’m tempted to take the hellhound upstairs in the elevator. Just stroll through the lobby with it on my shoulder. Mr. Macheath back from another night out on the town. But I check the impulse.

The hound is so heavy I have to dance it around to get it off the bike and onto my shoulders. No showing off this time. I find the nearest shadow and go through, coming out in the penthouse. Candy is sitting on the sofa with Kasabian, drinking beer and watching Destroy All Monsters. She looks up at me.

“Look. The ramblin’ man made it back. And he brought dinner.”

I drop the hellhound on the floor. It sounds like I shot-put a piano.

“I’m glad to see you too. I told you I’d make it back in time.”

“Is that what you said? I thought it was ‘I’m sorry I took off again like that and I’ll worship you as a goddess when I get back.’ ”

“That doesn’t sound like me. Maybe one of your other boyfriends.”

“Yeah, I have their bodies stacked on the roof. It keeps the cat burglars away.”

Kasabian comes around to check out the hound. It takes him a minute to crouch on his gimpy knee, but he makes it and runs his hands over the hound like it’s Ali Baba’s treasure. He examines his fingertips and squints.

“This is the best you could do? It looks like you pulled this thing out of a garbage dump.”

“You’re welcome to go back and get one of your own.”

“This falls deeply into the category of ‘better than nothing.’ ”