“So do you, so it’ll be a perfect fit.”

He runs his hand along the length of the hound’s spine.

“At least the legs are straight.”

“Call Manimal Mike anytime you want. He ought to be able to scavenge enough parts off the thing to fix you up, Hopalong.”

Kasabian looks up at me.

“What did we say about nicknames?”

“Sorry. You can’t really expect me to be Miss Manners overnight.”

He shakes his head, staring at the hound.

“Damn. You actually did it. And here me and your missus were making bets on whether you’d come back at all and how many more limbs you were going to lose.”

“Who won?”

Candy doesn’t look up from the movie.

“No one’s seen you undressed yet, so the bet still stands.”

“I’m calling Manimal Mike right now,” says Kasabian. He clamors to his feet and squeaks and grinds away to his room.

“Let me know when he’s coming over. I want to talk to him.”

I sit down next to Candy, take her beer off the table, have a sip, and pass it to her.

“How’s Brigitte doing?”

“You had someone you loved murdered, so you know.”

“Yeah.”

“Allegra and Vidocq took her to stay with them. I think seeing you burned and gutted like that scared Allegra a little.”

“She patched me up pretty good. I didn’t pop any rivets while I was gone.”

Candy turns and kisses me. I kiss her like maybe I was afraid I wasn’t coming back, which is how I always feel when I go to Hell. I hand her back her knife.

“So, I guess your plan worked out?” she says.

“Yeah. I have Traven stashed in the Room.”

She pushes away from me.

“That’s your master plan? Take him out of Hell so you can lock him in the attic like your crazy aunt?”

“I’m still working on the next step.”

“Which is what?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

I get up, checking the long slit the guard left in my coat sleeve.

“I need a shower. Will you call room service and have them send up some food?” I say. “A real spread. I just took one of the Devil’s souls. I might as well steal more of his food.”

I throw the coat on the pile of dirty and ruined clothes in the closet. At least it’s a slash and not bullet holes or blood. A slash I can get fixed.

I step in the shower and let the hot water wash the last of Kill City and Hell off me. I should turn on the news. I wonder what people are saying happened to Kill City. And about the strange people seen swimming from the sinking mall. Shit. Some of those pricks had cameras. With luck, they were just shooting the wreckage and didn’t get any shots of me. It might be about time to go totally Batman. Get a pointy mask and a cape. Maybe an hourglass-shaped muscle car. Call it the Sandmanmobile. That would really fox the cops.

The food is up by the time I dry off.

Lobster. Steak. Dim sum. Salads with vegetables they must have flown in from the dark side of the moon. Enough bread and desserts to give Canada a coronary. I love taking advantage of rich people.

I load up a plate with lobster tail and take it to the sofa. While I was in the shower they’ve moved on from Destroy All Monsters to Godzilla vs. Space Godzilla. Just another kaiju night at home with the kids.

Candy leans against my shoulder, eating dumplings. All might not be forgiven but enough is for now.

“In the attic under his Avengers collection,” I say.

Candy and Kasabian look at me.

“Your hoarder,” I say. “I found him in Hell. Dad’s gold coins are hidden under his Avengers collection in the attic.”

“Like TV–Mrs. Peel The Avengers or comic-book the Avengers?” he says.

“I have no idea.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want a piece of the business.”

“Don’t hold your breath for any more interviews with the dead. I won’t be welcome in Hell for a long time.”

“You had to get messy?” says Candy.

“Well, they didn’t give up Traven gratefully. I know you were pissed, but I’m glad you didn’t see me doing that.”

“What?”

“Murder.”

“Tell me about it later.”

“I’d rather not.”

“But you will.”

“Sure.”

AN HOUR LATER Manimal Mike is in the penthouse crouched by the hound, going over every inch of it, examining the details with a flashlight.

“She has a fair amount of corrosion, but nothing I can’t clean up.”

He nods, satisfied.

“This will work. I can fix Kasabian’s leg and use the frame to build a new torso, closer to human proportions.”

“How soon?” says Kasabian.

Mike frowns and shakes his head.

“I’ll have to get it back to the shop to be sure. Some of the joints are locked and I’ll have to clean and reseal everything.”

“How soon?”

“If I pick it up in the morning, I can probably give you a rough estimate tomorrow night.”

“Great,” says Kasabian.

Mike gets up and wipes his eternally grimy hands on a dirty rag he pulls from his back pocket.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, and heads for the door behind the grandfather clock.

I follow him over and cut him off.

“The other night at Death Rides A Horse . . .” I say.

He holds up his hands in apology.

“Sorry about that. I was in a bad mood and embarrassed that you caught me there.”

“You haven’t done anything stupid, have you? Pledged yourself to some bloodsucker or let one of them put their fangs in you?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Good.”

I reach into my pocket and take out a small bottle.

“Here’s the straight-up truth. I can’t give you back your soul because it’s not mine to give anymore. Never mind how or why, it’s just how things are.”

“Then I’m screwed.”

I hand him the bottle I got from the Cold Case.

“This is a clean soul. It doesn’t belong to anyone. It’ll substitute for yours when the time comes.”

He holds up the bottle to the light and shakes it. He gives me a doubtful look when he can’t see anything inside.

“Did you think you could shake up a soul and see it like salad dressing?” I say.

“What do I do with it?”

“First off, don’t lose it. Then keep it with you. When you die, your old soul will go in one direction, but you can ride this new one somewhere else. That’s assuming you don’t go completely Jeffrey Dahmer and stink the thing up. Do that and you’re on your own, man.”

“Thanks,” he says, still doubtful. But he puts it in his pocket.

“Forget it. Fixing up Kasabian so he quits whining about every little thing is doing me more of a favor than him.”

“I’ll come by with the truck tomorrow.”

“Park it by the garage entrance. I don’t want to carry the hound through the lobby.”

“See you tomorrow.”

After Godzilla, we move on to Rodan. Not one of my favorites, but there aren’t that many giant, supersonic flying lizard monsters around, so you settle for what you can get. I have my share of Aqua Regia and Candy settles into some red wine. Kasabian sticks to his beer, leaving crushed cans like autumn leaves all over the floor.

Sometime after midnight I hear someone or something scratching at the grandfather-clock door. I get a gun and go over to check it out. Find a folded piece of paper in hotel stationery lying on the floor. I bring it back to the sofa and set down the gun.

“Fan mail from some flounder?” says Candy.

I read it a couple of times to make sure I have it right.

“We’re being evicted.”

That gets everyone’s immediate and sober attention. Kasabian turns down the sound on the movie. He doesn’t turn it off, of course. That would be sacrilegious.

I read out loud, “ ‘The standing account for Mr. Macheath has been closed permanently. Please vacate the premises no later than noon today. There may be charges applied for each subsequent hour that the room is still occupied,’ blah, blah.”

Kasabian finishes his beer and throws the can at the flat-screen.