LITMIR.BIZ

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are you worried about? I thought you broke up.”

      “We did,” he says. “But at least we were friends and . . . I don’t know. Maybe there was some chance of getting back together. Now, though . . .”

      I put my hands out like a goddamn preacher.

      “No one tells Fairuza or anybody else. We are on thin fucking ice. One mistake and Candy ends up in a federal pen. It’s too much of a risk.”

      “What about me?” says Candy. “Okay, some ­people are going to think you’re an asshole for being around Chihiro, but you still get to be you. I’m no one.”

      I hadn’t really thought of that.

      “Look, I’m still trying to get my brain around all this too. Maybe down the line it would be safe to let a ­couple of more ­people know. But we’ve got to play this out for a while. Chihiro didn’t even exist a ­couple of weeks ago. You stick out. Let ­people get used to you. Then maybe we can think about letting other ­people in.”

      Candy thinks for a minute.

      “I’ll give it till the end of January. Then I’m talking to Fairuza. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

      “Fine. But she’s the only one for the time being.”

      “I guess.”

      “Listen. If this thing falls apart, it’s not just on you and me. There’s other ­people too. Julie. Brigitte. Allegra and Vidocq.”

      “Aren’t you maybe leaving someone out?” says Kasabian.

      “I was getting to you, Iron Man.”

      “I thought we discussed no more nicknames.”

      I ignore that.

      “I know you think I’m a drag sometimes, but there’s a lot at stake here.”

      “I know,” Candy says quietly.

      “I saw you dead once. I don’t want to see that again.”

      “I wasn’t really dead, dumb-­ass.”

      “You sure looked like you were.”

      “That’s ’cause I’m such a good actress. Me and Brigitte are going to star in a remake of Thelma & Louise.”

      “As I recall, that didn’t end well.”

      “In our version the car is a Delorean time machine, so we just drive off and have adventures with pirates and robots.”

      “Or Lethal Weapon,” says Kasabian. “You could do a girl-­girl remake.”

      “Or Bill and Ted,” she says.

      She looks at me.

      “I need another drink. You have supplies upstairs?”

      “You know it.”

      I step aside and let her lead the way.

      “Hello? Is anyone there?”

      It’s a man’s voice coming from the storage room.

      I look at Kasabian.

      “Lock the front door.”

      “Sure. It’s not like we’re a place of business or anything.”

      As he does it, Candy and I knock on the storage room door.

      “You all right in there?”

      “Where am I?”

      I open the door. He squints and pushes himself back to the farthest corner of the cot I set up for him, huddling there like a bug.

      He says, “It’s too bright.”

      Candy and I go inside and close the door. It’s ripe in here. The guy wasn’t clean when I met him. Add an extra week to that. We’re in a cheese factory.

      Candy hits the overhead light. It’s only a sixty-­watt. Candy liked the room dim when the band rehearsed.

      I take a step closer, getting between the guy on the cot and Candy in case he’s as unhinged as he looks.

      “Is that better?”

      Slowly, he opens his eyes. He keeps a hand up, blocking the bulb. When he can focus he stares at me.

      “Where am I?”

      “At Max Overdrive. Do you remember coming to me at Bamboo House of Dolls?”

      He sits up and leans against the wall. Candy steps around me, fiddling with her phone. Who the fuck is she calling right now?

      “Who’s that?” he says.

      “A friend. What do you remember?”

      He looks at the blanket, his hands, and the room like he’s never seen any of it before. When he looks at me I can see the gears starting to turn in his head.

      “You’re Stark.”

      “That’s right. And this is Chihiro. You met her the other night too.”

      He stares at Candy for a little too long.

      “That’s not her real face,” he says. “Or her name.”

      Candy shoots me a worried look. I hold up a hand to say “be cool.”

      “You can see through the glamour,” I say. “So, you really are an angel.”

      He nods.

      “The oldest, known to mortals as the Angel of Death.”

      “Yeah. You said that the other night.”

      “And you don’t believe me.”

      “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I’ve met my share of, let’s say, unstable angels.”

      “You mean Aelita.”

      “There were others but, yeah, she was the worst.”

      “I’m not mad and I have no desire to be here or to be a burden.”

      “Then why are you here? And why come to me?”

      Death touches the gauze bandages over the hole in his chest.

      “You closed the wound.”

      “Not me. It was friends. And you haven’t answered my question.”

      “It hurts,” he says, rubbing his chest. “Everything hurts. I’d forgotten what pain is. Do you have anything for it?”

      I take out my flask, unscrew the top, and hand it to him. He takes a swig and coughs, practically spitting the Aqua Regia all over himself.

      “This is Hellion brew,” he says.

      “That’s right. Drink up. It tastes like gasoline, but it’ll help with the pain.”

      “I’m not sure it’s permitted.”

      “I don’t think anyone would hold it against you,” says Candy. “It’s not like you’re here to party.”

      He looks at Candy for a few seconds, then drinks. He keeps it down better this time, but he’d probably be happier with an aspirin. Fuck him. I drank Aqua Regia for eleven years in Hell because there weren’t any angels to help me. Death can choke down a ­couple of mouthfuls.

      He hands me back the flask.

      “Feeling better?”

      He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

      “No.”

      “You will.”

      “The brew smells interesting.”

      “Huh. I never thought of that. I guess it does.”

      Candy

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