Blout was waiting for me outside.

“So how the hell did you know Stockton had me dragged in?” I asked. His appearance had been nothing short of miraculous.

“A rookie tipped me off. He wasn’t too keen on losing his badge so Stockton could waste some lousy gumshoe.”

“Thanks.”

“His words, not mine.” But he enjoyed telling me. I could see it in his face.

“So what’s the word on the deaths at the Mall?”

“Not as bad as I thought. Eight, maybe nine.”

“Skulls?”

“Clean.”

I nodded. “It’s revving up for the big strike.”

Blout rammed one of his cigars into his mouth and lit it. “What are you talking about now?”

“What we’re dealing with here played it safe for a few years. It plucked the brains out of people who never went through full autopsies, like chronic cases and the elderly. Then it moved on to the homeless.”

I paused and lit a cigarette of my own.

“Now it’s getting up some speed and hitting tourists, and soon it’s going to bust loose and then . . . the whole city’s fair game.”

I thought Blout was going to bust my chops, but instead he shook his head. “Christ. What are we dealing with here? Do you have any ideas at all?”

“It’s Cain,” I said.

“The dead man?”

“The dead man.”

“You want to tell me how?”

“Would it matter?”

Blout thought about getting pissed, but he didn’t have the strength. He just nodded a sad little nod and bit his lip.

As we got to Blout’s ugly car, he gave me back all the stuff the cops had confiscated—gun, blackjack, fake ID, and safe deposit key. Asshole held back two items, though, wanting answers before he’d hand them over. I was in no shape to fight, so I played his little game.

He opened one of his big hands, revealing the leather case I’d stashed in my sock. It was my old friends: syringe, spoon, and smack. I couldn’t believe Blout had retrieved it for me. In the other hand he clutched the talisman Mo’Lock had ripped off the tunnel zombie.

“Where do I start?”

“How about the works?” Blout said. “Don’t tell me you’re doing shit again.”

I shook my head and spoke, praying my voice didn’t slur from the painkillers. “Remember what I told you? That last time I dealt with Cain? It didn’t absorb my brain because it disliked the pollution. I just have it on me as a precaution. I swear.” My hand was raised like a boy scout, and I tried to force a brown-nose smile across my beaten, puffy face.

He seemed satisfied enough and tossed me the case. “Thought you’d say that. Only as a last resort, you got it?” he said. Then he held up the talisman. “And this?”

“Mo’Lock found it in the tunnels beneath Whitney Green.” I looked down at the ground.

“Tunnels beneath Whitney Green? Hmmm, I don’t recall you mentioning anything about tunnels,” he spoke in mock tones of mystery. Then he screamed, “YOU FUCK!” and rammed his palm right into my wounded shoulder.