Unfortunately, Cain had a backup plan. His heart lived on in the deposit box, and as long as the heart lived, so did he. After that, he had all the time in the world to perfect the powers of his abnormal brain, using his own strange blend of religion and magic. Finally he could populate his lonely existence, and eventually reanimate his own splattered, defeated form.

I scanned the room and saw pink-white flesh protruding everywhere from clay and rock. How deep was this fucking head embedded in the earth? How many lives stolen in their sleep? And that terrible force . . .

I had to remind myself that if I killed Cain once, I could do it again. This time, there would be no coming back.

“I wouldn’t phink pho loud if I were yoo, detective.”

The face was speaking. And it sounded as though the drugs were working. He was trashed.

“Okay, then I’ll say it out loud. You’re going down, Cain,” I said. “You’ve done enough killing for one lifetime.”

Cain’s eyes blinked sluggishly. “I’ph kilt no one. I absorbed the lonely . . . the ill . . . the hopeleph.” He blinked again and smacked his lips trying to shake the effects of the drugs.

Mo’Lock stepped up beside my right shoulder. “Actually, Mr. Cain, you did far worse than killing them. You stole their souls, their essence. You took what little chance many of these people had for eternal peace.”

The face guffawed. “Nonsense! You know nophing!”

I stepped toward Cain’s face. “It’s over. Face it, you’re done.”

My confidence infuriated the giant head even more, but he was too wasted to fully react. “W . . . why you . . . Do you know what you are dealing with?! I am the second giant! I could bend and break you with a single thought! I am the single biggest intellect in all the world!”

It was time to act. I held the throbbing heart out so that the face could see it clearly. “Recognize this?”

Cain’s eyes widened. “How did you f . . . find it?”

I stepped back. “Brown corduroy bell-bottoms. The key in the wallet. I just followed the corduroy road.”

Cain wasn’t as upset as I would have thought, but there was still serious worry in his eyes. Then he squeezed his lids tightly shut, and for a moment a dull image flickered in my mind. Stephie again, bloody and begging for help. This time, the image quickly faded.

Cain coughed, blinked, and clamped his eyes shut again.

This time there was a suggestion, a lame imitation of my inner voice telling me to shoot myself. I shook my head and flipped it off like a bronco throwing a quadriplegic.

I tapped my right foot and bobbled the heart hand to hand. “Are you finished?”

I threw the organ to the floor. It flopped once, rolled, and came to rest underneath Cain’s chin. Now it was my turn to do the glaring. I stared it right in the eyes and waited for its worry to turn to fear. To speed up the process, I took out both of my pistols, the six-shot in my left and the 9mm in my right.