I let the last jab slide. Despite the levity, something big and strange was up and I wanted to get to the bottom of it.

“Okay, fine,” I said, “Now tell me what happened. Who did this to you?”

Sam’s face went hard. “Damn kid.”

“What?!”

“You heard me. I got bamboozled by a damn kid. An evil little son-of-a-bitch named Billy. Fifteen years old and smart enough to out-curse Aleister Crowley.”

“A kid?!”

“Yeah.”

“Fifteen?”

“You heard me, fuck-face.”

Now, it was my turn to laugh, and I did. I let out a howl that made Sam more pissed than I’d ever seen him. But he was old enough and smart enough to know he had it coming. He just took it and waited for me to finish.

“So this kid,” I said, “this Billy. What’s his deal, and how the fuck did he do this to you?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I was getting to that, so if yer ready to shut yer fuckin pie hole, I’ll continue.”

Then Sam looked around the apartment as if he’d just noticed the glass and blood.

“What the fuck happened here?”

“Remember Dr. Polynice?”

“The guy with the thing for kids?”

“No. The one who helped that guy.”

Sam thought about it a second. “The voodoo guy. I thought you put him away.”

“I did . . . again.”

Sam batted his eyes. I could tell he would have nodded if he had a neck—then went on. “Anyway . . .”

I took out my flask and swigged a hit as Sam talked. As I listened, I dug in my desk for any kind of pill. Anything to take the edge off.

He told me about a lead he had on some cult operating out of the Valley in Los Angeles. Some place called Sherman Oaks.

“You’ve been in L.A.?” I interrupted.

Sam looked annoyed. “Yeah. I like the heat, and work is pretty steady.”

“So you got mailed from the other side of the country?”

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes

“How was the flight?”

Sam glared at me. “You want to hear this or you want to trade travel stories?”

I shrugged. No sense of humor. I found a yellowish capsule under some old cigarette packs in the side drawer. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I hoped it was in the barbiturate family. This was no time for speeding.

The head noticed when I slipped the pill into my mouth. “I thought you quit doing all that shit!”

I swallowed. “The key word is all,” I said. “I quit the hard stuff.”

“Stuff’ll kill you.”

“I thought you had a story to tell.”

Sam grunted and went on.