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Chapters (60)
  1. DAW Books Presents
  2. HAPPY HOURINHELL
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. Dedication
  6. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  7. prologue
  8. one
  9. two
  10. three
  11. four
  12. five
  13. six
  14. interlude
  15. seven
  16. eight
  17. nine
  18. ten
  19. eleven
  20. twelve
  21. interlude
  22. thirteen
  23. fourteen
  24. interlude
  25. fifteen
  26. sixteen
  27. seventeen
  28. eighteen
  29. nineteen
  30. twenty
  31. twenty-one
  32. interlude
  33. twenty-two
  34. twenty-three
  35. twenty-four
  36. twenty-five
  37. twenty-six
  38. twenty-seven
  39. twenty-eight
  40. twenty-nine
  41. thirty
  42. thirty-one
  43. thirty-two
  44. thirty-three
  45. thirty-four
  46. thirty-five
  47. thirty-six
  48. thirty-seven
  49. thirty-eight
  50. thirty-nine
  51. forty
  52. forty-one
  53. forty-two
  54. forty-three
  55. forty-four
  56. forty-five
  57. forty-six
  58. forty-seven
  59. forty-eight
  60. epilogue

“How could anyone be sure about something like this? But I think it’s our best bet. Just think clean thoughts and I’ll meet you in the parking lot down the street by Wimpy’s Steamers about ten minutes to two.”

“Right,” I said and hung up. I was so nervous I really needed to piss. What a piece of work is Man, my ass. Brain too big, bladder too small, and only the most boring bits are immortal.

But even before I hit the bathroom, I filled my pockets with speed-loaders full of silver bullets in case shit went south at the exchange. Not that they’d do me much good against the grand duke himself. In fact, if the swap did go fuckity-boom somehow, the only thing that might save me from Eligor would be if he started laughing at me so hard that he gave himself a rupture.

Still, there was just a chance, the tiniest, most unlikely chance, that it would all work and in a few hours I’d be bringing Caz back here to my apartment.

I remember wishing I had time to tidy up the place a little.

forty-seven

almost on the waterfront

BY THE time I made it to Wimpy’s Steamers, a hamburger fetish restaurant in an old-fashioned silver diner car on Parade Street, Sam was just coming out with a bag full of tiny burgers. The burgers didn’t bother me so much—even angels have to eat, at least on Earth—but he had Clarence the Junior Angel with him, which bothered me a lot.

“Oh, come on! Does everybody talk to everybody behind my back?”

Clarence smiled a little, but he had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Pretty much, Bobby.”

“Pardon me for being difficult,” I asked Sam, “but didn’t he,” I pointed to Clarence, “try to arrest you? And isn’t he still supposed to?”

“Don’t be so black and white about everything, B.” Sam took a cupcake-sized burger out of the bag and pretty much inhaled it. “Yes, in other circumstances, our friend here might think it was his duty to turn me over to his superiors, my ex-bosses.” He licked his fingers and then wiped them on the leg of his pants. I always hated when he did that. Dogs used to follow him in the park. “But like any sensible angel, he’s capable of understanding that sometimes changing circumstances require more flexibility.”

“What he’s saying is that I’m here for you, Bobby,” Clarence told me, sincere as someone delivering the wrap-up on an Afterschool Special. “I don’t care what you might have done, you’re still an angel, and we’re still on the same side. No way I’m going to let some pitchforking high-hat take you out without a scuffle.”