I figure that with a Gumby-colored sky and radio tall tales about Catalina as the new Atlantis, no one is going to pay attention to the bike. Manimal Mike has a garage. I’ll ask him if he can set me up with a set of plates. These cardboard-and-Sharpie ones are only convincing if you don’t actually look at them. As I hit the crest of the hill, my phone rings. I park the bike and answer. It’s Candy. “Holy hell. Where are those pictures from?” “My new digs,” I say. “I decided that if I’m stuck being Lucifer, I should live like him.” “Can I come over and see them?” “Later. Right now I’m in Malibu seeing a guy who collects corpses like other people collect comics.” “You know the most interesting people, Mr. Macheath. Call me when you get back. I want to come over and break some of your new stuff.”
