“Did you recognize him?”

I shook my head. “I was too busy running for my life to bother checking if he was cute.”

“Don’t be vexsome, Triggaltheron.” I could feel the weight of his stare on me, and simply nodded. At last I felt him turn his gaze away, the leather of his chair squeaking as he settled. Only then did I dare to look back. “It would seem Moran has found his own infernal assistance, though I can’t imagine who would be so foolish as to interfere in my business.”

Neither could I. While there was an unwritten rule that those of the Demonarch-the demon realm-were pretty much expected to wreak havoc where they could, there wasn’t a demon still breathing who didn’t know better than to muck up Lucifer’s plans. If the big guy was cooking, you stayed the Hell out of the kitchen if you weren’t invited.

Lucifer sighed. “Go and rest, boy, and send Baalth in on your way. I’ve another job for you in the morning, and I want you healed, just in case.”

I didn’t waste any time. After I’d told my uncle’s lieutenant the boss wanted to see him, I made my way to my room. The stink of gunpowder and charred meat still clung to me. I crawled into bed without bothering to wash. Since I didn’t suspect I’d be getting screwed in any fun way in the morning, I didn’t figure it mattered if I stank.

We’d all smell the same dead.

Morning came around early. We rolled down North Clark Street, me squeezed behind the wheel of the nice new Cadillac sedan Lucifer had rushed into town overnight, headed for the SMC Cartage warehouse. While I wasn’t privy to all the details, I’d overheard some talk about Bugs and his demon flunky supposedly being there. Didn’t take much imagination to realize this wasn’t a social call. The shotgun Baalth was holding kinda helped.