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When he was gone, I got up and cleared my head as best I could. I went over to the desk, and was glad to see that Dumas was confident enough to not lock his drawers. The right hand one had a big .38 automatic in it. No surprise there. The left had something else. A book. Leatherbound, with what looked like a Sherrif's badge in it. I flipped it open. It was in Latin. "Liber Incubi". Wonder what that meant.

I thumbed through it. Diagrams of pentagrams, hexagrams, odd Arabesque symbols, and horrific illustrations of naked women being molested by demons filled the book. It was hand written, and very, very old. I lifted the book, and found a sliver handled knife with a red gemstone at the bottom of the handle. "What are you into, Dumas?" I said under my breath.

On the mantle above the fireplace, old pictures of Dumas from before the war, and some after. He was very handsome, but surprisingly slight. Tall boy, but not the hulking pile of muscle that he was now.

No address book, no wallet. The office was pretty bare. I wanted to see the girl, but I wasn't sure I wanted to see her with Dumas. If she was singing tonight, I could come back in my evening gown, perhaps with a date, and blend in a bit better with the crowd.