Lulu.
"Theres not much else we can do, bobbing along like a damned cork. "
"This balloon idea was bullshit. "
"A ship, a caravan or a magic pumpkin pulled by mice. It doesnt matter. Someone was going try and stop us from getting to the gates of Hell. I was just hoping wed get more of a head start. "
Spyder was no longer gulping the whiskey, but sipping it. Still, its warmth wasnt particularly comforting. Just when he felt like he was getting used to the high weirdness that had swallowed his life, that lost-at-sea feeling was coming on him again.
When Jenny was packing to leave and the warehouse had iced over into glacial silence, Spyder had re-watched what he considered the most peculiar Orson Welles movie, Mr. Arkadin. The flick was a puzzling mish-mash of Citizen Kane crossed with a baroque post-war crime melodrama sort of spot-welded onto the side. Mr. Arkadin was about an ambitious young smuggler whos researching how the mysterious financier, Gregory Arkadin, made his first fortune. Arkadin himself ends up hiring the smuggler to finish the project. Apparently, he had amnesia and didnt know his own early history. The story dragged the young neer-do-well through the junk and small-time gangster debris of post-war Europe, taking him from a flea circus to flea bag motels to mansions where drunks hinted at escapades in white slavery. As the bad guys who were murdering the people the neer-do-well had interviewed got closer and closer to him, Spyder didnt understand why the guy didnt just take his pocket full of expenses money, hop a train and head for the hills.
One thing about the movie had always stuck with Spyder, however: Arkadins amnesia story. Spyder wondered what that was like, waking up in some strange
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