“What?” Roman asked. “No altar?” Curran asked. “No bloody knives and frightened virgins?” “No sacrificial pit ringed with skulls?” I asked. “Ha. Ha.” Roman rolled his eyes. “Never heard that one before. I keep the virgins chained up in the basement. Do you want some coffee?” I shook my head. “Yes,” Curran said. “Black?” “No, put cream in it.” “Good man. Only two kinds of people drink their coffee black: cops and serial killers. Sit, sit.”
