Sandman Slim with Bonus Content (34 page)

We collapse on the stones. I catch my breath and get to my feet. Mason is on his back, cradling his severed arm to his chest. He’s pale and shaking, shirt soaked through with blood. I’ve been looking forward to killing Mason for so long and now he’s spoiling it. In my fantasies, I kill the bullyboy, arrogant Mason. But this little guy on the floor, shivering like a goldfish that’s fallen out of its bowl, isn’t the monster I came to slay.

Mason says something, but I can’t hear him. He says it again, but still too low to hear. I lean my ear to his mouth when he says it again. It’s Kissi. I can’t understand the word, but there’s a crunch that I heard enough in the arena to know that it’s either the sound of a bone breaking or being magically knit back together. This being Mason, of course, it’s a bit of both, with something worse thrown in just for fun.

Something white and larvalike protrudes from where Mason’s right arm used to be. Sounds come from beneath his skin, like termites eating glass. A final crunch and Mason’s arm rips from his shoulder as a faintly glowing Kissi arm emerges to take its place. Mason’s eyes pop open. Suddenly he’s back to being the monster I’ve dreamed of killing. However, there’s something about this new Mason that makes every cell in my body decide simultaneously that it would like to be at least a continent away from him.

Mason sits up and smiles. He knows exactly where he is. The space is too small and he’s too fast for me to try taking his new arm off. There’s an old saying among fighters in the arena, “A retreat is a good as an advance, especially if your opponent just grew an angel’s arm.”

I open the nearest door, slam it shut, and start running. I hear Mason behind me a second later. There’s a sort of town square up ahead. I keep running, knocking people out of my way. At the far side of the square is a makeshift bar selling Aqua Regia. I jump on top and kick the drinkers’ glasses in their faces. A Hellion infantryman lunges at me with his spear. I sidestep him and snap it in two with the black blade. Thanks, man. Anyone who wasn’t sure who I was before, just saw Azazel’s knife and now knows for certain.

“Hello you shit-sucking sulfur monkeys. In case you haven’t guessed, I’m Sandman Slim and I crawled back down to perdition’s ball sac for just a moment of your time. And if you don’t believe I’m Sandman Slim, step up closer and I’ll take a lot more than a moment from you.

“Now, I know what a lot of you would like to do to me, but I want you to think about this first: I might be the monster who kills monsters and the biggest bastard in existence, but that’s your real enemy right there. The man who followed me here. Look at his arm. He’s Kissi. And he’s been chasing me all over Creation because he wants me to help him bring a Kissi army down here to turn you into the slaves you refused to be in Heaven. I didn’t bring his army, but I brought him. And I’m giving him to you. A New Year’s gift from Sandman Slim.”

By now, most of the crowd is fixated on Mason and his arm. He transforms it to look human, but that just pisses them off even more. They press in on Mason from every direction, but no one wants to make the first move. I pick up one of the Hellion beer mugs and, just when I feel a wave of tension pass through the crowd, smash it. There’s something magical about the sound of breaking glass. Especially around a mob. It works for both humans and Hellions. If you want to start a riot, throw a bottle.

The moment the mug shatters, the crowd surges forward, banshee-howling, crushing Mason at its center. Hellion gendarmes are heading toward the square. That guarantees a full-scale devil’s night party riot. I duck, stay low, and move from table to table until I’m out of the square. Then I take off running for the Door of Fire.

I make it through and just about have the door closed when someone grabs it from the other side.

A skinny Hellion adolescent in a uniform I’ve never see before gets as close to the door as he can.

“You killed my master, Abaddon. I’ll get to your world somehow someday, and I’ll avenge him.”

“Why don’t you come out here and tell me all about it, sweetheart? Oh, wait. You can’t come out here, can you? Magic is such a tease. When you figure out how to get yourself on the other side of this door, be sure to look me up. Until then, stay in school. Say your prayers. And just before you fall asleep tonight, pucker up and kiss my ass.”

I pull the Door of Fire closed. I know I probably ought to be worried, but I can’t get worked up about one more Hellion who hates my guts.

I step out of the room and into Vidocq’s apartment. Allegra is on her knees, sorting broken potion bottles from ones she can salvage. Vidocq is in the kitchen making coffee. They both look at me.

“If I just did to the Kissi what I think I did, I might have just saved the world twice in one night.”

“And Mason?” asks Vidocq.

“Last I saw, he was being torn limb from claw by a bunch of highly motivated Hellions.”

“How are you?” asks Allegra.

“My chest hurts, but I’ll be great as soon as I get a cigarette, a drink, and a lobotomy.”

A FEW DAYS
later.

It’s sunny out, a tourist postcard L.A. afternoon at Donut Universe. I’m still not great at paying attention to dates, but I know it’s a Sunday. A perfect day for a date with an angel.

I push the tissue paper at her.

“Have an apple fritter. A friend told me this place has the best in town.”

“Thank you.”

Aelita looks at the fritter like I just passed her a dog turd.

“The food’s better at the Bamboo House of Dolls, but you didn’t want to meet there.”

“I don’t drink.”

“We didn’t have to drink.”

“I don’t like the smell of liquor.”

“What about all the wine in the Church’s holy magic shows?”

“Wine isn’t liquor. It’s the blood of our Lord.”

I take a sip of coffee. It’s hot and good, but good coffee in restaurants kind of depresses me. I always wonder why it doesn’t come in a cigarette flavor for places where you can’t smoke.

“The state of California disagrees, otherwise teenyboppers would ask me to buy stuff for them at twenty-four-hour blood stores.”

“This is exactly the kind of talk I’d expect from you.”

“An Abomination?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll get you a thesaurus next Christmas. You need to expand your vocabulary.”

“Some things are beyond redemption.”

“I thought anyone could get through the Pearly Gates if they repented.”

“No. Not everyone.”

“Maybe I should take back my fritter.”

Aelita sighs and looks out the window. She’d rather be having lunch in a volcano than sitting here with me.

“Not everyone deserves God’s grace, but everything in existence has a purpose and a use. Even the abhorrent. Given that, I’ve come here to ask you one more time, will you work for the righ teous cause of the Golden Vigil?”

“When you ask so nicely, it makes me feel all nonabhor-rent.”

“This is your chance to redeem yourself, if only just a little.”

“Sure. I’ll work for the Vigil. But on a freelance basis. And I want to be paid. In cash and in advance. I don’t exactly trust holy rollers.”

“You want money for doing God’s work?”

“Yes. A lot of money. You practically have Area 51 tucked away in your warehouse. You can afford it.”

“I didn’t think you could possibly be more vile, but you’ve managed to surprise me.”

“I know. I’m worse than the bogeyman and tooth decay. But the offer still stands. I don’t have a business card, but you know where to find me.”

I take my own apple fritter out of the bag and take a bite. The Kissi was right. It really is that good.

“Every day you’re alive is like someone spitting in the face of God. I showed you mercy when I let Eugène save you. You won’t get mercy from me again.”

“I saved your celestial ass the other night.”

“You put me in that awful place.”

“No. The Kissi did. Or did you forget about them?”

She pushes her fritter and coffee across the table.

“This food smells like death. I’m sure you love it. I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other. I’m leaving.”

“You going to hide and massacre me in the parking lot?”

“It’s tempting.”

“No, it’s not, and here’s why. I went to some people and I traded some things. Got myself a kill switch.”

“What is that?”

“They have them on trains. Tractors. Some other equipment. It’s a button the operator has to hold down for the machine to work. The operator has a heart attack and dies, he lets go of the button. The switch kills the engine and the machine stops. A kill switch.”

“Are you thinking of becoming a train conductor?”

“Better. I’m keeping an eye on this.” I take out a small wooden box I bought the day before, a pyx, and slide it across the table to her. “You know what that is. It’s usually for a consecrated host, but I put something better inside. Take a look.”

Aelita looks at me for a minute, and then touches the box. Probably doing some angel magic to see if it’s poison or a bomb or a poison bomb. Finally, she opens it and looks inside. There’s a tiny light on the bottom. So small, a human couldn’t see it.

“What is this?”

“Look closer, angel. Don’t you recognize it?”

She drops the box.

“A piece of the Mithras.”

“That’s right. A fragment of a fragment of a fragment. I put the rest in the Room of Thirteen Doors. As long as I’m alive, it’s safe. But if you ever run me through with that sword again, the glass holding the Mithras will break and burn its way out through all thirteen doors.”

“You’re lying.”

“You kill me and I’ll torch this whole little puppet show. Then, when Heaven itself is burning, you can explain to your boss how it’s all your fault.”

“Even you aren’t this mad.”

“There’s an easy way to find out.”

I put the pyx in my pocket and get up. Slide her pastry and mine into the paper bag and roll it closed.

“You don’t deserve a fritter.”

I leave Aelita there in the booth with the sun coming through the window, thinking about doughnuts and the end of everything.

I DIAL DOC
Kinski’s number and he picks up.

“Damn. When did you start answering phones?”

“It’s a recent and very temporary development. What can I do for you?”

“How’s Candy doing?”

“Still a little overexcited. When someone falls off the murder wagon, it can take ’em a while to calm down.”

“That’s why some of us don’t ever stop.”

Silence. Nothing. Crickets.

“That was a joke,” I say.

“I’ll take your word for it. That’s not all you called about, is it?”

“No. I’m calling about the bullets. You said you’d take them out when things calmed down. Things have.”

“Okay. Come by today.”

“When?”

“How about right now?”

WHEN I PULL
into the minimall, Kinski is outside smoking a cigarette. I park the stolen Mercedes SLR McLaren at the rear of lot, behind a pizza delivery van. The McLaren’s doors don’t open out. They flip up like insect wings.

Kinski drops his cigarette and grinds it out with his boot.

“You couldn’t find anything more conspicuous to drive over here? Maybe a blimp or an ocean liner?”

“No one can see it from the street.”

“I suppose. You ready for this?”

“Yeah. I’m sick of things banging around inside me every time I sneeze.”

“All right, then. Let’s get them out.”

He leads me back into the clinic. Nothing has changed in the reception area. Even the magazines are sitting exactly where they were the last time I was here. If this was anybody else’s office, I’d guess that he was a bookie or selling dope out the back door.

I wait while the doc washes his hands.

“Take off your shirt and lie down.”

When I’m on the treatment table, I ask, “You going to use your magic glass rocks on me?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid. This is more of a hands-on procedure. I’m going to have to go in there and get those slugs out manually.”

I watch him dry his hands on a small towel covered with pictures of palm trees. The word
Orlando
is printed in bright red letters in one corner.

“A Kissi ran his hands around inside me. I didn’t like it.”

“This won’t be like that. For one thing, you won’t feel it. I have some special salve that’ll numb you up good.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Let’s just get started.”

He takes a stoppered bottle from the counter, opens it, and pours something thick, like Karo syrup, in a line down my chest. Then he takes a sponge-headed brush and paints the stuff across my body, from my neck down to my stomach.

He puts the brush back on the counter and says, “Tell me when that stuff gets warm.”

“I think it’s there already.”

“Close your eyes for a minute.”

I close them and he says, “Feel that?”

“No. Did you already put your hand in my chest?”

“Does it feel like I did?”

“No.”

“Good. Then you’re ready. Feel free to keep your eyes closed.”

“Are you going to wear gloves or something, at least?”

“Of course I’m wearing goddamn gloves. I’m not a goddamn Kissi.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

There’s a clank. Like metal on metal.

“What was that?”

“That’s bullet one.”

“That was easy.”

“See? We could have done this a long time ago and saved you some pain.”

“I’ll call you after my next shooting.”

“Or you could try not getting shot.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He laughs a little.

“That’s why you and Candy get along. That’s what she’d say.”

Candy is the last thing I want to talk to Kinski about when he has his hands in my guts.

“What’s the going rate for magic surgery?”

Another piece of metal drops.

“It’s on the house.”

I don’t say anything for a minute.

“How the hell do you make a living? You never have any patients and you don’t charge me for surgery or for dragging my friends in here. What’s going on?”

“You’re tensing up. Relax. Every time you move, the bullets shift.”