The Kill Society

by Richard Kadrey

I look at Daja. She doesn’t like my tone or the direction of the conversation.

  “What secrets is he talking about?” she says.

  “I believe we are about to find out,” the Magistrate says.

  I take a shot of Aqua Regia and point the glass at him.

  “I’ll go first. Letting yourself get dragged off like that and trussed up like Thanksgiving dinner. I’m not sure I buy it.”

  He leans forward a bit more.

  “Watch your mouth,” says Daja.

  I’ll admit it. Between the laudanum and the Aqua Regia, my head is swimming just enough that even if she is the dog-pack alpha, I don’t care.

  “No. It is all right,” says the Magistrate. “Go on, Mr. Pitts.”

  “Mimir told you something out there and you ignored it. What did she say? ‘Don’t mess with these guys? Drive on?’”

  “You think I engineered this catastrophe?”

  “No. But I think getting caught makes you look weak and you’re not the kind of guy who does that without a reason.”

  Daja starts to get up. The Aqua Regia already has her swaying.

  “Get out,” she says.

  “No, Daja. Please. Sit down. We are just playing a game,” says the Magistrate.

  He looks at me.

  “Are you finished? May I tell you my secret?”

  “Sure. Tell me I’m wrong,” I say.

  “I cannot,” he says. “That is my secret.”

  Daja’s eye narrow.

  “Magistrate . . . ?”

  He turns to her.

  “I am not saying that I allowed myself to be captured. What I am saying is that I ignored Mimir for a reason. Would you like to know what she told me?”

  I pour more Aqua Regia.

  “It’s your party.”

  “Then here is my secret. Before our encounter, Mimir said to me ‘When it happens, you cannot trust him.’ I did not know what the it was that she referred to. However, what is more important is that I did not have to ask who she was talking about.”

  For a second I think about killing both of them and running for the hills, but the Magistrate would have thought of that. A guy like him probably has this moment figured a hundred different ways. So, I sit there and enjoy my drink.

  “I don’t understand,” says Daja. “Pitts helped. I was there. I don’t how we would have gotten you out any other way.”

  “No. You do not. Because Mr. Pitts intervened. But what if there was a separate agenda beyond saving me? It was his idea to burn the cars and charge the armored vehicles, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Now I lean forward. “Yeah. It was and I seem to remember Daja and me hauling your ass out of a burning building.”

  He leans back.

  “But would the building have burned if it were not for your suggestion to burn the cars?”

  Daja looks at me.

  “You’re saying he tried to kill you?”

  “I am saying that perhaps his real goal was to damage the havoc so that it could not continue.”

  He looks at me hard.

  “Was that your real motivation, Mr. Pitts? To destroy us and our holy mission?”

  Daja gets up and pulls her knife.

  She says, “Answer him, Pitts.”

  I take out a Malediction and light it.

  “No. First, you go fuck yourself. Second, if Charlie Manson here is as crazy as I think he is, nothing I say is going to matter, so you two better make your move because we’re not all walking out of here.”

  Daja goes for me, but she’s more wasted than she knows. I can take her down before her knife gets close to nicking my pretty face. It’s the Magistrate that worries me. He’s not counting on her to do his dirty work. She’s just a distraction. With the wound in my side, I’m not as fast or as strong as I need to be right now. There’s nothing to do but play this out.

  I throw myself out of the way as Daja’s blade comes down. It hits hard, but all she kills is my chair. I kick her legs, knocking her over backward. By the time she scrambles up, I’m behind her with the Colt in my hand. The Magistrate hasn’t moved.

  I wrench Daja’s arm up behind her and put the pistol to her head. Whatever stitches were holding me together are ripped to shit. Blood flows down my side and onto my boots. The Magistrate glances down at where I’m messing up his carpet.

  “Father?” says Daja.

  He holds up a hand.

  “It is all right, my dear. Mr. Pitts will be killing no one,” he says.

  I cock the Colt.

  “Actually, I had a bigger body count than that in mind.”

  He picks up his wine and takes a sip. Clears his throat.

  “Let’s play another game,” he says.

  I shoot the glass out of his hand. Someone tries to open the door, but it’s locked. They pound on it. From outside we hear, “Magistrate. Are you all right?”

  It’s Wanuri.

  “I’m fine. We are all fine,” he says. “Please wait outside while we conclude our business.”

  He looks back at me.

  “One more game,” he says. “Obviously, you can kill both of us, but where will that leave you?”

  “It leaves me alive and driving this heap out of here.”

  “And leave the father behind? I doubt that. Besides, unfortunately one of the battery cables has come loose. I doubt you could start the engine.”

  Yeah. He has this scene figured probably more ways than I can count.

  “Then I’ll just have to be satisfied with killing you and as many of the others as I can.”

  “Or you can play the truth game with me one more time. Do it and I will guarantee your safety no matter what happens afterward.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  He twines his fingers together.

  “You’ll have to play to find out.”

  I press the Colt into Daja’s ear.

  “What do you think, boss? Kill everyone and die or take a chance on Zardoz over there?”

  “You can’t do this. We’re on a holy crusade. God won’t let you,” she says.

  She looks at the Magistrate.

  “Will he?”

  He ignores her.

  “I will go first, Mr. Pitts. What you do after is your affair.”

  I try to figure the angles, but I know he figured them before I walked in the room. I’m stuck, and I really don’t relish the look on Mason’s face when I pop into Tartarus.

  I nod once. “Talk.”

  “Here is my secret: Mimir said nothing about you to me. You were right the first time. She told me to pass the town by. I chose to ignore her and, sadly, we have all paid for my arrogance.”

  “Here’s my secret,” I say. “I don’t believe you. You’re a student of psychology. I know we’re playing a game, but it’s not the one you said it is. What’s the real game we’re playing?”

  He lays his hands flat on the table.

  “You’re right. There is no secret game, that night in the desert or here now.”

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “You think I can read minds, don’t you? Or the idea has occurred to you. But you are wrong. Do you know how I know what people are thinking?”

  My adrenaline is cutting through the laudanum and my side is burning. Plus, I had a little too much Aqua Regia. I say the first thing that comes into my head.

  “It isn’t heartbeats. And souls mostly breathe out of habit. That means it’s got to be eyes. Micro-expressions.”

  “Yes,” he says, and slaps the table. “I knew you knew the answer. And do you know how I knew?”

  “Because I can do it, too.”

  “Exactly. But you feel weak here, and lost. Why is that?”

  Fuck. This guy knows everything. There’s no point lying.

  “It’s harder to read the dead. Without real bodies, the signals aren’t there.”

  “Yes they are,” he says. “You just have to recognize them. You have the talent. I can teach you the rest.�
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  “Two minutes ago, you were taking about killing me. Why should I trust you now?”

  “Because I know how you really saved me, and I have kept your secret. And I will continue to do so. On this, you have my word.”

  “What is going on?” says Daja. “Is he an enemy or not?”

  “Which is it, Mr. Pitts? I cannot answer Daja’s question. You will have to.”

  I think for a minute. Daja moves. I tighten my grip. Look at the Magistrate.

  “Prove you know about me and that you’ve kept your mouth shut about it.”

  “Of course,” he says. “Sub Rosa.”

  The prick knows I can do hoodoo. He’s probably known all along.

  “That thing earlier about Mimir telling you not to trust me. You wanted to see if I’d deny it.”

  “Yes.”

  “But if I denied it, I would be telling the truth.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what would it tell you?”

  “Enough.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Not to you, but to me, and that is sufficient for my purposes.”

  I let the hammer down on the Colt, but I keep hold of Daja.

  “Why would you keep my secret?”

  “What’s Sub Rosa?” says Daja.

  “Nothing you need to concern yourself with right now, my dear,” he says. “And please do not repeat the phrase to anybody outside this room.”

  I’ve lost a lot of blood, enough that I’m not sure if I’m more relaxed with the situation or my blood pressure is dropping. Either way I say, “Even though you knew about me, you still weren’t sure about me. With all your tricks for reading the dead, you still weren’t sure.”

  He moves some shiny things around on his desk. Map-reading tools.

  “You Sub Rosa are difficult to read. I wanted to trust you, but perhaps I was wrong. It has happened. Not often, but it has happened.”

  “Like today.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  I let go of Daja. She sags against the table, but it’s a feint. She throws an elbow back at my head. I move back to avoid it, but end up smashing my head into a cabinet anyway. She lunges for her knife, but I still have the Colt. We’re stuck there with her knife to my throat and my pistol to her face.

  The Magistrate gets up and comes around the table. Gently, he pushes both of our hands down.

  “Children. Relax. Everything is all right now. We are all friends, tested in battle and this somewhat convoluted peace.”

  Daja seems to do whatever he says, and I’m too tired to die right now. Daja puts her knife in its sheath and I put the Colt at my back. My head swims enough that I have to sit down. The Magistrate kneels next to me and opens my coat.

  I stare at him a little cross-eyed.

  “‘Somewhat convoluted’?”

  “Trust me, Pitts. I’ve played games much more tangled than this.”

  “I need a drink.”

  I hold Daja’s empty glass out to her.

  “You need one, too.”

  She smacks it out of my hand.

  “I don’t want to drink with you.”

  “Of course you do,” says the Magistrate. “After tonight we know one thing: if there is anyone in the havoc we can trust, it is him.”

  “I might still be whoever’s messing with your equipment,” I say. “Or partnered with them.”

  “But you are not.”

  “How do you know? You know who it is?”

  “No. But I know you enough to know that while you may be a killer, you are not nearly subtle enough to be a spy or a saboteur.”

  “I think my feelings should be hurt.”

  “My apologies.”

  “I’m supposed to trust this prick?” says Daja.

  “Yes, my dear,” says the Magistrate.

  “But I don’t have to like him, right?”

  “Of course not. That is your choice. But trust in these times is more important than affection. Do you not agree, Pitts?”

  “Trust isn’t my greatest asset.”

  “I think we can all say that. But here we are. Any combination of us could have killed any other combination and yet we are still alive. That must count for something.”

  Daja sits.

  “I want a drink after all.”

  The Magistrate pulls off my bandages.

  “Unfortunately, tonight became a bit more physical than I had hoped. I will have to restitch your wound.”

  “Does that mean I get more laudanum?”

  “All you want.”

  “Then hack away.”

  Daja picks her glass up off the floor and pours herself some wine. I guess the Aqua Regia isn’t her favorite after all.

  “Everyone is outside,” she says. “What are we going to tell them happened? The gunshot? All this blood?”

  The Magistrate goes and comes back with a medical kit.

  “The gun was a misfire because Mr. Pitts has been drinking. He ripped his stitches during his stupor.”

  “Sure,” I say. “Blame it all on me.”

  “As you said yourself, Daja is the boss and I am the Magistrate. Who else should we blame?”

  I try to think, but I’m drunk and in a lot of pain.

  “Fuck it. No matter what we say, they’re going to take one look and blame me.”

  “Unquestionably.” The fucker smiles. He starts threading a surgical needle. “Daja, please let the others in.”

  “I will, but one last thing. What’s a Sub Rosa?”

  “A guardian angel,” I say.

  “Guardian asshole,” she mumbles, and opens the doors.

  After getting my second set of stitches, Aqua Regia, and more laudanum, I sleep hard.

  In fact, the whole dog pack sleeps late. I only wake up when someone drops a shot-up transmission as they’re raising it out of a truck and it shears off the side of the engine housing. Apparently there was a memorial service for everyone who died in the firefight. I don’t like preachers and a few of the dead didn’t deserve it, so I’m glad I missed it.

  An hour later, I’m sitting on my bike staring at Daja and the wreck of the camp behind her.

  It’s going to be a few days’ work to get the havoc on its feet and moving again. The mechanics strip every part from every dead vehicle. Then they start on the Hellion AAVs. One of them is still running, but there’s a few inches of Hellion blood inside that need to be swabbed out. It’s times like this that I’m glad I’m in the pack. I don’t know how to fix car engines. I don’t want to haul supplies in and out of trucks like the conscripts. And I sure don’t want to be on blood cleanup duty.

  When the whole pack was in the motor home last night, the Magistrate laid out our post-getting-royally-fucked orders. One, do a recon run up the road and scout for other towns and potential ambush points. And two, look for a landmark the dear departed Empress told the Magistrate about. An obelisk with instructions to whatever magic beans it is we’re looking for. Fortunately, they’re both in the same direction, so yay for small favors.

  Billy is still laid up with his belly wound, but at least he’s not dead. Lerajie, Babetta, and the old toothless guy are dead (I never could remember his name, but with the white power tats on his knuckles I didn’t try very hard). The rest of us are bandaged and stitched together, but basically functional.

  “We’re short on people, so this is going to get complicated,” Daja says. “We need people on the run, but we need to leave enough behind to protect the Magistrate.”

  “Why not just do four and four?” says Wanuri.

  “I thought of that, but with shit the way it is, I’d like one more to stay here as guard.”

  “That leaves three of us for the run. We can make do with that,” Johnny says to the group.

  Daja shakes her head.

  “That’s thin if anything goes wrong out there. Even if it’s just a breakdown when you’re far out. Two on one bike might not have the fuel to make it back.”

&nbs
p; I raise my hand.

  Daja gives me a look.

  “This isn’t kindergarten. Say what you have to say.”

  “Get Traven to help stand guard. That will give us four for the road.”

  The pack laughs quietly.

  “No offense, dear, but he looks like he’s afraid of moths,” says Doris.

  “I used to work with him back home. He put the fear of God in a lot of bad people. And I watched him kill an Inquisitor with his bare hands.”

  Medea Bava was the grand high executioner for the Sub Rosa in L.A., and she had a real thing for me. She might have taken me down, too, if it wasn’t for Traven.

  “An Inquisitor? How old are you?” says Barbora.

  “Not that kind of Inquisitor. More like an enforcer for a group of underground power brokers.”

  “Father Traven?” says Daja. “Mr. Bookworm Librarian? You saw him kill someone.”

  “With his bare hands. And he’s damned more souls than Hooters. He could do a trick called the Via Dolorosa. Whenever he wanted, he could fill a soul full of so much sin it was a one-way ticket to Pandemonium.”

  The pack isn’t impressed. Lots of shaking heads and nos.

  “Look, mate, I respect loyalty to a friend, but you’ve got to be fucking joking,” says Johnny.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to judge,” says Doris, which raises a few eyebrows. She’s not used to speaking up. Her hands absently play with the knives on her belt.

  “Care to explain?” Frederickson says. He scratches his scalped head.

  “Back home, people didn’t think much of me either. I cooked and cleaned for my family. I had a cat and a book club and I baked cookies for the school fund-raisers. Then I had my little . . . well, incident with the in-laws.”

  People laugh. Wanuri makes a chopping motion with her hand.

  “The first trial was a hung jury and the second one acquitted me. Why? Because I was nothing. A harmless little housewife who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Maybe Father Traven is a bit like me. Hiding his talent under a bushel.”

  Daja gives me a hard look.

  “If I trust Marian the Librarian and something happens, you guarantee he won’t wilt like a flower?”

  “You can trust me.”

  The Magistrate said so, remember? Or are you still mad enough to hold a grudge?

  She looks at me and around the camp.

  “Fine,” she says impatiently. “Johnny, Frederickson—get him over here.”