The Kill Society

by Richard Kadrey

  A calm, smooth voice says, “Lies make the baby Jesus cry. Didn’t your mother tell you that? You don’t want to make the baby Jesus cry, do you?”

  I look up at Death. He’s every bit as sharp and perfect as when he was Samael.

  “Nice suit.”

  “I like your coat,” he says, coming around in front of me. “What is that? Basilisk? The cut’s a little dated, but you make it work.”

  “Don’t worry. GQ called. The shoot’s off. They don’t use dead models.”

  “It depresses the readers.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I see you cut yourself. Be careful about that kind of thing in the Tenebrae. You don’t want to get an infection out here. They don’t go away.”

  “It seemed medically necessary at the time.”

  “Like so many of your bad decisions.”

  I try standing, but my legs are cramped and stiff. I must have been out for a while.

  “Here’s something fun. I’m on a crusade with a psychotic angel and a mob of lost boys and slaves. We’re following the Yellow Brick Road to where God dropped a sword that knocked you and your pals out of Heaven. But why am I even saying it? You knew all of that, didn’t you?”

  He adjusts his sleeves.

  “Some. With all the death your Magistrate is drumming up, business is very good these days.”

  “Is there anything you can do about it? By the time we find the Light Killer, I’m not sure there’s going to be anyone left to save.”

  “Lux Occisor. I haven’t heard that name in a long time. What memories.”

  I take out the Maledictions.

  “I don’t suppose you have a light, do you?”

  He tosses me a lighter. There’s a solid gold phoenix wrapped around the body. It’s heavy.

  “Very pretty.”

  “Please be careful. That’s an S. T. Dupont Tournaire Red Ligne. It’s worth more than your soul.”

  “So, about six-fifty?”

  I spark the cigarette.

  He holds out his hand for the lighter back. I take a step to hand it to him, but my foot comes down on the Moxie bottle. I fumble the lighter and the damn thing goes down in the dirt. I grab it and rub it on my sleeve, brushing and blowing off as much grit as I can.

  “I’m really sorry, man.”

  I hold it out to him. He just stands there.

  “Why don’t you keep it?” he says. “I was thinking about getting a new one anyway.”

  “Seriously. I’m sorry.”

  “I know. Somehow, I think it was destined for you.”

  “Is it really expensive?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I kind of do.”

  “What was it you were saying about a crusade?”

  “Right. That.”

  I manage to put the lighter in my pocket without dropping it again.

  “The fucking messiah I’m riding with thinks he can end the war with this big gun he’s hauling around. He wants me to get you to help us. I keep wondering should I kill him? Should I help him? I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  “Relax,” says Death. “Or don’t. Here’s the thing. This crusade of yours is a lot more complicated than you think. I knew the Magistrate in the old days. Back when he was still Raziel, the bitchiest of the archangels. Always complaining. Always knowing more than anyone else.”

  “Gee. That doesn’t sound like anyone we know.”

  “Touché. The thing was, he was even more radical than me. I merely rebelled against God. Raziel rebelled against the whole concept of any guiding force in the universe.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Raziel reasons now that Father has become both God and Lucifer, killing him will free the universe of what in his mind is tyranny. That’s the real reason he wants me on his side.”

  “He’s wants you to help him kill Mr. Muninn? Why? So he can take over?”

  “Not at all. He rejects all leadership.”

  “But he’s the most goose-stepping vicious asshole do-what-I-say-or-else leader I’ve ever met. He plays twenty questions with whole towns, and if they lose, he kills everyone. You were a tight ass when you were Lucifer, but nothing like this guy.”

  “Isn’t that how it always is? We become the thing we despise. And I was never a tight ass.”

  “If you say so.”

  He puts out his hand.

  “Let me have a Malediction. I’m all out.”

  I give him the package.

  “Keep it. We have crates full.”

  The pack is covered in dust and dried blood. He handles it with his fingertips. As soon as I light his cigarette, he tosses me back the pack.

  He says, “Thank you. I’ll pick some up later.”

  “What are we going to do about the Magistrate? You want me to kill him?”

  He raises and lowers his index finger a couple of times.

  “The problem is that his argument against Father isn’t a bad one.”

  That I didn’t expect.

  “You want him to kill Mr. Muninn?”

  “Of course not. But there is a logic to it. Things have to change. Even if we win this war, there will be another. And another.”

  “Then what’s the answer?”

  He puts up his hands.

  “I have no idea. That’s why you have to continue the crusade. Besides, there’s another complication. I’m not allowed to take sides.”

  “Not even for your father?”

  “Not even for him.”

  I smoke for a minute.

  “Okay. I’ll kill him and finish this thing right now.”

  “Then you’ll have to kill the entire havoc,” he says. “Are you ready to do that? I thought you were miffed about Raziel’s massacres and here you are proposing your own.”

  “Then you want me to go on like nothing happened.”

  “There’s the weapon itself to consider. Especially if he finds the Light Killer. If you murder Raziel, who knows who will end up with such a destructive force? At least now you have some control over it.”

  “I still have a hard time believing this whole thing is about a gun.”

  “Believe what you want about the weapon. Raziel is dangerous and the weapon is important.”

  “Why don’t I just dump it in the river? Or destroy it? I bet I could do it, especially with the help from the angels.”

  “Can you destroy every scrap of it? Every atom? This is a celestial weapon. Any angel or Hellion knowledgeable and powerful enough could resurrect it from the smallest fragment.”

  “And we’re right back where we started.”

  We just stand there smoking for a while. He looks a lot more comfortable in the wasteland than I do.

  I point to his feet.

  “You’re getting dirt on your shoes.”

  He gestures to my jacket.

  “Check your left lapel. There’s a tiny spot that isn’t completely covered in filth.”

  “What am I going to tell the Magistrate when I go back?”

  “Tell him I’m with you. That I’ll do my best from my end to see that you succeed.”

  “But you’re not going to, right?”

  “Right.”

  I guess that’s it. I came all this way, bled in the sand, and apparently a stupid little white lie is all I’m going back with. Come on. There has to be something else.

  I say, “Maybe you can’t take sides, but you can throw a little chaos into the system.”

  “Go on.”

  “Let people know you have your eye on them. Miss a few pickups. You know. Death stuff. Throw the universe off a little. You don’t like the job. Maybe you’ll get fired.”

  “I do enjoy a bit of chaos,” he says quietly.

  Death reaches into his pocket and takes out a delicate amber blade.

  “This is the knife I use to sever souls from their earthly bodies. What a lot of people, even in Heaven, don’t know is that there’s a little side benefit to it. It wi
ll kill anything. Angels included.”

  I take out the golden blade.

  “I already have a knife that kills angels. I got it from an angel I killed.”

  He flicks the tip with his finger. It rings like a tiny bell.

  “Very pretty. The problem is it won’t penetrate an angel’s armor,” he says, pressing the amber knife into my hand. “This will go through armor like water.”

  I turn the blade over and over. It feels like it’s vibrating.

  “What’s going to happen to you without your knife?”

  He drops his Malediction and crushes it under his million-dollar shoes.

  “I have no idea, but I’m sure it will be interesting.”

  He rubs his hands together.

  “And chaotic.”

  I put the amber knife in the inside pocket of my coat.

  “I’ll get this back to you as soon as possible. By the way, do I have to keep calling you Death?”

  He thinks for a few seconds.

  “Go back to Samael. As you said, I might not have the job much longer.”

  “Thanks. I owe you a drink when this is over.”

  “At Bamboo House of Dolls? I’m afraid that’s a bit far for you these days.”

  “Nope. I’m going to get home.”

  “The eternal optimist.”

  “What else have I got?”

  He says, “What if you can’t go home? Not all deaths are equal, but this is the most dead you’ve ever been.”

  “Are you saying I can’t go home?”

  He doesn’t say anything, which says a lot.

  Finally he says, “There are some things you can’t trick or punch your way out of. I’m sorry.”

  My guts feel like they’ve been dropped down an elevator shaft.

  “You’re wrong. I’ll find a way.”

  “If you need to believe that to carry on, then believe it.”

  I’m getting woozy again and I don’t want to fall on my face in front of him.

  “I should probably be getting back.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t give you better news.”

  I wave it off.

  “Don’t sweat it. Oh yeah, in the future, don’t bother with the ‘I don’t take sides’ line. You knew the havoc would find me when you put me on that mountain. This whole thing was your idea.”

  He puts a hand to his chest. “Me? Devious? I’m hurt by that.”

  “I’ll get our angels to pray for you.”

  “What a horrible idea.”

  “I’ll see you later for that drink. In L.A.”

  “Of course.” He wipes some dust off his slacks. “The next time you want to meet, try to find someplace less desolate. Maybe the surface of the sun.”

  He walks away and I’m alone again.

  I break the magic circle with the toe of my boot. Kick dirt over the rest and follow the big X back into the hole.

  The tunnel is cool and wet. It eases my urge to throw up. Samael is wrong about me being stuck here. He has to be. It’s another of his tricks. He loves his games and jokes. That’s it. He’s playing another angle. He fucking well better be.

  By the time I make it out of the tunnel, I’m calm again.

  I wave to the ship. No one waves back. They all look at me like I have baked hams on my feet. Finally, Alice comes over and smiles. I walk up the gangplank and she hugs me.

  “Why is everybody looking at me like that?”

  “We thought you were dead. Some people thought you might have run off, but I knew that wasn’t true.”

  I look over and see Doris and Gisco. Both wave. Okay. Someone else remembers me.

  “How long was I gone?”

  “Eight days.”

  “Damn. That was a long nap.”

  “You took a nap?”

  “It was a long walk to the gas station.”

  “I’m not even going to ask about that. Did you see Death?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “Everything is going to be all right.”

  She grabs me and drags me to Vehuel, who seems a little put off by my current caked-in-filth look.

  “He says that Death is on our side,” says Alice.

  The boss angel looks at me.

  “Is that true?”

  “I saw him like a half hour ago. Everything is going to be fine.”

  Vehuel frowns.

  “I’m surprised. That doesn’t sound like Death.”

  “Hey, if you want to go out there and eat stale donuts and sit in the fucking dirt for a week, be my guest. I’m telling you what he said and if you don’t like it—”

  Alice pats me on the back.

  “Okay, tiger, ease off the throttle a little.”

  Vehuel is standing very tall, very upright. I don’t think people talk to her like that too often. But I’m a gentleman. I know what to do.

  I take out the golden blade and hold it out to her.

  “Here. Why don’t you have this back?”

  She looks at me like she’s waiting for a punch line or a trick. When she doesn’t get either she takes the blade.

  “Thank you. A number of angels will rest easier tonight,” she says in a low melodious voice.

  That wasn’t the nicest way anyone ever said “fuck you” to me, but it sounded the prettiest.

  “Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

  “Lots,” says Alice. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

  “Good.”

  “Lots more people ran away. Some into the tunnels, others went upstream.”

  “That’s good? What the hell is the bad?”

  “The ship with all the trucks and cars sank.”

  Being dead just keeps getting better and better.

  Frederickson says, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  “Mr. Leisure Time,” says Johnny. “Have a nice walkabout, did you?”

  “I did. The donuts were great. I would have brought you back one but, you know, fuck you.”

  Barbora, Frederickson, and Billy surround Johnny with the other assholes I never really got to know behind them. Daja, Wanuri, Doris, and Gisco are a few feet away. I get the distinct impression that while I was gone the dog pack split into the kind of factions that aren’t ever going to kiss and make up, even if they’re supposed to be on the same crusade. Great. Another bunch I don’t want getting behind me.

  I go to where Daja and her group are bunched up.

  “Where’s the Magistrate? I have some news for him.”

  “Good news?” she says.

  “He should be happy.”

  “You saw him, then?” says Wanuri. “You saw Death?”

  “That’s why I went out there.”

  She cocks her head, more than a little skeptical.

  “What does Death look like?”

  “He’s not a creep with a robe and a scythe scaring little kids on Halloween, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Then what does he look like?”

  “Picture the handsomest guy in the world. Now put him in the most expensive suit you can imagine. Now put a lot of dirt and scratches on his shoes.”

  “Death wears shitty shoes?”

  “No. They’re really nice. Probably custom. But we met at a gas station in the Tenebrae and they got kind of fucked up.”

  Wanuri shakes her head.

  “I think nothing happened out there and you’re pulling all of our legs, Mr. Pitts.”

  “Yeah? If he wasn’t there, where did I get this?”

  I’m not about to show them the amber knife, so I hand her the lighter.

  “He said it’s Tournaire Red Ligne made by P. T. Barnum or someone.”

  Doris looks over Wanuri’s shoulder.

  She says, “Did you mean S. T. Dupont?”

  “Yeah. That’s it. How did you know?”

  “My husband’s dear departed father, Jeremiah, had a Dupont.”

  Wanuri gives it to her. Doris looks it over carefully.

&n
bsp; “It’s a bit dirty.”

  “I dropped it.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Death said it was expensive.”

  “I’ve seen other Duponts similar to it. Jeremiah’s cost twenty thousand dollars.”

  “You’re not serious,” says Daja.

  “Completely. He tried to bribe me with it. Wouldn’t shut up about the damned thing. I cut his head off to shut him up.”

  Maybe I should let her keep the lighter.

  I say, “Knife or ax?”

  She looks at me.

  “On Jeremiah? Lord, he was huge. It’s always hardest getting through the spine. I had to use Grandpapa’s old ax in the garden shed.”

  “I’ve taken a couple of heads myself. I know what you mean about spines.”

  “Thank you. Most people just don’t understand the amount of work involved.”

  Wanuri gives me a look and cuts in. “Were you rich, Doris?”

  “Obscenely,” Doris says. She smiles. “That’s why there was a garden big enough to do my special planting.”

  Johnny reaches for the lighter, but Doris snatches it away and hands it back to me.

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” he says. “He could have had that all along.”

  “He’s been bumming lights and matches from people since he got here,” Daja says.

  “Bollocks.”

  I flick the Dupont on and off a couple of times. Point it at Johnny.

  “That’s it, pal. You’re off my Christmas-card list. It was going to be a good one, too. Kittens pulling Santa’s sleigh.”

  “Stay away from me and my people,” he says.

  “Your people? You’re a joke. A handful of cretins and scaredy-cats doesn’t make you John Dillinger or the Magistrate. They’ll dump you at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Come on,” he says, and his puppy pack trails behind him, tails wagging for their master.

  “That was fun. Can I go see the goddamn Magistrate now?”

  “He’s downstairs in his room,” Daja says. With a week full of healing, her hand is looking a lot better.

  We follow her to the hatch belowdecks and down the ladder.

  “Is he still fucked up?”

  “No. He’s mostly better.”

  Mostly. The fucker is faking it. Archangels heal even faster than I do.

  “That’s good to hear.”

  Daja knocks on his door and we go inside.

  Sure enough, he still has a big bandage wrapped around his chest. I bet he does it himself. Won’t let anyone help him, not even Daja. They all think he’s such a strong, brave soul when he’s just exactly the kind of winged asshole I’ve been dealing with for years. I’d like to rip the bandage off and show everyone what a liar he is, but I stay cool. Samael was probably right. Hang on and find the Light Killer. Then make sure this clown doesn’t play with it like a ten-year-old with the combination to Daddy’s gun locker. He looks up from the map in surprise when I come in.