Devil Said Bang (Sandman Slim)

by Richard Kadrey

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I know but I’m uncouth, so I thought I’d ask.”

  “And I answered.”

  There’s something about her.

  “Have we met before? I mean before Blackburn’s.”

  “Why did I even bother talking to you? You’re as bad as King. Leave me alone.”

  She takes a couple of steps back and detours around me, heading the way she’d been walking when I stopped her.

  I’m making all kinds of friends today.

  When I get back to the van, Candy says, “Who was that? Another one of your porn stars?”

  “Someone who tried to help me but then I asked a dickheaded question.”

  “She’s the one who told you about Cairo?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Looks like she told you the truth. There he is. Who’s that with him?”

  “No idea.”

  Cairo is walking on the other side of the street screaming and waving his arm like a windup gorilla. A few feet in front of him is a pretty dark-haired girl in a long sweater and boots over a tiger-print dress. He gets up right behind her, shouting loud enough that people turn to look. He curses at them too. Tiger Stripe Girl keeps walking, trying hard to ignore him. The leather bag on her shoulder slips and slides down her arm. Cairo puts a hand out and grabs the strap. Tiger Girl turns and shoves him hard with both hands. He grabs her arms and shouts in her face. Tiger Girl’s face switches from disgust to fear. She bends back at the waist to keep some distance between her and Cairo.

  I get out of the van and start across the street.

  Horns honk. Growling engines pass behind me. Most cars stop. I squeeze between them and wave on the rest.

  Cairo turns to check out the noise and sees me. He smiles. Gives me the finger. Tiger Girl tries to pull away but he has her tight and he’s dragging her to his door. She swings one of her heavy boots out and roundhouses Cairo in the shin. He screams a stream of cryptic ’Bama curses and drops her arm, holding his leg. He lunges at Tiger Girl but pulls up short. Now it’s his turn to look scared. He backs away and fumbles keys from his pocket. Opens the steel door to his building and slams it shut.

  Tiger Girl stands there with the strap in her hand and her bag on the ground, having no idea what just happened. I do. The little ghost girl is behind her. Maybe twenty feet away and walking fast. She’s laughing that high childish tinkling laugh. Finally Tiger Girl hears her and turns around. She just stands there. She knows who the girl is, and like most normal people when confronted with flat-out evil, her brain vapor locks and she freezes in place. Me, I pull the Sig and start shooting.

  Cars skid. People scream and dive for cover.

  All the noise snaps Tiger Girl out of her trance. She dives for cover and I keep firing. When I reach the sidewalk, I get between her and the ghost. The Spiritus Dei–covered bullets punch holes in the little girl. She stretches like warm taffy every time one hits but the hole snaps back and closes by the time the next bullet reaches her. She doesn’t come any closer but she sure as hell doesn’t leave.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Candy jump from between two cars.

  I yell “No!” but it’s too late.

  Candy heads straight for the girl, probably thinking she’s wounded. She’s not. The little girl turns, and even though Candy is moving Jade fast, the girl’s knife blurs the air and she slashes Candy across the stomach. Candy falls. The momentum carries her a few feet away, where she lies on the pavement tucked up in a little ball. Ghost Girl gets over her with the knife held in both hands. I’m wearing a long, deep-pocketed coat I found in Samael’s closet. I reach into a pocket and whistle. The girl looks at me. I do a Dizzy Dean windup and throw the Magic 8 Ball at her as hard as I can.

  She screams when she sees it, a long, high-pitched wail like a giant’s fingernails scraping over miles of blackboard. She shrieks louder when the 8 Ball hits her, tearing a hole in her side. There’s no blood or bone. It looks like someone ripped a piece out of a photo in a magazine. The girl’s face turns dark like she’s about to start crying. She disappears.

  I run to Candy. Pick her up in my arms and lean down to grab the 8 Ball. When I turn to get Tiger Girl, the little girl is there. She slashes at Candy again. I pivot away fast enough to protect Candy but the girl slices my arm. I hold the 8 Ball like a rock and slam it into her face. She turns dark again and this time her scream is loud enough to crack the glass in nearby cars. When she disappears, I grab Tiger Girl’s arm.

  “Come on. She might come back.”

  “That was the ghost.”

  “No shit.”

  I slide open the van’s side door and put her and Candy in the back. Grab the big Chateau towel we were using as a tablecloth and have Tiger Girl hold it to Candy’s stomach. Candy moans and tries to curl into an even tighter ball.

  “What the hell . . . ?” she says.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I’m taking you to the clinic.”

  Cairo lives in Silver Lake and Allegra’s clinic is right on the edge of the neighborhood. It’s a short drive and even shorter through three red lights. Each one explodes when I throw hard, fast hoodoo to turn it back to green. Not having the Key to the Room of Thirteen Doors was a pain in the ass before, but now this is Candy’s life. I never really thought about killing Saint James, but if Candy doesn’t come through this, I might have to.

  Someone inside must hear the van screech to a stop in the parking lot. Fairuza, the Ludere girl, opens the door and she and Rinko come out. Candy is awake and wobbly, but on her feet. Rinko guides her inside without even looking at me and Fairuza closes and locks the door.

  Candy’s blood is all over me and the back of the van. I pour the last of the sake on my hands and the knife slash on my arm. The burning feels good. I get back in the van and wrap Candy’s towel around my arm. Toss the other towel to Tiger Girl.

  “Your dress is messed up.”

  She looks down and sees streaks of blood. There really isn’t that much but she lets out a panicked moan.

  “No. Shit. Goddamn.”

  I’m tempted to tell her that even if God cared, He isn’t in a position to do anything about it, but I keep my mouth shut. It’s done enough damage today.

  “Calm down,” I say. “None of it’s your blood.”

  Tiger Girl pats herself down enough to see that I’m right.

  The sky shifts between blue, pistachio green, and the kind of deep purple I remember from when Downtown was on fire. Clouds turn to metal and burst into flame before going white and puffy again.

  “We can’t stay here and I can’t drive this van across town.”

  I dial the Chateau.

  “Can you send a limo for me right now?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Macheath.”

  I give the clerk the address.

  “Make it fast. Tell the driver I’ll keep his or her ass out of the fire forever if they get here in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll drive it myself.”

  “I don’t care who. Just drive fast.”

  Tiger Girl’s breathing is almost back to normal but her heart is still going Mach 5. Mild shock. She’ll be fine. My adrenaline is off the charts. I want to kick the clinic door in and find Candy but I don’t want to slow Allegra working on her.

  My goddamn arm won’t stop bleeding.

  “What’s your name?” I ask Tiger Girl.

  “Patty Templeton.”

  I wrap the towel around my arm and hold it out to her.

  I say, “Tie the ends together, Patty.”

  She takes the ends of the towel and pulls them tight.

  “I’m Stark. You can ride with me unless you want to get out and walk home.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “Good. Now we’re friends and we’re going to talk to each other, and no bullshit, right?”

  I fire up the van and pull it into a corner space behind some delivery vans. I’ll come back after dark and ditch it somewhere.

&nb
sp; “Yeah. Okay. Just keep her away from me.”

  “No problem. I know somewhere she’ll never find us.”

  The limo pulls up with thirty seconds to spare.

  “What about your friend inside?” Patty asks.

  “She’s in good hands.”

  Patty and I get in the limo.

  “Looks like you got yourself a ticket to damnation paradise,” I say to the driver.

  He turns the big car around.

  “What if I’m not damned?” he says. I recognize the voice from the phone.

  “Trust me, pal. If you weren’t before, you are now.”

  As we pull into traffic, I glance back at the lot. The hole Cherry dug yesterday is closed up good as new. Cherry works harder dead than she ever did when she was alive.

  If you ever need to pull a girl into a secret room through a grandfather clock and not have her make a big deal about it make sure she’s attacked by a knife-wielding ghost first.

  I leave Patty on the couch and go to the bathroom for a new towel. This one is soaked through. When I come out, she’s sniffing the open bottle of Aqua Regia.

  “You might want to skip that. There’s regular wine with the food.”

  She sniffs again and pours herself a little in a wineglass. Tosses it back and makes a face.

  “I told you.”

  She pours more. I sit down across from where she was. She shrugs and brings the glass over. Yesterday’s food is gone and there’s a fresh spread laid out buffet-style.

  “I’ve had worse,” she says. “Some kind of akvavit?”

  “Some kind.”

  “I’ve never seen it red before.”

  “It’s pretty rare.” I don’t want to tell her that the red is semipoisonous Hellion herbs and a few drops of angel’s blood. She’s had a rough enough day.

  “Was Cairo trying to kidnap you back there?”

  She sips and rolls her eyes. Just holding a glass in her hand relaxes her.

  “Don’t be stupid. I’m King’s girlfriend. If you can call it that. When he’s not playing Gene Simmons and trying to fuck every other girl in the room. I think he’s doing that Aelita bitch.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. Her face is smudged with a moderate amount of sin signs but nothing special. A lot less than I’d expect from someone involved with Cairo.

  “What were you arguing about?”

  She shakes her head. Stabs the air with one finger.

  “Fuck him and all his coked-up crew. They’re disgusting. Have you met them? They’re like animals.”

  “They can’t help it. He’s taking a drug that drives them insane. What were you and Cairo arguing about?”

  “My job. What drug?”

  “It’s called Dixie Wishbone. Try to concentrate.”

  She finishes the glass and gives a little shiver.

  “Sorry. I might be in some kind of shock, you know? Post-traumatic stress. That prick saved his own skinny ass and left me hanging, didn’t he? Fuck that guy. Okay. Ask me anything you want. If it’ll hurt that feather-wearing pussy dickbag, I’ll tell you. You know, he has the tiniest balls of any guy I ever dated. Isn’t that weird? Tiny balls.”

  “That’s not really the information I was looking for. What were you arguing about?”

  “I told you. My job.”

  “What’s your job?”

  “I’m a dreamer.”

  “What is that?”

  She looks at me.

  “You’re that Sandman Slim guy, aren’t you? I’ve seen you at Bamboo House of Dolls.”

  Blood trickles down my arm. I rewrap the towel and lean on the wound. It really should have started healing by now. Goddamn ghost wounds.

  “You’ve been to Bamboo House? Do you like the jukebox?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who do you like better, Martin Denny or Arthur Lyman?”

  “Martin Denny.”

  “Yeah. I’m Sandman Slim. What’s a dreamer?”

  “I thought you were supposed to be some hot-shit rock-star superhero. How is it you don’t know about us?”

  “Just because you know my name doesn’t mean I’m on the Sub Rosa clubhouse mailing list. I spent my whole life running from that world.”

  “Looks like it did you a lot of good. You’re bleeding and you don’t have a clue how anything works.”

  “Figuring out Hell was easier than figuring out L.A. What’s a dreamer?”

  She waves her hand. Picks up her glass and goes back for more Aqua Regia. It’s impressive.

  “Stuck-up old people call us a real, real old name. Surgeons of the Night Sky. You know what we call ourselves?”

  “Tell me.”

  She flops down on the couch, grinning. The Aqua Regia is hitting her hard.

  “The Mile High Club.”

  “That’s great, but I still don’t know what you do.”

  “We dream. We make reality with our dreams.”

  Outside, smoke is blackening the sky from what I swear is the cone of a small volcano. Ash falls from the sky like dirty snow.

  She raps her knuckles on the table. She pats the couch.

  “See this? And this? We did this. There wouldn’t be anything here without us.”

  “You’re telling me you’re God.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Okay. We don’t actually make reality. We just dream the forms and give them substance so they don’t blow away.”

  A jet turns from the volcanic plume, heading out to sea, trailing thick smoke from one engine.

  “You’re telling me that the world is run by a bunch of catnapping party girls and club boys?”

  She sets down the glass and lets her head loll back.

  “Not all reality. And some of the dreamers are old. There’s houses all over the world. But ours is the biggest. Duh. Hollywood. The big dream machine. This is where the world’s imagination lives. The power spot for collective unconscious. All that crap. Anyway we’re here and it works, so why fuck with it, you know?”

  “I’ve never heard of you. Does everybody know?”

  “Of course not. Just the right ones.”

  “How long have you been around?”

  “How many birds on a wire? That long.”

  I hate these grade school history lessons. They’re embarrassing and they’re my fault. I didn’t want to know how the world worked when I was young. Didn’t want to know about the Sub Rosa or anything they cared about. Then, when I wanted to know, it was too late and I was busy just trying to stay alive Downtown. I’ve been playing catch-up ever since. Probably always will be.

  “Okay. You’re a dreamer and there’s other dreamers and the whole nondreamer world will lose its Rice Krispies if you stop dreaming. Why were you arguing with Cairo about the job?”

  “ ’Cause we’re dying. That crazy little ghost bitch has something against us.”

  “The Sub Rosas being killed are all dreamers?”

  “Mostly.”

  “You’re why the sky is like a broken kaleidoscope and Catalina went AWOL.”

  She rolls her eyes, trying to be sarcastic, but she just looks drunk and scared.

  “Now you get it. Murder is a downer and people get scared. Sometimes there aren’t enough of us in any one place to hold reality together right.”

  “Does Cairo blame you for reality breaking down? Is that what the fight was about?”

  “No.”

  She gets up and goes for more Aqua Regia. I cut her off and pour regular wine into her glass.

  “Ooh. A gentleman.”

  “I don’t want you to melt your brain too soon.”

  “Whatever, dude.”

  She drops onto the couch.

  “King wants me to quit or leave town. I tried telling him what I do isn’t a job. It’s like a vocation. It’s what I am. I dream. That’s it. But he says he’s working for people who want to get rid of us regulars. Take over and put in their own dreamers. I thought he was just talking big. He does that sometimes.”

  What do y
ou know? Cairo isn’t a complete monster after all. Just a coward.

  “Maybe he was trying to protect you by telling you to get out of town. If someone is using a ghost to kill dreamers, when the little girl appeared, he probably knew he couldn’t fight her.”

  “He knew she was going to kill me and he left me to that little bitch? That fucker.”

  “Who runs the dreamers?”

  “Big wheels in the Sub Rosa. Who else?”

  “What happens if you stopped dreaming? If all of you in L.A. stopped completely.”

  “If we go down, the dominoes start falling. Ping. Ping. Ping.”

  She flicks her fingers, knocking over imaginary dominoes in the air.

  “I don’t know that the other houses can keep the whole world together without us. Next thing you know, nothing is what it used to be and then I don’t know. Maybe we all just disappear. No one knows because it’s never happened.”

  “Who in the Sub Rosa is in charge? Blackburn?”

  “Do I look like Google? Go buy a fucking laptop.”

  My arm is starting to hurt. I get my own glass of Aqua Regia and walk around until I find some Maledictions. I take the pack back to the table, tap one out, and try to light it one-handed. Patty snickers at me. Takes the cigarette, puts it in my mouth, lights it, and hands it back to me.

  “Thanks.”

  “No worries. I’d’ve done it for a dog.”

  My head is spinning a little. Not with pain or liquor but with all that’s going on. Not to mention worrying about Candy. I check the time. Too soon to call the clinic, goddammit.

  “So someone is trying to replace the current dreamers or kill them off. Cairo is working with them but he can’t use his muscle because that would bring down the heat and whoever is running him knows he’d squeal like a piglet. That means whoever is behind all this also controls the girl. You can’t arrest or kill a crazy ghost. She’s a good cover. And maybe you kill a few nondreamers to make the killings look random. It’s all for the greater good, right?”

  “If you say so.”

  “I say so because I’m pretty sure I know who’s behind this. The question is why does an angel care about our reality? Tell me this. If you’re walking around with your boyfriend, then dreamers must work in shifts, right?”

  “Yeah. Two days on and three days off so we get our heads back together.”