Devil Said Bang (Sandman Slim)

by Richard Kadrey

  “Why would I?”

  “Is that who you kill? Anyone who isn’t damned? Kid, even in L.A. that’s a lot of people.”

  She shrugs.

  “Them first. Then the others.”

  A rotten telephone pole lies lengthwise, half buried in dirt. She swings the knife, knocking out a chunk of wood the size of a basketball.

  “Mostly I do what I’m told. Mostly that’s all I do.”

  “Someone sends you to kill the dreamers.”

  She nods, digging into the pole and prying the metal rungs out of the side.

  “And sometimes other bad people.”

  “Who tells you to kill them?”

  “He does.”

  Talking to ghosts is like pulling eels out of a tank of motor oil. Pointless. And anything firm you grab onto is hard to hold. Most aren’t as direct as Cherry. Most have brains dustier and more barren than the shittiest parts of Death Valley.

  “He? Okay. What man tells you to kill?”

  She stares at the ground for a minute.

  “The one with the flowers.”

  I’m looking for a homicidal florist. Sure. Why not? Getting stuck with rose thorns all day. And the height of your day is sticking a Mylar balloon on a basketful of daisies. That will make you moody. Then it hits me. Not a florist. A gardener. Cherry said it. She’s just one of the “pretty flowers in his garden.” Teddy Osterberg. My favorite freak. Color me shocked. But there’s a problem.

  “You’re not his ghost. I know that for a fact. How can he tell you what to do?”

  She stands up. Hair has fallen across her face. She brushes it off with the back of her hand, leaving a dirty smear across her cheek.

  “He just does.”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  “Should he? I don’t know.”

  “You’re killing the whole world, you know.”

  She nods. Giggles.

  “It’s fun. I like the funny skies.”

  Talking about destroying the world has changed her mood completely. She comes over, takes my hand, and leads me to another school bus buried on its side. Hands claw at the windows. Faces scream silently. Ghosts that weren’t able to get out when she did whatever she did to blow open this crater. If I was a betting man, I’d say she fell from the sky and landed here like a meteor.

  “My name is Stark. What’s yours?”

  She leads me past the bus and lets go of my hand. She kicks up clods of dirt with the heel of her Mary Janes. Picks up a stone and throws it. It looks like she’s thinking.

  “Lamia.”

  “Hi, Lamia. What kind of name is that?”

  “Mine.”

  “I mean where is it from? Where are you from?”

  “I’m not really me. I used to be but I’m not. I lived here.”

  “Do you mean Spain? Or here in the Tenebrae?”

  “No!” she yells. She’s angry now. “It was a long time ago. It was dark and there wasn’t anywhere to stand.”

  “Were the streets broken? Was there an earthquake?”

  “I don’t remember any streets. I floated.”

  She puts out her arms and twirls around like she’s a toy balloon.

  “Sounds like fun. Were you on a boat?”

  She stops. Gets on her knees and stabs the windows along the side of the bus. The ghosts inside shriek and crowd to the other side.

  “All I remember is the cold and the wind and stars twinkling.”

  She’s really worked up now. She turns to the ghosts at the edge of the crater. Screams and charges at them. She’s only run a few yards and they’ve all disappeared. She turns on the first bus, stabbing the metal. Kicking it. Crushing the roof and sides. This kid is pure power stuck in a broken mind. I don’t know whether to feel sorry for her or to run like hell.

  She turns and looks at me like she forgot I was there.

  “Are you here to kill me?”

  “You already asked me that.”

  “You’ll kill me later.”

  “Only if I have to.”

  “Mostly I do things because I have to.”

  “Does someone tell you to kill other ghosts?”

  “No. They’re mostly his and don’t run too fast, so I just do it. But the people. I like killing them. The ones that deserve it.”

  “How do you know they deserve it?”

  “I just do. I feel it inside when the man gives me their names.”

  “Teddy?”

  “The cruel one tried to kill me, you know. You’re not going to kill me now?”

  “Not now.”

  “I’ll only kill you if I have to.”

  “Thanks. You know, cruel ones tried to control me and make me do bad things. Maybe I can help you get free and you can stop killing.”

  She holds out her hands and spins.

  “I’m Lamia. I breathe death and spit vengeance.”

  She drops her arms and sits in the dirt. She rubs her eyes, suddenly a tired, dirty little girl.

  “I’m sleepy. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

  “Are you going to kill more people?”

  She curls up on the ground in her party dress.

  “Oh yes. Lots. The sky will be all sorts of funny colors.”

  Along the edge of the crater are the gangs of murdered kids. They’re cut up but they’re not scared of Lamia. Whatever happened to them, she didn’t do it.

  Cherry is waiting when I climb back up to the street. She runs over and grabs my arm. I keep walking.

  “You didn’t kill her. Why not?”

  “I’m not ready. I know a part of what’s going on but not enough. Until I do, I’m not killing the only thing that might be able to give me answers.”

  “And what about us? What happens when she comes for us?”

  “Has she ever attacked you personally?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re safe.”

  “How do you know?”

  “ ’Cause ghosts like you aren’t on her hit list and it’ll be a while before you are. Long enough for you to wise up and move on.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Drop it.”

  Cherry gets in my way.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you’re not one of His, which means you’re one of mine. That means you’re definitely damned. And she’s not after the damned yet.”

  Cherry takes a couple of steps back. Puts a hand over her mouth.

  “You bastard.”

  “You don’t have to wait around for her. Get out of here and save yourself.”

  She leans against the ruins of the Chinatown arch, resting her ridiculous cartoon face in her hands.

  “Go away, James. You let me down again. You’re no better than Parker.”

  “Take care of yourself. Think about what I said.”

  I head back to Tenebrae Station. The crowd follows me to the stairs but none of them follows me down.

  “Any of you can leave too. You don’t have to live like this.”

  I climb down into the tunnel and walk back into the dark.

  And open my eyes, flat on my back in my room in the Chateau. Kasabian limps away from the circle with my shirt in his hand. There’s a smeared spot on the tile where he broke the bloody circle.

  I sit up. There are clots of blood on my arms and in my hair. I stink from sweat. But there’s one nice surprise. The wound the Imp gave me is completely closed. There isn’t even a scar.

  “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “Best news I’ve heard all day,” he says. “Now here’s some for you. The rope and poison industries are way up in Hell. Suicide looks like the new thing with the cool kids. Those demonic sad sacks don’t need back into Heaven. They need a teddy bear, a warm glass of milk, and some Prozac.”

  I take a hot shower and go back to the living room. Kasabian has the news on with the sound turned down. The shots are fast and jittery, like whoever has the camera is running.

  “Do you know about the M
ile High Club?”

  He doesn’t look up from the big plate of fried shrimp he’s shoving into his face.

  “Sure. Mason talked about them sometimes.”

  I’m so out of the goddamn loop.

  He points to the flat-screen with a shrimp in one of his metal doggie hands.

  “Did you see when you came in? Big Bill Wheaton is dead. Laid low by the crazy little ghost not five minutes ago at a press conference he called to—you’ll love this—announce a special serial-killer task force. Is that fucking funny or what?”

  He eats half the shrimp in one bite.

  “They sure it wasn’t a volcano or dinosaur?”

  “Nah. That stuff seems to have calmed down some.”

  If that’s your doing, Patty, thanks.

  “If you know something about that stuff, keep it to yourself. I’m working on some serious denial over here,” says Kasabian.

  I button another of Samael’s dark shirts over the armor.

  “A while back you said that spending all that time alone at Max Overdrive, you’d developed some nefarious computer skills.”

  “Yeah. You looking for missile-launch codes now?”

  “No. Child murders. Maybe ritual killings. Not beaten or abused, just cut up. See if you can find anything.”

  He frowns.

  “What, the mayor getting murdered by a ghost isn’t interesting enough for you?”

  Big Bill’s bloody mug fills the TV screen. One clean slash across his throat. A long defensive wound across both arms. The cuts are deep red valleys in his skin. They almost look fake, the way violent death often does. The camera stays on Bill for a long time. Somewhere in L.A., a news director thinks he’s going to win an Emmy but all he’s really going to get are bad dreams.

  “You think the dead kids have something to do with the Spirograph sky and the girl?”

  “Look for possessed children too. The village murdered the Imp because she was a monster. Maybe there are other monster tots.”

  “This shit’s depressing, man.”

  “Try to squeeze it in between looking for Brigitte’s videos. Pretty please with shut-the-fuck-up on top.”

  Ain’t this the funniest thing since corn beef hash? Here I am looking for big bad King Cairo and scary Aelita, and Captain Beige has been running the girl all along. I’m still going to kill the other two but now I have to pay Teddy a visit and make him tell me his deepest darkest secrets. It’s great timing. I really need to hit someone.

  Hell looks better and better the longer I’m here. I knew there was no one to trust and no one I could count on besides Wild Bill. One guy in a land of billions. I bragged to Saint James about people who’d watch my back in L.A. but who’s that now? Allegra and Vidocq won’t be inviting me over for whist anytime soon. Candy is Switzerland. Neutral territory between hostile nations. Kasabian is a half-broken whiner. Maybe I should have sucked up my pride and merged or whatever it is I was supposed to do with Saint James. At least I’d have the Key. Then I’d be able to walk away from this veil of shit. But I had to shoot my mouth off. And Saint James is right. I’m usually the one backing us into corners. He was the smart one who got us out. I got us out too sometimes but mostly by shooting out the windows, jumping, and hoping there was something besides dead air on the other side. If he shows up again and doesn’t want me to grovel, maybe I’ll give merging a shot. What I’m doing now isn’t doing me any good.

  My phone rings. This time I check the caller ID.

  “Father. Nice to hear from you but this is a bad time. Can we talk after I beat the holy hell out of someone?”

  “We really should talk now. I think what’s happening is bigger than a ghost and a few murders.”

  “A lot of murders. The girl. The Imp. She’s the center of it. Someone is controlling her.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I went to the land of the dead and asked her.”

  “You can’t stay away from dark places, can you? Please. We really need to talk.”

  “I’m on my way to Malibu.”

  “Good. I’ll drive you. We can talk in the car.”

  “Okay. Come to the Chateau Marmont and call me from out front. If anyone gives you trouble, tell them you’re here for Mr. Macheath.”

  “Like Mack the Knife Macheath?”

  “Yeah. If you’re good, I’ll do my Bobby Darin for you. Call me when you get here.”

  I’m checking my guns when someone pounds on the other side of the grandfather clock. Suddenly I’m in Grand Central fucking Station. The knocking gets louder.

  “Hey, Old Yeller, can you get off your fat ass and let whoever that is in? I’m trying to get dangerous.”

  I hear Kasabian grumbling and thumping across the living room and opening the door. He says a few words to someone and thumps back.

  “Hey, you.”

  I swing around.

  “Candy? What are you doing here?”

  She looks a little pale and worn. She still has on her torn shirt. Underneath it are fresh bandages stained with Betadine. She has a Cowboy Bebop backpack slung over one shoulder. Comes into the bedroom, where I have all my guns laid out. She drops the backpack on the floor. Winces as she sits down.

  “Do you mind if I crash here for like ever? Allegra just fired me. And I think Rinko and I just broke up. It was hard to tell with all the screaming and her throwing things. Did something happen with you two?”

  “She just wanted to unstitch my seams is all. I already have a roomie,” I say, nodding to Kasabian. “But it’s a big place. I think we can squeeze you in.”

  She smiles and lies back next to the guns.

  “This is a big bed. Think maybe I could stay in here with you? I promise to be good.”

  “Good people end up on the couch. Only the bad ones get an all-access pass.”

  “I’ll do my evil best to stay off the couch, sir.”

  I lie down next to her. She slides against me.

  Someone knocks on the bedroom doorframe.

  “We’re out of beer,” says Kasabian. Then, when he sees us, “Oh Christ. Is this turning into a domestic bliss situation? I can’t stand that It’s a Wonderful Life crap. Take me back and let me die at Max Overdrive.”

  “Be nice, Kas, and I’ll loan you my hentai discs,” says Candy.

  Kasabian frowns.

  “Schoolgirls and tentacles? No thanks. I prefer my porn mammal-only.”

  “Hot cow-on-cow action. I like it,” Candy says.

  Kasabian puts his hands up in an “I’ve had enough” gesture.

  “I’ll leave you degenerates to work out whatever it is you’re working out. Just remember that I claim the bedroom at the far end of the place. It has the second biggest TV.”

  I look at Candy.

  “As much as I’d like to give you a proper naked welcome, I have to go and see a man about a ghost. You know where the food is. Please make Kasabian watch whatever you think will annoy him most.”

  “Where are you going? Can I come along?”

  “You got knifed a few hours ago, so no.”

  “She just got skin. She didn’t even hit muscle.”

  I put on my boots and check my ammo.

  “No.”

  She sits up.

  “Seriously, we talked about this. When you run off somewhere you might not come back from, I go with you. No more stoic monosyllabic bullshit.”

  I set aside the Glock and put the .45, the knife, and na’at in my coat. I hate that Candy is right. We made a deal and I don’t want to be an overprotective liar right off the bat. There’s plenty of time for that later.

  “Okay. But you stay behind me if the things heat up. No going Jade and eating people. It’s my circus and I’m the ringmaster. Got it?”

  “What does that make me?”

  “You’re the head clown. You get out of the little car first while the others are still crushed inside.”

  “And when they’re out, you know what we’re doing?”

  �
�What?”

  “Clown-car sex.”

  I hope Traven gets here soon.

  Traven calls twenty minutes later. Candy and I go down and meet him out front.

  She brings the folding pistol with her. She’s already covered the case with InuYasha and Samurai Champloo stickers. I’m not sure if that’s technically low profile but the case looks more like an eighth grader’s lunch box than a gun tote, so I guess it works.

  Traven is in the car when we get there. He’s uncomfortable in the presence of the last few beautiful people fleeing the hotel. Their opulence and generic decadence must be like seeing Martians to a cloistered brainiac like him.

  “Thanks for the ride, Father.”

  “I’m glad to help. You picked a good day to go to the ocean. Most sensible people—”

  “Let me guess. Are hunkering down because the sky is plaid and Godzilla is fighting with Paul Bunyan in the Scientology building parking lot.”

  “I’ll drive and you’ll see.”

  “Hi, Father,” says Candy.

  He smiles to her in the rearview mirror.

  “It’s good to see you.”

  Traven drives west on Sunset and I do see. The sky isn’t a bad color but the light pulses like a slow strobe. It’s the kind of thing that could give you a migraine if you stared at it long enough. Farther down Sunset, it gets more interesting. Sometime during the night, cars, mailboxes, stoplights, and telephone poles sank a foot into the roadbed like someone turned on a hot plate below the street. Traven’s Geo Metro bounces over asphalt frozen into low waves. Cop cars block side streets that have collapsed into sinkholes. A few look like they’re floating several feet in the air. The PTSD Hell flashbacks are coming on strong. At least there’s not much traffic.

  “Do you still want to go all the way to Malibu?”

  “I have to but you don’t,” I say. “Drop us off and I can steal something.”

  He shakes his head.

  “No. I want to tell you a story and I’d like to tell it now. It has to do with the Qomrama Om Ya and it ties into all this madness.”

  “The ghost girl too. She’s scared to death of it.”

  “You showed it to her?”

  “I hit her with it. It’s the only thing that stopped her. And she has a name. Lamia.”

  “Are you absolutely sure about that?”

  Traven sounds about like someone just read him the winning Lotto numbers and he thinks he hit the Mega Millions.