Killing Pretty. Richard Kadrey
that?”
He steadies himself with a hand on the wall.
“It knows you’re looking for it. Whatever that knife is, it knows about you.”
Marlowe gives me the finger and goes outside.
Carlos wipes the spilled drink off the bar. I sit down and Brigitte comes over.
She says, “This is exactly what I was talking about. What just happened isn’t something Chihiro should have to hear from me.”
She goes back to her friends and I take out my phone.
“Hi,” Candy says after a couple of rings.
“How’s our friend?”
“What do you think? Still asleep. And Kasabian’s gone out to buy beer.”
“Sounds boring.”
“It is. Where are you?”
“At Bamboo House. Why don’t you come over.”
“What, be seen in public like a real person?”
“Just like one. I’ll buy you too many drinks. Later, we can order Chinese food from bed.”
“Thai.”
“Demanding harlot.”
“Watch that mouth, boy. You’re going to need it later.”
“Hurry. I’m at least three drinks up on you.”
“Then order me three drinks and stand by.”
“See you soon.”
She doesn’t say anything for a beat.
“Hey, why did you suddenly get smart?”
“I’ll tell you a funny story when you get here.”
“It better have clowns and Sailor Moon in a bikini in it.”
“And ponies.”
“I’m swooning.”
“See you soon.”
I order a drink for myself and three extras. Carlos sets the glasses down and I arrange them in a pyramid just like a clown would.
WE WEAVE BACK to Max Overdrive after an hour or so of drinking. The first three drinks pretty much did Candy in. I don’t know how many more she ordered, but Carlos cut her off at two. I got cut off too, but more, I think, to encourage me to take Candy home. It was time anyway. I’d told her about Vidocq, Marlowe, and the knife by then, so there wasn’t much more to say. I didn’t mention what Marlowe said about a bogeyman waiting for me in the great beyond because I was 90 percent sure he was fucking with me. If he wasn’t, I figured I’d know soon enough.
We go in through the side door because I don’t want to look at KILLER on the front windows. I’m in too good a mood for that. It doesn’t last long. The moment we get inside, Kasabian comes clanking up on his Tin Woodsman legs.
“He’s awake,” he says. “He woke up just a little while after you left.”
He gives Candy a look that’s half accusing and half scared shitless. I wave a hand in his face to get his attention.
“Where is he?”
“Right the fuck inside.”
We go around the counter and there he is, the Angel of Death, stark damned naked in the middle of the empty store watching The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari on the big screen. He’s got this goofy grin on his face, like an ankle biter seeing a mobile for the first time.
I walk over and stand next to him, watching the movie. Caligari is a silent film. Cesare, the somnambulist, is carrying Jane across rooftops that look like they were designed by Dalí and drawn with crayons on blotter acid.
“Is this old?” he says.
“Yeah. From 1920.”
He points at the big screen.
“I remember all of them. When each passed on, I remember taking them.”
Candy comes over. Kasabian stays back by the counter.
“How are you feeling?” she says.
He looks at her, then back at the screen.
“I still hurt, but watching helps take my mind off it.”
“You just described the entire twentieth century,” I say.
I take the pills out of my pocket and put them in his hand.
“Try these. They should help with the pain.”
“Thank you.”
He pours some out and looks at them.
“How many does someone take?”
I shrug.
“Try two.”
I look at Kasabian.
“You have anything to drink?”
He takes an open beer from under the counter and hands it to me with his fingertips, keeping as much distance as he can between himself and our naked guest. I hand Death the beer.
“Wash them down with this.”
He sniffs the beer. Makes a puzzled face and puts the pills in his mouth. Then raises the beer can, draining it.
“This tastes familiar,” he says. “I think whoever this body belonged to liked it.”
“That narrows the suspects to about three million in L.A. County.”
He stares at the can like he doesn’t know what to do with it. I take it from him and toss it to Kasabian. Death looks at me.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m as confused as you must be. But I appreciate you giving me a place to stay.”
Candy says, “Stark knows what it’s like being lost somewhere you don’t want to be. Isn’t that right?”
“Sure. I’ve been to Fresno.”
He pulls away the bandages over the hole where his heart should be. The wound has closed. There’s just an ugly scar the size of a man’s hand. He touches it and winces.
“You don’t believe me, do you? When I say that I’m Death.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know you. We’ve met before. More than once.”
Candy puts a hand on my arm. I take Death’s bandages and toss them, like the can, to Kasabian. He pulls his hands away like I tossed him dirty diapers.
“I don’t remember you. If you’re Death, why didn’t you take me?”
“There’s dying and there’s dead,” he says. “You were on the cusp, so I let you decide, angel.”
“Half angel.”
“That’s why I came to you. I don’t trust other angels right now.”
“You finally said something I understand.”
He turns and looks around the store like he’s seeing it for the first time.
“I’m cold.”
“I have some things that might fit you.”
I turn to Kasabian.
“You want to bring him down some stuff? You know where the closet is.”
“Sure,” he says, overjoyed for an excuse to leave.
Death watches him go upstairs. He looks at the floor, wiggles his toes like he’s not sure if they’re attached to his body.
“How can I