Richard Kadrey: Kill the dead

I put the bags on Kasabian's table and sit down next to Candy.

"I'm sorry about the doc."

It takes her a while to say anything. She's trying hard not to cry.

"Yeah. You know about him, right?"

"That he's my father? Yeah. I heard."

"I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but he wouldn't let me. He wanted to do it when the time was right and it could just be you two for a while and you could talk or fight or whatever it is fathers and sons do."

"I think I'll miss him."

"Yeah. Me, too."

She leans against me. I put my arm around her because the angel knows I'm supposed to at a moment like this.

"I missed you, too," she says. "I know you thought that doc and I were lovers, but it wasn't like that. We were each fucked up in different ways and took care of each other, but doc never forgot what happened to the women he loved and what happened to the kids they had. He just didn't have it in him anymore. You're the only thing of his that survived."

"He kept you alive, too."

"Yeah, he did."

We're quiet for a minute, then she moves away and looks at me hard.

"You're not you anymore, are you?"

"No. I'm not."

"Are you in there somewhere?"

"If you mean Stark, I don't think so. Stark was a drunk and a fool and he's dead. Fuck him."

"Who are you now?"

"No one. Nothing. I don't know if I'm the end of something or the beginning. Let's pretend it's the beginning. You can name me, like a baby."

She looks at her hands and takes a breath.

"Take the cure. Your friends wouldn't want you like this. I don't want you like this."

"Stark is dead. He's gone. Maybe you should do the same. Go away and don't come back."

She loses it and starts bawling.

"I don't want Stark to be gone. Doc is gone and I don't want you to be gone, too."

"He's dead. You don't get a vote on dead."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I get up.

"You should go now."

She stands, but doesn't move.

"I know you're not Stark anymore and none of this means anything to you, but can you please just hold me for a minute before I go?"

This is why angels find it so easy to kill you people.

"All right."

Candy grabs me hard like she's fallen overboard and is holding on to the side of a boat to keep from drowning.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She must have had the knife in her hand the whole time. Like me, Candy is a killer, so she gets me in the heart with the first thrust.

As I black out all I can think is, Oh hell. This again. I PUT THE bowling bag on the bar at Bamboo House of Dolls and unzip it.

"Carlos, meet Alfredo Garcia."

"Fuck you, man. You said you weren't going to say that."

"It was a long walk. I forgot."

"I'm Kasabian. Are you the Carlos who makes the tamales?"

Carlos eyeballs Kasabian like someone seeing his first pickled punk at a sideshow.

"Yeah. That's me."

"They're awesome. They're what keep me from smothering this asshole with a pillow when he's asleep."

Normally I wouldn't inflict Kasabian on a civilian, but Carlos hasn't ever been a regular civilian. And what's a talking head when a few days ago you had dead men in here trying to eat your customers?

"Stark's told me about you, too."

"Yeah? What's he said?"

"Well," says Carlos, looking Kasabian over, "I thought you'd be taller."

"Very funny, beer jockey. Do you have any actual booze back there or is it just Hawaiian Punch and seashells?"

"I think we can find some booze. What are you drinking?"

"Beer. The more expensive the better. Put it on his account."

Kasabian turns to me.

"Put my bucket under me. I haven't been out in six months and I'm not planning on drinking responsibly. You're the designated driver."

I hope Carlos doesn't mind us being here. For the time being, he's pretty much my Plan A for not starving to death. Plan B, C, and D, too. Max Overload is dead and I don't know if it'll ever be back. I don't want to think about how many thousands of dollars fixing the place up and restocking the shelves will be. It's not like we have a dime. The insurance company canceled us after the explosion back in January. The Vigil is gone. And what are the chances that Lucifer will keep paying me a stipend after he goes home to Kansas? I'm too well known to knock over liquor stores and too ugly to be a rent boy. What's minimum wage these days? Maybe Carlos will hire me to clean up after closing.

It's good to see Bamboo House full of drunken monsters and crazy civilians. Maybe Brigitte was right after all. Maybe a little danger will bring in the crowds. The place still doesn't need a velvet rope, but I don't see business slacking off for a while. People need a drink when they survive an apocalypse. Speaking of which.

I look for Carlos to order a shot of Jack and there's already one at my elbow. Who says he's not psychic?

"How's that hole in your chest doing?" comes a voice from behind me.

"I have a nice new scar. I don't know how much of Johnny's blood you put on the knife, but it left a mark on my heart. I might need a doctor."

"We'll stock up on lollipops," says Candy.

She and Allegra squeeze in next to me at the crowded bar.

I say, "Next time you decide to stab someone to cure them from a horrible disease, try using a smaller knife."

"I could have given you the potion in a needle like I gave Brigitte, but no, you had to be a baby about it."

"You shouldn't stab babies either. I'm not even a doctor and I know that."

"We only stab the ugly ones," says Allegra.

Allegra and Candy have been stuck together like Chang and Eng since the night I came back from the Jackal's Backbone. With Kinski gone, we need a new hoodoo doc who can help Lurkers, take bullets out of chests without cracking them open, and juggle those hunks of God's broken glass.

"How's boot camp?"

Allegra does an exaggerated sigh.

"Harder than art school, but more fun than stopping kids from shoplifting Faces of Death at the store."

"She picks up on doc's magic healing gear fast," says Candy. "I never had the head for it, but she zeros right in."

"Eugene's books help with the obscure stuff. Did you know that when necromancers and Houngans are allergic to Mandrake root, their balls can swell up to the size of cantaloupes?"

"I never wanted to know that. Soon you'll be doctor to the stars and monsters. Dr. Kildare with two l's."

"Florence Frightingale," says Allegra.

Candy smiles.

"I told her that one."

Allegra says, "We're going to head back to the clinic. Candy is going to show me fun things to do with leeches."

"It's always a party with you two."

It's good to see Allegra excited. And Candy with something to occupy her mind.

I hold up my drink.

"To Doc Kinski."

We clink glasses and drink.

"And Doc Allegra."

We drink again.

Candy nods at the door.

"We have to go."

"Don't let the leeches push you around."

They go out, talking and laughing. I've never seen two people more excited about golden beetles and fermented goat's blood.

"Be patient."

It's Vidocq.

"Patience isn't my best quality."

"She's not running from you. She and Kinski might not have been lovers, but she still loved him. It will take her some time to get over his loss."

"Yeah. Him dying right then was inconvenient for a lot of us."

Vidocq pats me on the shoulder. The French are like that.

"Don't drink too much."

"When I can spell out your name in shot glasses, I'll stop."

"I'll have to get a shorter name."

"I'll have to forget how to spell it."

Maybe I'm looking at this all wrong. Maybe I should be like Allegra and get a new job. The store closing might be opportunity knocking. I should go across town and see if the skinheads are back in business. I heard somewhere that a lot of skinheads support themselves by dealing meth. I wonder how much cash they keep around? It's not like they can call the cops if someone stops by and takes all their money. How many other gangs and crooks are there in L.A.? Is there a Forbes 500 list of the ones with the most cash? I might be on the verge of a new career.