Richard Kadrey - Killing Pretty

I watch Newman and McQueen trading quips for a ­couple of minutes.

“It’s not the worst idea you ever had.”

“It’s goddamn genius and you know it,” he says. “The next one Maria is getting for us is Alejandro Jodorowsky’s version of Dune.”

I look at Maria.

“Was this his idea or yours?”

She rubs her throat nervously, like she’s not used to being the center of attention.

“Neither,” she says. “It was Dash. Want to meet him?”

“Now we’ve got another partner? How many ­people are we bringing in to this thing? I don’t like surprise guests.”

Kasabian stops drumming and gives me a look.

“Calm down, Frank Booth. Tell him who Dash is before he needs smelling salts.”

Maria reaches into a small clutch bag and pulls something out.

“It’s okay, Stark. He doesn’t want money. He just likes to keep busy. He’s a ghost.”

Christ. I hate ghosts. They’re nothing but trouble.

“I need a drink.”

“Good,” says Maria. “He likes liquor. Bring down a shot for him.”

“Your ghost is a drunk? Fuck me with all this good news.”

I go upstairs and find the Aqua Regia. I refill my flask, pour a shot into a glass, and down it. I fill the glass again and take it downstairs.

“Right there is fine,” says Maria, indicating the counter. I set the shot glass down.

“You don’t have anything to eat, do you?” she says. “Something sweet.”

Kasabian takes a Donut Universe bag from under the counter, removes an éclair, and sets it next to the shot.

I watch as Maria unfolds a black plastic clamshell. An old-­fashioned makeup compact.

“If we’re doing dead-­­people makeovers, the guy in the storeroom can use one.”

“Give it a rest, man,” says Kasabian. “Show an artist a little respect.”

Maria sets the open compact on the counter with the mirror facing the glass and donut. She blows on the mirror and draws a symbol I don’t recognize on the misted glass.

“Are you home, Dash?” she says.

Nothing happens.

But then the mist fades, and a face drifts into view behind the drink and donut. I can’t get a good look at him. A lot of his face is hidden behind the food. He’s a kid, maybe sixteen, with messy blond hair streaked with bright red. He closes his eyes and sniffs. He’s getting high off the food offerings.

“Dash, this is Stark,” says Maria. She moves her hand, letting me know I need to get closer to the mirror so the kid can see me. I don’t really want to get too close. I don’t trust ghosts.

I lean over, but stay on the far side of the food.

“Hey, kid. Thanks for the movie. You have good taste.”

Dash mouths something, but I can’t hear him.

Maria, standing behind me, has been watching the whole thing.

“He says you’re welcome and he hopes to bring more with him next time you meet.”

Next time. Great.

“You read lips,” I say.

Maria nods.

“I learned when I was a girl. Like Dash, some ghosts are shy and will only appear through a looking glass.”

Kasabian shoulders me out of the way and practically sticks his mug in the mirror.

“Hey, Dash. How’s it going?”

The kid’s grin widens. They’ve talked before.

“You working on getting us Dune?”

Dash nods and gives a thumbs-­up.

“Swell. Do it and next time you come by I’ll have a steak dinner waiting.”

Dash shakes his head.

“He’s vegetarian,” says Maria.

“Okay,” says Kasabian. “How about a big salad with croutons and edible flowers?”

Dash nods.

I look at Kasabian.

“Edible flowers?”

“Yeah. Fairuza uses them when she cooks. They’re not bad.”

“If you say so.”

I lean over to the mirror.

“Keep the movies coming and I’ll get you a whole damned wedding cake next time.”

Dash mouths “thanks.”

“Thanks, Dash,” says Maria. “Now everybody knows everybody. Isn’t that nice? I’ll talk to you tonight.”

Dash gives a little wave and drifts out past the edge of the mirror. Maria snaps the compact shut.

“That’s Dash,” she says.

I pick up the shot glass.

“Seems like a nice kid. Thanks for hooking us up.”

Maria puts out a hand as I raise the glass to my lips.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. It’s just that when we present food to Dash, any looking-­glass ghost, he eats the essence of the offering. Don’t worry. The food isn’t poison or anything like that. It’s just a bit empty.”

I look at the glass. Ghost leftovers. Why not? I open up and toss the Aqua Regia back.

Maria was right. It isn’t awful, but it’s not booze anymore. The taste is thin and slightly sour, like the memory of a drink. I take a bite of the éclair. It’s worse. Like Play-­Doh and chalk. I go behind the counter and spit it into the wastebasket.

“Classy,” says Kasabian. “You really know how to impress the ladies.”

“I don’t need etiquette tips from you, Tin Man.”

Maria is tugging on the loose threads of her jacket sleeves again. She’s used to nicer ­people than us.

“What do we owe you for the movie, Maria? We aren’t exactly rolling in cash, you know.”

“Oh, no. It’s not like that,” she says. “I was just hoping you could show me some magic.”

“You’re a witch. What do you think you can learn from me?”

“That’s it. Kasabian said you know different kinds of magic. And that you’re good at improvising spells and hexes.”

“Yeah, I can improvise things. But that’s not what you’re after, are you?”

She looks up from her sleeves.

“No. I want to see Hellion magic.”

“Why?”

“It’s different. I’m curious.”

Her pupils contract almost imperceptibly. She’s lying.

“Maria? What’s this really about?”

She takes a breath and lets it out.

“Some ghosts are angrier than others. They want to get out of where they are. Some are scared. Some are vicious. I’ll want to talk to one like Dash and one of the others will appear. It’s getting worse.”

“Did you ever think about not talking to ghosts? You’re not a Dead Head necromancer. Why bother?”

Her brow furrows.

“They’re my friends. I can’t abandon them. Would you refuse to see a friend because she lived in a bad neighborhood?”

“No. I guess not. But I’m not a ghost expert. Mostly I deal with things I can punch. For ghosts, I’d have to think about it.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “I’d rather have the right answer than a quick wrong one.”

“Okay. But I just started a new job and I kind of have my hands full right now. Let’s maybe talk the next time you come by.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“No. Thank you,” says Kasabian. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget.”

Maria puts her handbag under one arm.

“I appreciate it. I’ll come by when Dash gives me your movie.”

“Thanks. You’re always welcome to come by,” says Kasabian, suddenly a fucking diplomat. He and Fairuza broke up a few days ago. Is he already on the prowl? Does Maria know he’s 90 percent machine?

“See you around, Maria,” I say.

She smiles and starts out. Stops.

“Did you know there’s something sprayed on the front of your store?”

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Kasabian and I watch the big-­screen monitor bolted to the ceiling for a few more minutes. He was right, of course. The movie has a completely different feel with McQueen playing the Sundance Kid. We could make a mint if we can get more never-­mades like this.

Candy comes in during the closing credits.