Richard Kadrey - Kill City Blues

“Did Mr. Muninn fix up the armor any?” I ask.

Samael gives me a look.

“Of course not. The damage is part of the mystique. I notice that you added more than a few burns and scrapes in a very short time.”

“Then you should thank me. I mystiqued it even more.”

Candy says, “He was cute playing Iron Man and it was fun pretending I was fucking Tony Stark, but the armor froze my boobs at night, so I’m kind of glad it’s gone.”

“No, we wouldn’t want one of the few intact holy remnants of the War in Heaven inconveniencing … your boobs,” Samael says.

Candy smiles at him.

“Would you like me to update your Wikipedia page?”

He frowns.

“I have a page? I don’t like that. Please remove it.”

“I can’t. But don’t worry about it. It’s mostly old Bible stories and folktales. There isn’t anything about your nice suits.”

“Still.”

“By the way, thanks for all the swell help when I was Downtown,” I say. “It took me three months to find your stupid clues in the library and escape.”

“I told you to read books. If you’d been more curious, you would have found your way out sooner. You’re always complaining that I don’t do enough for you.”

“You do plenty, but even when you help, I end up with more scars.”

“Then you should thank me,” says Samael. “I mystiqued you even more.”

Candy giggles.

“You have no idea how hard it is not to put everything you boys say on Stark’s page.”

Before Samael can explain to Candy all the reasons she shouldn’t call him a boy, a guy walks up and stands next to our table. He’s wearing a loose, expensive-looking black jacket. A dark red silk shirt open at the neck. An alligator belt with a gold buckle. He looks like a rep from a talent agency that could have handled Traci Lords in her jailbait prime.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation, Mr. Stark, but can I speak to you in private?”

“Do my friends look like cops? If you can’t talk in front of them, you can’t talk to me.”

The guy holds up his hands defensively.

“I didn’t mean to offend anyone. My name is—”

“Declan,” I say.

His eyebrows furrow.

“Yes. Declan Garrett. How did you know?”

“It’s just a trick I can do.”

He looks skeptical, then his inner hustler takes over and he keeps talking.

“I just thought that you and the gentleman might be doing some business and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“Yes, you did,” says Samael. “That’s exactly what you wanted. To stop a business deal.”

“I see. Because he’s in a suit and I’m not, we can’t just be a couple of friends eating donuts,” I say.

Samael looks at me.

“Are we friends, Jimmy?”

“Pipe down, Hugo Boss.”

I look back at Declan.

“You just hurt my feelings.”

“He’s very sensitive,” says Candy. “He might cry.”

“I might cry.”

Declan steps closer to the table. A salesman trying to establish intimacy with the mark.

“Would a million dollars soothe your wounded soul?”

Samael tsks .

“Do you really think a man like this can be bought with money?”

“Hell,” I say. “For a million dollars you can call me Suzy Quatro.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Jimmy.”

“Eat a jelly roll.” Then to Declan, “So what do I have to do for all the tea in China?”

He opens his hands like a preacher invoking the Holy Spirit or asking for a handout.

“Give me something more precious than gold—”

“I think he means me,” says Candy.

“—but that you have no use for.”

Candy does a mock frown.

“Now he’s hurt my feelings.”

“Does this thing have a name?” I ask.

Declan speaks quietly. Suddenly serious.

“Come now, Mr. Stark. We both know what I’m talking about.”

“No. We don’t.”

Samael sighs.

“He means the Qomrama Om Ya.”

“Is that right?”

Declan’s lips curl in a sly smile.

“He’s a smart man.”

“Yeah, he is. Ask nice and he’ll guess your weight. What makes you think I have it?”

“Because you were seen using it. On the child ghost.”

Oh, right.

The Qomrama is a weapon designed by old gods, the Angra Om Ya, to kill other gods. Namely ours. Turns out that the universe really belongs to the Angra and our God foxed them out of it. Now they’re pissed and they want it back. The child ghost, Lamia, was a piece of one of the Angra that leaked through to this universe, and in a pretty blue dress and with a great big knife, she came close to destroying the world.

“You got me there. I guess I did have it.”

“Did?” says Declan.

Candy nods.

“As in past tense. As in it went bye-bye, Charlie.”

Declan cocks his head. A coy move I’d call him on if I wasn’t sure it would cost me money.

“Come now. Who could take it from you, Mr. Stark?”

“A crazy rogue angel named Aelita.”

Declan doesn’t say anything for a minute, like he’s thinking things over.

“If it’s a question of payment, I can offer you more than money. A man like you must have a use for power objects. I can offer you the Spear of Destiny. The actual spear that pierced Christ’s side on the Cross.”

Samael rolls his eyes. He’s heard the line before. Candy smiles. She thinks she’s getting a new toy.

“No thanks. I already have one of those. Right between my Nunchucks of Fate and my Zip Gun of Doom.”

“I’m disappointed to hear that,” says Declan.

“How do you think I feel? I just lost a million dollars.”

“Not if you find it. If, for instance, you manage to reacquire it, I wouldn’t ask how.”

“How open-minded of you.”

Declan’s eyes flicker to Samael and back to me.

“Can I ask what kind of business you are discussing?”

“I was updating their Wikipedia pages,” says Candy. “Do you have one? I can do yours too.”

Declan gives her an indulgent smile.

“I’m afraid I’m not nearly as colorful as these gentlemen. But thank you for the kind offer.”

He reaches into an interior pocket in his jacket and pulls out a business card. He sets it on the table.

“I suppose there isn’t a lot more for us to talk about here in public. If you’re interested in getting serious, you can reach me here.”

“If I find anything interesting under the sofa cushions.”

“Exactly,” says Declan. He holds out his hand. I don’t shake it. After a minute he drops it to his side.

“Good-bye,” he says and walks away.

“Bye,” Candy calls. “It was strange meeting you.”

No one talks until Declan gets outside.

Samael says, “You realize that he didn’t believe a word you said. He thinks you still have the Qomrama and that you’re selling it to me.”

“How do you know that?”

Samael pushes Candy’s hands away from the laptop and closes the lid.

“Because the man I said was a pious bore? He’s about to shoot you.”

He pushes Candy down and ducks himself.

The guy fires just as I turn. The shot is close enough that I feel it breeze by my ear. It hits Candy’s laptop dead center. Her head pops up from under the table.

“You killed La Blue Girl, you asshole!”

Samael pulls her back down.

The guy pulls the trigger again, but I’m looking at him this time. I think he’s more used to shooting people in the back because the moment we make eye contact his hand shakes and his next shot goes through the window, cracking the safety glass. He pulls open the door and takes off across the parking lot. I’m not wasting time going for the door. I go out the window, broken glass flying across the windshields of parked cars.