Richard Kadrey - Kill City Blues

“Thanks. And thanks for calling off your dogs. Did you hire all of them on my account? I’m flattered all to hell.”

Blackburn points to a seat by the desk. I sit. He goes back around and settles down.

“Not you specifically. It’s more because of … well, everything. Your coming in so easily was unnerving, of course, but Aelita’s behavior was worse. I’m good at seeing what people really are, but I suppose that skill doesn’t extend to angels. Anyway after the …”

“Massacre?”

“Yes, the massacre here, I decided that we finally needed to update security. The old ways of respect and even fear for the office of Augur are long gone. The twenty-first century is a fine place, but it’s a little medieval too. We need our Great Companies to keep the neighbor’s dog from crapping on the lawn.”

“If ‘Great Companies’ means expensive mercs, I guess so. Still, with your money I think you could do better. At least one of your guys wanted to start trouble, not put it down.”

“I know,” says Blackburn. “That’s why I called when I did. And he’s not usually like that. He’s usually a good man. It’s just that you scared him.”

“Me? Look at me. I’m dressed like a Deadwood dance-hall girl. How am I going to scare pros?”

“Because you’re still James Stark and everyone knows the things you’ve done. And gotten away with.”

“Now you’re making me blush.”

Blackburn gives me a smile. I can read people too. He’s indulging me because he wants something.

“If you’re really so interested in my security, why don’t you come and work for me? I hear you’re having some trouble with your revenue stream,” Blackburn says.

“Is it that obvious these aren’t my clothes?”

“I’m offering you Aelita’s old position as head of my security team. Wouldn’t you like to step into her shoes and show how much better you’d be at the job?”

“Don’t you already have a new security chief?”

“Yes. Audsley Ishii. A very competent man. But I’d rather have Sandman Slim on my side.”

“On the payroll, you mean.”

“Exactly. What do you say?”

I shake my head.

“I tried the salaryman thing back with the Golden Vigil. I work a lot better on my own, thanks. And right now I’m kind of busy trying to save, you know, the world.”

“I thought your chasing Aelita was a more personal thing.”

“It’s pretty damn personal, but she’s not what I’m chasing right now.”

Blackburn leans back in his chair. Steeples his hands.

“You mean the bauble.”

“It’s a god-killing weapon.”

“I’ve heard the stories. All unsubstantiated.”

“Do you think when the Angra Om Ya come stomping back, you’ll bribe pissed-off elder gods with brunch and VIP night at Disneyland?”

Blackburn’s hands go from a steeple to a dismissive little wave.

“Come on, Stark. You’ve seen the celestial realms. You don’t really believe all this nonsense about old gods and ultimate weapons, do you?”

“I believe it because I met one of the Angra. Remember the ghost that offed the mayor a while back? Her name is Lamia.”

“The little girl with the knife, you mean?”

“She killed off enough Dreamers to destabilize reality. If I hadn’t stopped her, she might have destroyed the world all on her own. And she’s just one little piece of what these fuckers can do.”

Blackburn goes quiet for a minute. It’s on his face. Am I here hustling him with ghost stories or am I telling the truth and maybe he and the other masters of the universe ought to start getting scared?

“I’ve looked into L.A.’s future and haven’t seen anything like what you’re describing.”

I shrug.

“You couldn’t see what an angel was angling to do. What makes you think you can see what gods want?”

He leans forward, his elbows on the desk.

“Work for me. I can give you access to more resources than you can possibly have on your own.”

“Thanks, but seriously, I’m terrible. You’d want me dead in a week,” I say. “But let me ask you something. Are you the one keeping the cops off me? Maybe clearing the decks just enough so I have to work for you?”

He shakes his head.

“No. Someone else is your guardian angel.”

“Who?”

“I have no idea. But you’re right. If you work for me, you’ll never have to worry about the police again.”

“I told you I already have something to do.”

“You’re awfully altruistic all of a sudden. What happened to Stark the monster? I seem to remember a bit of a madman storming into my house.”

“I don’t know what altruistic is, but I’m pretty sure I’m not it. I just want to keep a few people I like from burning in a hellfire shitstorm.”

He looks away for a second and then back to me.

“You know there’s a rumor that you already have the Qomrama Om Ya. That you found Aelita and took it back.”

“I know. I heard about it today. Recognize this guy?”

I hold out my phone so Blackburn can see Moseley’s photo. He makes a sour face and looks away.

“Warn me if you’re ever going to show me anything like that again,” he says. “Not everyone is as used to mangled bodies as you.”

I forget that blood and dead eyes can be kind of gruesome to regular people. Something to add to the etiquette list I swear I’ll start tomorrow.

“Sorry.”

“Who was that?”

“The all-meat hood ornament on a city bus. He took a shot at me today after I told a buyer I didn’t have the 8 Ball.”

“Why do you think I might know the man?”

“I was hoping he might have been one of Aelita’s crew when she ran your security.”

Blackburn shakes his head.

“Aelita took care of the men herself and kept them at a distance from the household. I never got to know any of them personally.”

It was a long shot but I had to try.

“If you want my opinion,” says Blackburn, “you’re looking at this all wrong. You see the Qomrama and immediately think of Aelita. But what about a rival? If she doesn’t have it anymore—if she’s lost it or is hiding it—surely there are other people in L.A. who would like to get their hands on an object with that much power.”

“You included.”

Blackburn shakes his head.

“It’s tempting, but I don’t want anything to do with Aelita or anything she’s involved with.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“You might also be interested to know that someone in L.A. has put a magic object on the market recently. An object he claims is unrivaled in its importance. Sound familiar?”

“You think this asshole has the Qomrama?”

“It’s possible,” says Blackburn. “If I had something that powerful, I would only approach a few of the best-placed families. You don’t want something like that going to the wrong sort of people. However, this person might not realize what he or she has.”

“Then why would someone try to buy it from me and take a shot at me when I wouldn’t sell?”

“Because the buyer is hedging his bets. He’s probably made offers to both of you. The two people currently connected to the Qomrama.”

“That’s a lot of maybes.”

“True. But if you can find out who’s selling the object and who’s bid on it, maybe it would point you in the direction of what you’re really looking for.”

I want to poke holes in Blackburn’s idea, but I can’t, mainly because I have no ideas of my own. I’ve spent the last month chasing rumors and banging my head into stone walls and come up with nothing. At least Blackburn’s idea gives me something to do.

“So who’s selling Aladdin’s lamp?”

“I don’t know. The seller is shy and only goes through intermediaries.”