The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(12)

I shake my head.

“I know a killer when I see one and he’s one cold Charlie Starkweather motherfucker.”

“It’s not that simple,” says Traven.

“That isn’t criticism. I’m just trying to figure out how things work down here.”

“I told you. It’s a crusade.”

“Because the Crusades worked out so well back home.”

“I’ve pointed that out, but he isn’t interested in mortal history.”

What a shock.

I look at him.

“But you sound like you believe in this guy’s half-assed jihad.”

Traven puts his hands in his pockets.

“I’ve believed what I’ve had to in order to survive. And even then, I’ve questioned his methods.”

“I’m guessing a guy travels with his own personal havoc isn’t the candy-and-flowers type.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“So, you’re raiders. How bad is it?”

“Bad. When it happens . . . just don’t try to stop it.”

We reach the camper and Traven opens the door.

“There it is,” I say. “I came all the way to here just to be the biker trash my mom always warned me about.”

“Death does have its fun with us,” he says. “Would you like some food?”

I lean against the side of the camper with the open desert at my back so I can keep an eye on the camp.

“Does that mean I’m not being executed?”

“Not tonight.”

“Food sounds good, but what I really want is another light.”

I take out the Maledictions.

Traven points to the pack.

“Could I have one of those, too?”

“Sure.”

I tap one out and hand it to him. He lights mine, then his.

I say, “I found them on the mountain.”

“A good omen.”

“Or bad housekeeping.”

“Let’s go inside,” he says. “You’re not a popular man around here.”

“I’m getting that impression.”

He hesitates in the doorway.

“You know, I can do it for you, too.”

“Eat my sins?”

“Yes.”

I shake my head.

“Thanks, but sometimes I think my sins are the only thing holding me together.”

“That’s not true. You have a higher calling, Mr. Pitts.”

“I’m God’s special little snowflake. You don’t have to tell me.”

I take a pull on the cigarette. Watch Daja moving smoothly through the havoc, a wolf watching over her flock.

“What’s Daja’s story?”

“Her name is Dajaskinos,” says Traven. “She’s the Magistrate’s second in command. She’s very devoted.”

“They lovers?”

“No. More like father and daughter.”

“Was the guy I fried her lover?”

“I don’t know.”

“She really hates me.”

“She’s suspicious. You didn’t come to us in the usual way. Usually, we pick up new members from volunteers among groups we encounter.”

“The ones that survive the havoc.”

“That’s usually the way it works.”

I watch Daja until she steps into a city bus blaring smoke and music. The smoke from whatever they’re cooking doesn’t smell bad.

I look at Traven.

“Am I going to have to kill Daja?”

“Please don’t,” he says, his eyes going a little wide. “And don’t talk that way around here. She is powerful and respected.”

“I was afraid of that. The worst kind of boss: a good one. Don’t worry. I’m not killing anybody. I’m just making conversation. It would put you on the Magistrate’s shit list and me back where I started.”

“Which is?”

“Dead, lost, and with only half a pack of smokes. The dictionary definition of Hell.”

“Amen to that,” Traven says. He goes into the camper and I follow him.



In a few minutes, he goes out and comes back with a couple of plates heaped with Hellion meat and something that’s sort of like gluey mashed potatoes. The meat is a little gamy, but I dive in headfirst and don’t come up until I’ve finished every scrap on the plate. Traven offers me some of his dinner, but I wave a hand at him.

“I don’t want you eating my sins and I’m sure not eating yours.”

He laughs and goes back to his food.

When he’s through, we smoke and talk. I tell him more about Brigitte. Everything I can think of. Later I explain how we had to fake Candy’s death and how she’s Chihiro now. When Traven asks about my murder I tell him what little I know. Ishii. Me letting down my guard. The funny hoodoo knife he used.

“If Ishii is the lowlife you describe, where would he get a knife like that?” says Traven.

Why the hell didn’t I think of that?

I sit there like a dummy trying to come up with an answer. Did he buy it off some witch with a grudge? Maybe from the White Light Legion? There was also one of the Augur, Thomas Abbot’s bodyguards, who didn’t like me. What was his name? Maybe he could come up with a weapon like that. Then something else occurs to me.