The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(19)

Traven joins in.

“‘And all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone . . .’”

The Magistrate stops and lets Traven finish on his own.

“‘Which is the second death,’” he says.

“The second death,” says the Magistrate.

He turns to me.

“Do you see?”

I look at him, wishing for a cigarette I could grind into his face.

“I used to go to a club called Second Death,” I say. “Skull Valley Sheep Kill played there. Are we going to a show?”

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, we are. And you shall be the ringmaster.”

“It’s been a tough day for Billy. Let him have a little fun.”

“Billy is a good boy. His reward will come soon enough. As will yours. Come.”

I follow him to the town’s pitiful leaders. He pulls five forward. I look around and find Cherry in the crowd. I wonder if this freak show is because she said anything about me. I need to get her alone later.

The Magistrate clears his throat and speaks to the five.

“Mr. Pitts here is a man of great violence. He proved that yesterday. He proved it a few moments ago. And soon he will prove it again.”

He repeats his little speech in several languages for the town leaders. They shuffle their feet and look at each other.

“I don’t know what you have planned, but you can leave me out of it,” I say.

“No, I cannot, Mr. Pitts. This is for your benefit as well as theirs.”

“What is?”

At the Magistrate’s signal, the canvas covering the old truck is pulled back. There are upright posts at either end of the flatbed, with a longer post connecting them. Every few feet along the horizontal post are knotted ropes. I’ve seen some shit, but this makes me blink.

It’s a traveling gallows.

“Which one?” says the Magistrate, pointing to the five losers.

I look at the gallows.

“For that?”

“Of course.”

I point to Daja.

“How about her?”

I point to the Magistrate.

“How about you? Think I can’t make it happen?”

He laughs and turns to the townspeople.

“See? As I said, man of great violence.”

He walks over to me.

“Do not pretend that you have never done something similar in the past. Decided who in the crowd, even among innocents, should die.”

For a fraction of a second, I flash back to fighting in the arena in Pandemonium. I killed everything they threw at me back then. I never asked who they were or why they were there. But this feels different.

I shake my head to clear it. The Magistrate is spookier and spookier. I don’t want to take a chance he can read something in my face that will give me away.

I say, “What if I don’t want to play?”

“Come come. We both know the answer to that.”

Daja doesn’t go for her gun. She pulls out a tanto and holds it across Traven’s throat.

“It’s all right,” he says. Traven even smiles. “Let them have me. I’m ready.”

“What a brave man. What a great soul,” the Magistrate says. “Such a shame it would be to sacrifice him because of your inaction.”

I stare at the five quaking assholes in front of me. I hate the whole town for being here. For choosing the Tenebrae over Hell. They thought their punishment would be too much and that they could run for it. But punishment doesn’t give up, and it has all eternity to find you down here.

“Mr. Pitts?” says the Magistrate.

“Give me a fucking minute.”

He checks his watch.

“Exactly one minute.”

I glance at Traven. He nods to say it’s all right. The prick is way too eager to go to Tartarus, for my taste. I bet Cherry’s heart is doing backflips watching the Magistrate make me do his monkey dance.

“Thirty seconds, Mr. Pitts,” the Magistrate says.

I look over the townies’ faces. Spot someone trying to pretend none of this is happening. His hands are in his pockets. I can see their outline as he moves them around.

I walk over.

“What’s in your pockets?”

“Nothing,” he croaks.

I grab him by the collar and rip off a pocket. A collection of doll heads, large and small, falls onto the ground. He begins to shake. There’s something else. A small pocketknife. I squat down, pretending to examine the doll heads as I slip the knife into my boot. Then I drag the guy back to the Magistrate.

“Him,” I say.

“I’ve already picked the volunteers,” he says.

“You told me to choose. I chose.”

The Magistrate looks at his watch, then at me.

Traven shouts, “What are you doing? Let them take me.”

The Magistrate turns to him.

“You never volunteered before, Father. Are you embarrassed now that you have a friend here? Does it make you afraid that God can see you, too?” He turns to the city council. In several languages he says, “Do you understand what is happening? Will one of you take his place?”

None of them makes a peep.

The Magistrate comes closer to me and says quietly, “Why him?”