The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(20)

“He kicked my dog.”

The Magistrate grins.

“Then by all means let us rectify this atrocity. Bring him,” he tells to the crew on the gallows truck. They climb down and drag the doll man over.

“What are you doing?” says Traven. “Why him over me?”

I show him a couple of doll heads I picked up.

He says, “You think he hurts children.”

“He did something to get damned.”

“But you don’t know. They could belong to his own children.”

“They don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

I get close enough to whisper to him. Daja pushes the knife into his throat hard enough to draw a bead of blood, and it takes a lot to ignore that.

I say, “You’re the one who told me that when things happen not to try and stop them.”

“Not like this,” he says.

I step back.

“Then you should have been more specific.”

What happens next doesn’t take long at all.

The doll man is dragged onto the gallows, his hands are tied behind his back, and one of the crew puts the noose around his neck. The Magistrate says something to him and stands at the edge of the flatbed, a preacher addressing his flock. Charlie Manson laying out the plans for Helter Skelter.

He says, “As Father Traven reminded me, Revelation 21:8 tells us that liars ‘shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.’”

As he finishes, someone pulls the lever. The trapdoor opens. And the doll man falls through. The havoc howls and cheers, which covers up the sound of his neck snapping. Doll Man swings at the end of the rope for a few seconds before disappearing, his soul sucked into the Hell below Hell. A few last doll heads fall, bouncing out of the truck and onto the ground. Damned souls and Hellions scramble to get souvenirs.

I watch it all thinking one thing: Survive. Revenge and pity and whatever else there is comes later.

I guess my chances of getting over my PTSD just went out the window.

Daja puts her knife back in its sheath.

“Welcome to the team,” she says to me.

“I’m not on your team ever, sister.”

“You are and you don’t even know it. That’s how it was with the father. Isn’t that right, Padre?”

She smacks Traven on the ass and walks away.

I go over to him.

“Did you have to choose?”

He nods.

“In Blue Heaven. I did what you did. I picked the worst person I could find.”

“You did the right thing.”

He shakes his head. Draws in a breath and lets it out.

“I was a man of God. Now I’m just a murderer.”

“Why don’t we ask God what he thinks? Oh, that’s right. He isn’t around anymore. We’re on our own.”

“I don’t believe that and neither do you.”

“It’s done. We do what we have to do to survive and we get away the first chance we get. Right?”

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

“You can. Trust me.”

He gives me a look.

“You’re sure about the man you chose?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I want to believe you.”

“We’re in Hell. No one is innocent.”

“Especially us. Because we know better.”

“I’m getting out of here and I’m taking you with me. What you do after that is your business.”

Traven walks away as a stream of havoc members come by to pat me on the back, punch my arm, and shake my hand. I smile and nod like it’s the Oscars and I just won Best Supporting Asshole.

The Magistrate is off talking to the rest of the town. In ones and twos, they drift over to the havoc looking miserable. Reluctant new recruits to the cause.

I walk to the truck and drop back into the driver’s seat. I don’t want to let Traven see me feeling the way I feel. Did I just cross a line I can’t uncross? I know the doll man was a bad guy. I know it. This isn’t the first time I’ve executed someone. I murdered a whole houseful of Wormwood bastards just a few weeks ago. Still. This feels different.

The next time the Magistrate tries to rope me into a dog and pony show like this, I’ll kill him, no matter what.

Daja rides up on her Harley. She pulls a couple of Hellion beers out of her saddlebags and hands me one. Clinks hers against mine and takes a long drink.

“We’ll be moving out soon,” she says. “When we get settled I’ll see about getting you better wheels.”

“Don’t bother.”

“It’s no bother. Brother.”

She drives away.

I sit there for a while looking out at the desert, not thinking. Letting my mind go blank for a few minutes.

Then I drink the beer.



That night in Traven’s camper, neither of us has much to say. I hear a motorcycle stop outside and go to see who it is.

It’s Daja with another woman as big and bad as she is. Her hair is buzzed almost skinhead short, her face is fine-boned and graceful. Her skin is dark and heavy with Downtown warrior sigils. She almost looks like someone I could have met in the arena. She and Daja are on spidery Hellion Harleys.