The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(30)

Gisco helps me to my feet. I hurt all over, but I still have all my teeth. I wobble a little more than is strictly necessary, making a show of what rough customers they are.

Daja comes over with a bottle of the fishy whiskey.

“How was that?” she says, and hands me the bottle.

“My crippled grandma hit me harder from her deathbed.”

I take a mouthful of the flounder juice and hand her back the bottle. She drinks and passes it to the next person in line. It goes all the way around the pack.

“Welcome to the family,” says Daja.

I nod to everyone. They’re better about it than I expected. Hard, but friendly punches on the arms and chest. The twins get on either side of me and peck each cheek.

The PTA mom says, “Do you have a knife?”

I take out the little pocketknife I took off Doll Man.

She laughs and hands me one of the butcher knives from her belt. Wags a finger at me.

“Don’t go cutting yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

I slip it into my jacket, where I used to keep the black blade. Thing could cut through anything. Thinking about it makes me think about the world, though. This isn’t the time to start feeling sorry for myself. The rest of the pack moves off to smoke and argue about who got in the hardest shots at me.

I spit some blood on the ground, and when I look up, I spot Traven watching me from the back of his hellhound. He looks me over as I limp up to him.

“What was that about?” he says.

“I get to sit at the lunch table with the cool kids.”

“Is that what you want?”

“For now. And I wasn’t exactly in a position to say no.”

“I know the feeling,” he says, and I imagine him in Blue Heaven going through his library, deciding which books to save before the Magistrate ordered the havoc to burn the place to the ground.

“Listen,” I say. “I’m going to come see you tonight.”

He sits back on the hellhound.

“Is that wise? I’m not sure your friends would approve of you spending time with a librarian.”

“Fuck them. Have your bread and salt ready.”

“You’re going to let me eat your sins?”

“No. We’re going to bake brownies. Just have the stuff ready.”

“I will.”

He looks past me.

“I think your friends want you over with them.”

“I should go. Have you heard anything interesting from the Magistrate?”

“He’s very excited about finding what we’ve been looking for soon.”

“I bet he is. By the way, what’s under the tarp is a gun.”

“A gun?” he says. “That’s strange.”

“No shit. Also, rumor is there’s a rat around here sabotaging equipment.”

“It’s only a theory.”

“Well, some people think it’s me, so I’m going to try being a good boy for a while.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll have things ready,” he says, and rides his hound away.

I go back to the dog pack.

“Giving the old man a kiss good-bye?” says Wanuri.

“He’s a friend. I’ll talk to him when I want. Unless a bookworm makes you nervous.”

“Hey, the Magistrate likes him, so he’s all right with us. Just remember who your real friends are now.”

“How could I forget?” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. I take out my Maledictions, but the pack got crushed during my initiation. Fucking barbarians. I pull out a broken smoke and offer her one. She takes it and throws it on the ground. Takes out two of hers, hands me one, and lights both.

“Thanks.”

“Daja gave you those smokes, but remember: cigarettes aren’t a gift anymore. They’re part of your place with us.”

“Can I give someone outside the group a cigarette?”

“All you want. Anyone you want. Just be careful.”

“Why?”

She looks over her shoulder at the rest of the havoc.

“You might find you bought yourself a boyfriend or girlfriend you didn’t want.”

“That’s not the kind of trouble I want out here.”

“I heard that. Still, it’s nice to blow off steam every now and then.”

“I suppose. But what if steam’s all you’ve got?”

She pokes me in the chest.

“Then you need to find something more.”

“You’re right. What I need now is another drink.”

“Right this way. Drinks are part of who you are now, too. Whiskey, water. Whatever you want.”

“Hell, if I’d known that, you could have kicked me a lot longer.”

“Everybody says that.”

“But I mean it.”

“Trust me. We all did.”



Turns out that the truck repairs take longer than expected, so we dig in for the night. I sit in a circle with the dog pack. They pull camp chairs and even a beanbag chair from the trunks of the cars. If I’m not in Traven’s relatively cushy camper, this will do. It beats the earthmover.