The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(40)
I say, “You know how you can help? You’re the local swami. Tell them it’s all shit. You read my aura or something and I’m just another lost bastard who got lucky.”
She looks back at the camp, too.
“I already did. Some of them believe me. But you know how rumors are. Cool it with the magic and stay away from the trucks.”
“Good idea.”
“And don’t heal so fast. Look hurt. Limp around. You’re everyone’s favorite wounded puppy right now. Just go with it.”
“I’m not good at that.”
She pulls some potions from her pocket and hands them to me. I look them over, a little skeptical.
“What are those for?”
“Officially I’m over here to pray and spritz you with some healing potions.”
I push her hand away.
“Keep them. I’m sick of the Magistrate’s tent revival.”
Cherry stamps her foot.
“This is for both our benefits,” she says. “Besides, if you’re good I have some laudanum.”
I lower my head.
“You talked me into it.”
She lays a delicate hand on the back of my head and hits me with what smells like rose water and vinegar.
“That stuff stinks.”
“Shut up,” she says, and hands me a pint of laudanum.
I take the bottle and have a long, deep pull.
She takes it back.
“That’s enough for now, tiger. But you know where to come for more.”
She winks. I start to say something, but the laudanum kicks in and my brain is very soft and slow and the world is a lovely place.
“Feel good?” Cherry says.
“Like I have a rainbow in my heart.”
She rolls her eyes and puts her respirator back on.
“You’re ridiculously stoned,” she rasps.
She puts her arm around my waist. I drape mine over her shoulders and we stagger back to camp.
“Remember. You’re hurt. Play it up,” she says, helping me back onto the ground by my coat.
I give her a wave and she totters away.
Wanuri comes over and crouches down next to me.
“How are you feeling?”
Swaying, I give her a thumbs-up.
She frowns.
“Are you high?”
I squint at her.
“Define high.”
She looks at Cherry.
“Damn witch and her potions.”
“I respectfully disagree.”
“Get on your feet. The Magistrate wants to see you.”
“I’m not really in shape for a philosophical discussion.”
She grabs my arm and pulls me up. Even through the laudanum it hurts.
“Ow. Fuck.”
“You big baby. Move your ass.”
I look at her.
“You get hurt during the shitstorm?”
She folds her arms.
“Babetta got hit on one side of me and Lerajie on the other. I didn’t get a scratch. How does that happen? I don’t understand.”
I do my sodden best to look her in the eye.
“There’s nothing to understand. They died. You didn’t.”
She looks around.
“What if people think I ducked out? Let them die and Johnny and Billy get shot up.”
“You’re the last one anyone would think that about.”
“Still, man . . .”
“We’re just bugs on God’s windshield. Don’t expect anything to mean anything.”
“You know that for sure? How?”
“I’ll tell you a secret.”
“If you want me to be your valentine, no thanks.”
I crook a stoned finger at her. She gets closer.
“I met the Devil. He doesn’t have any more of a clue than we do. Neither does Mr. Muninn.”
“Who?’ she says.
“God.”
She gives me a look.
“An asshole like you met God?”
“I told you. None of this shit means anything.”
She breathes in and out slowly.
“People are talking about you.”
“No autographs, please.”
“Laugh it up. Half think you’re some kind of guardian angel here to look after the Magistrate. The other want to see you on the gallows truck.”
I lean over to pick up my shirt. Wanuri has to grab me to keep me from falling over.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“I’m fifty-fifty.”
She doesn’t bother letting me reach for my coat. She grabs it and throws it to me.
“You’re wrong,” I say. “I’m no one’s guardian and I’m not your rat. But I can’t prove either thing.”
Wanuri gives me a shove toward the motor home.
“That’s convenient.”
“Isn’t it just?”
When we get there I say, “If anyone says you ran, point them out and I’ll hit them.”
She grabs my arm.
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”
“I’m not fighting for you. I just like punching people.”
She lets go and points at me.
“There’s another half that thinks you’re just crazy.”