The Kill Society (Sandman Slim)(55)

“That was quite the performance you put on out there, Mr. Pitts,” says the Magistrate. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

I take out Simiel’s blade.

“Yeah. Anybody want to check out my cool new knife?”

“I do!” says Doris.

I give it to Traven to pass back to her.

Alice says, “I think what your friends want is to understand how you were able to take an angel’s knife in the first place.”

“And why an army of rebel angels was after you,” the Magistrate says.

“That too,” Alice says.

I look around. Not a lot of friendly faces right now.

“That wasn’t an army. It was more like a street gang come to shake us down for being in their territory.”

“I doubt that,” says the Magistrate. “I was under the impression they were looking for you in particular.”

“Yeah. It kind of looked that way, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” the Magistrate says dryly. “Especially when you said, ‘Here I am.’”

“Right.”

“And why did that one call you an Abomination?” says Wanuri.

I look at Alice. She squeezes my hand and for the first time in a long time I don’t feel quite so alone.

“The Abomination is what he said. If you’re going to call me that name, get it right.”

The Magistrate says, “And what sort of Abomination are you precisely, Mr. Pitts?”

Doris passes the golden blade back to me.

I catch Traven’s eye, and he gives a little “I’ll back your play” shrug. I shake my head. “Hell. I’m tired of this. My real name is James Stark. My father was an angel, which makes me a nephilim. That’s why he called me Abomination.”

“You told me your father tried to shoot you,” says Doris.

“Different father.”

“I see.”

The Magistrate says, “It’s my understanding that ‘nephilim’ is plural. I believe that ‘niphal’ is the singular.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”

Gisco is propped against the wall on crutches. He grunts a few syllables at me. I recognize them from the other night. The Magistrate looks at him.

“I don’t understand, Gisco. What are you trying to say?”

I put the knife back in my pocket.

“He’s saying that my other name is Sandman Slim.”

A couple of mouths drop open. A few eyebrows go up. The Magistrate sits up a little straighter. Johnny looks around at everybody, then at me.

“Sandman what? What the fuck kind of name is that? Some kind of TV cowboy?”

The Magistrate half turns in his chair.

“Sandman Slim was a rather renowned killer in Hell. But he disappeared. I take it that is who you claim to be?”

“No. The angels that just kicked your ass and the one that I killed with his own fucking knife. That’s who says I’m Sandman Slim.”

The Magistrate turns to Vehuel. She’s smiling to herself, amused by the tension among the mortals.

“My dear lady celestial, can you shed any light on this? Is this man, our Mr. Pitts, the half angel called Sandman Slim?”

“Oh yes,” she says. “He’s Sandman Slim and James Stark and the Abomination. All these names are his.”

“And why do you smile at him like that?”

“Because he’s every bit as ridiculous as I was told he would be.”

“And who told you this?”

“God,” says Alice.

The mouths go open. The eyebrows that had settled down go back up. You get the idea.

Johnny is still the holdout.

“God doesn’t know this waste of space. It’s a trick. He’s a con man.” He points at Vehuel. “How do we even know you’re who you say you are? You could be in on it with him. You’re just a bitch on wings to me, sweetheart.”

I almost feel bad for Johnny.

Faster than anyone can see, Vehuel’s arm is up and her Gladius is aimed right between Johnny’s eyes. When she speaks, her voice rattles the walls.

“You are a fool and an offense to the Lord and his emissaries. You will not speak again or you will be silenced.”

Johnny holds up his hands, scared but trying to save as much of his face as he has left.

“All right now. No offense meant. I’m mostly mad at that wombat standing next to you.”

Alice prods me with her elbow.

“I think he means you, wombat.”

The Magistrate laces his fingers together. Takes them apart.

“Mr. Pitts, Mr. Sandman, Mr. Stark—and any other names we do not know . . .”

“Those about cover it.”

“Good. Of all the places in Perdition you could have been, why did you come to us?”

“I told you: I don’t know. I was on that mountain, I walked down, and there you were.”

He nods, thinking.

“I thought we had reached an understanding, a state of trust between you, Daja, and myself,” he says. “Why did you not tell us of your other life?”

“Did I mention I was fucking murdered? Even when I first landed in Hell, I wasn’t this off balance.”

“Still. It’s disappointing.”