King Bullet

by Richard Kadrey

  “Be careful when you go out,” I say. “I think Sawney Bean is gone, but keep your eyes open.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s a little 9mm in a box under my bed. Take it with you. If you see anyone around here in a pig mask, don’t ask questions. Just shoot them.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  “A little.”

  “Maybe you should stay here until I get back.”

  “No,” she says. “You’ve taken care of me for a week. Go take care of you right now.”

  “I’ll see you later at the bar.”

  “I’ll go in early and tell Carlos what happened.”

  “Try to stay calm,” I say as I shove She-Ra into my pocket. “Things are going to be okay.” But I’m not 100 percent sure who I’m trying to convince, and even as I step into a shadow for Max Overdrive I have a bad feeling I’m wrong.

  I come out in the alley near the overflowing dumpster and trip over a pile of empty boxes. It’s getting fucking ridiculous out here and swarms of flies are having spring break on the remains of someone’s half-eaten burrito. Technically, I could have come out inside the shop, but I don’t do that anymore. Why is complicated and annoying.

  So let me remind you.

  Not so long ago, I was dead. Dead and back in Hell for a year. While I was gone, Candy and Alessa moved in together. I couldn’t blame her. Candy, that is. Or, I guess, Alessa for that matter. For both of them, there wasn’t any way I was coming back. But I did come back, only after Candy and Alessa had set up a nice life for themselves. Then I met Janet and, well, that’s where it gets extra complicated. Janet and I started seeing each other soon after I got back, and we get along really well. For a while I was seeing both Janet and Candy, which was fine for what it was. Only as much as Alessa and Janet claimed they didn’t mind Candy and me getting together sometimes, they did. Janet got depressed and Alessa put her foot down and it was goodbye to convoluted modern love. In some ways I’m relieved. Trying to keep one partner happy can be hard enough. Trying to balance two with two other reluctant partners is a full-time fucking job.

  Still, there’s a big hole inside me where Candy used to be. Janet is great and I care about them a lot, but they’re not the beautiful monster I lost because I was arrogant enough to think no one could get the drop on me. Of course, I can never say any of this to Janet and even thinking it makes me feel guilty as hell. And all of this is just a long way of saying that when I go to Max Overdrive these days, I don’t pop in through a shadow. I go in through the front door like any other asshole customer.

  Leaving the flies to their party, I go around to the front and start inside. But the door is locked. I can’t see anything through the glare on the glass, but I knock a few times. I can just make out some movement inside and eventually the door opens a few inches. It’s Kasabian. He takes one look at me and tries to slam the door shut again.

  “Put on a mask,” he yells.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  I take the rag from the side of my face and show him the bullet wound.

  “Christ, Stark. You’re a goddamn calamity.”

  “Thanks, Miss America. Now open up.”

  “Go to Allegra.”

  “This is too embarrassing. Now open the door or we’re both going to need a doctor.”

  He lets go of the door and runs a few feet away.

  “Fine, come in, but don’t get too close.”

  I go inside, keeping my distance. Ever since he got his body back, Kasabian has turned into a health freak. I mean, the man even eats vegetables. Plus, I can’t smoke around here anymore. I guess I can’t blame him. I mean, what shitty timing—getting hands, legs, and lungs back for the first time in years, only to find yourself stuck in Plague Town. And there’s plenty to be paranoid about. I mean, no one even knows what the virus is yet. For some people it’s just a bad flu, but others never heal right. The bug does something to their brains. They get amnesia. They get violent. They get better, they die, or they get weird. It makes me feel a little sorry for Kasabian and I hate that.

  He grabs a second surgical mask from behind the front counter and holds it over the one he’s already wearing.

  “Seriously, why are you even here?” he says. “Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?”

  “Hospitals ask too many questions and this is too stupid to bother Allegra with. You still have the toolbox? I need a pair of pliers.”

  “I’ll get it. It’s in the back. You stay right there. Don’t touch anything!”

  I take the rag from my face and check it. I’m still bleeding. The blood isn’t going to stop until I get the slug out of me. The whole right side of my face, numb a few seconds ago, starts aching and burning. I press the rag back to my cheek and when I do, I catch a whiff of something. Spackle and paint. I look at the back of the shop and see holes in the wall and plastered-over areas.

  When Kasabian gets back, I say, “You redecorating?”

  He drops the toolbox on the counter and opens it up.

  “Some customers did it for us. A couple of guys start arguing and all of a sudden it’s Riot on the Sunset Strip.”

  I dig around in the box for a minute until I find the needle-nose pliers. They’re old and dented and have seen better days. But I test them and they seem to work all right. Kasabian makes a face.

  “Aren’t you even going to clean them or something? You’re going to get an infection.”

  “Darn. I forgot my autoclave.”

  “Wait there, asshole.” Kasabian heads to his room.

  He comes back a minute later with a roll of paper towels and a bottle of twelve-year-old Macallan.

  I say, “Since when did you start drinking Scotch?”

  He pours a capful of the stuff onto a paper towel and rubs it all over the pliers.

  “It’s this new body. Bourbon, beer—all of that stuff tastes funny.”

  I look at the bottle on the counter.

  “At least you’re drinking good stuff.”

  “Damn right. I’m treating my body a lot better than I used to. You might consider doing the same.”

  “I didn’t shoot myself.”

  “I don’t care.”

  When he’s done, Kasabian puts the clean pliers on the counter, grabs the Macallan, and steps back, making sure to keep at least six feet between us.

  I hold the rag under the entry wound to catch any blood that comes out. Then I slip in the pliers, which isn’t that bad. But when I spread them to grab the bullet, let me tell you, it does not feel good. I let out a little involuntary groan and Kasabian backs up a couple more feet. Even though I can feel the slug on my cheekbone, it’s slippery enough that I can’t get hold of it. With all the probing around blood is flowing down my face. A lot more than I counted on. I pull out the pliers and take a breath.

  “That’s disgusting,” says Kasabian. “Can’t you just—?”

  “Hoodoo it out? You know I’m no good with subtle stuff. I’d probably just blow my face off.”

  “It’s a thought. You know, burn the field so a new crop can grow.”

  One more breath and I slide the pliers back into my cheek.

  Kasabian says, “What about Ray? He’s good with healing magic.”

  “I can do this.”

  When the blood starts again Kasabian turns away.

  “Oh shit. I’m going to be sick.”

  Finally, I can feel the teeth on the pliers get hold of something rigid. I clamp on it tight and slowly pull out the bullet. When it’s clear of my cheek I hold it up like a magician and say, “Ta-da!”

  “Hi, Stark. I didn’t hear you come in. What are you boys up to?”

  It’s Candy. She’s coming down the stairs from the second-floor apartment. When I didn’t see her in the store, I thought she was out. Me and Kasabian freeze like kids caught snorting Mom and Dad’s coke in the garage. The moment she sees the pliers and all the blood she shouts at me.

/>   “What the fuck are you doing?”

  She’s not wearing a mask, but she still rushes over and checks out my face and the blood that’s soaked through the rag.

  “Kas, get the first-aid kit,” she says.

  He holds out the extra mask to her.

  “You’re not wearing a—”

  “Now!” she yells.

  While he scurries off to get the kit, muttering, Candy stays with me. Before she can ask me what I did to myself I hold up the pliers with the bullet.

  I say, “It wasn’t my fault. There was a pig in the building.”

  “A pig with a gun,” she says.

  I nod. “And a paint-by-numbers set.”

  She takes the pliers from my hand and sets them on the counter.

  “Stop talking. It makes the bleeding worse. Also, I don’t want to hear your perverted farm animal fantasies.”

  “It wasn’t a fantasy, baby. The pig and me, we danced.”

  She puts a finger to my lips.

  “Hush. The doctors will be here soon with a straitjacket and, if you’re good, ice cream.”

  When I open my mouth to say “pistachio,” she clamps her hand over my mouth and yells, “How’s it coming, Kas?”

  He runs back and dumps the first-aid kit on the counter, then scurries away. Candy pops the top, grabs the whole gauze roll, and shoves it onto the bleeding wound.

  She says, “Is that a new coat?”

  “No. I’ve had it for months.”

  “Good. It’s covered in blood. You’re going to have to get it cleaned.”

  “Goddammit.”

  “Look on the bright side. You didn’t bleed all over my clean floor,” Kasabian says.

  “Your floor was always my utmost concern.”

  Candy pulls the bandage away long enough to get a good look at the wound.

  “You’ve had worse. At least the bullet went in clean and didn’t come out the back of your head.”

  “I was just telling Kas about how lucky I am.”

  “Next time I don’t care if you get shot or your balls are stuck in a wood chipper,” he says. “You don’t come in without a mask.”

  Before I can say anything, Candy pours hydrogen peroxide on the wound. The sting shuts me up quick.

  “You’re not bleeding too badly anymore,” she says. “But take it easy until your face heals.”

  “I will,” I say.

  Candy tears off the little gauze that doesn’t have blood all over it and bandages it to my face.

  “Good. No more partying with pigs for a while or you’ll start bleeding again.”

  “Thanks, doc.”

  Alessa—sensibly masked—comes downstairs and over to the counter. She takes one look at me and says, “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

  “He says he got into a fight with a pig,” says Candy.

  “It looks like the pig won.”

  “It was a draw,” I say. “But next time I’m coming home with pork chops.”

  Alessa hands Candy a mask and says, “You forgot again.”

  Candy puts it on.

  “Thanks.”

  Leaning in, Alessa looks at me closer.

  “That really does look nasty. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Not that long ago I would have assumed she was being sarcastic, but she’s been a lot nicer to me ever since I gave Kasabian his body back.

  I say, “It’s too early for this shit. I’ve been better.”

  She looks at the repairs in the back of the store.

  “So have we.”

  “Kas told me what happened.”

  “We’ve talked about going mail order or just leaving people’s discs outside. It was probably a bad idea, reopening this quickly.”

  “We all wanted it,” says Candy.

  “We were going stir-crazy,” Kasabian says.

  Alessa nods.

  “I know, but with the number of nutjobs who’ve been coming in, we might have to rethink it.” She looks at me. “If we get anyone as crazy as Stark’s pig in here, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  “Yeah, but locking people out isn’t going to stop the break-ins,” says Kasabian.

  I look at Candy.

  “You never mentioned that.”

  “No one’s gotten in yet,” she says. “Mostly they try the side door onto the alley. I suppose we’re lucky there’s so much garbage.”

  I say, “I still have some money left. I can help you get an alarm system.”

  Alessa lays a hand on Candy’s shoulder and says, “Already taken care of. It’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Great. I can at least put some wards around the doors and windows in the meantime.”

  “Thanks. That would be cool.”

  She hands me the paper towels.

  “But before you do it, you’ve got blood all over your coat. Clean up a little or people will think we’re the crazies.”

  “Good idea.”

  I clean up as best as I can, then go out and around to the side door. Tossing the bloody paper towels onto the garbage heap, I bark a little Hellion hoodoo and all the flies explode like disgusting little fireworks. After that, I can work in peace, using the black blade to cut runes and sigils all around the side door. I do the same thing to the front door, and chisel a little dust off the brick building next door, laying it out in a line under the doormat. When I’m done, I put the knife away and go back inside.

  From behind the counter, Kasabian gives me a look.

  “You’re still not wearing a mask.”

  “You got any extras down there? Plain ones?”

  “Nope.”

  With my back up against the wall I don’t have any choice but to put on She-Ra.

  Kasabian lights up when he sees the mask.

  “You’ve never been prettier.”

  “Give me a fucking break. I’m walking wounded.”

  “Then this will make you feel better,” he says and puts a bag on the counter.

  “What’s this?”

  “A lollipop for being good and putting on a mask.”

  I look inside the bag and see a few discs.

  “New special stuff?”

  “Choice titles and you’re the first to see any of it.”

  To keep Max Overdrive afloat, the store has a special arrangement with a friendly witch who gets Kas copies of movies and TV shows that almost came off, but didn’t happen in our reality. I look at the first disc.

  “The Third Man.”

  “With Cary Grant and Noël Coward as Harry Lime.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “I know, but they were the producer’s first choice.”

  The next disc is Death Wish.

  “With Jack Lemmon instead of Charles Bronson,” Kasabian says.

  “Now that sounds amazing.”

  “It is.”

  The next is a box set of something called Collector’s Item.

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s from 1957. A TV series where Vincent Price and Peter Lorre are crime-solving antique collectors.”

  “Be still my heart.”

  “You’ll love it.”

  “Thanks. This is a lot better than getting shot in the face.”

  “By a pig.”

  “I’m going to find that guy and drag him in here just so you can all see I’m not insane.”

  “Too late for that,” says Candy. “Looking good, She-Ra.”

  She holds up her phone and shows me Fuck Hollywood’s photo.

  I say, “I was ambushed.”

  “Of course you were.”

  She reaches behind the counter and brings me one more disc.

  “This won’t be out until next week, but we trade some stuff with a record store in Glendale. It’s Skull Valley Sheep Kill’s new album, Club Katabasis.”

  “Damn. I’ve been waiting for this. Thanks.”

  “Thank you for magicking up the shop.”

  She gives me a hug and my stom
ach suddenly feels like it’s in free fall. Just touching Candy, I’m sick with a longing that I can’t stand. I take a step back, thank everybody one more time, and get out of there as fast as I can.

  I come out of a shadow across town near Janet’s apartment, a few blocks from UCLA. It’s a tony area, but like the rest of the city, you wouldn’t guess it at first glance. Stripped cars. Garbage on the curbs as high as anywhere else. Tags on every flat surface, including the garbage piles. That’s how long they’ve been there. Gangs never seen in this area before hustling for territory.

  More trash and a wet stain on the steps into Janet’s building. I press the buzzer and the front door pops open. Inside, all of the mailboxes are broken. Letters and packages are scattered everywhere. I kick through the junk and find a few items with Janet’s name on them and take them with me inside.

  Her apartment door is unlocked when I get there. Dammit. Their. Janet is nonbinary and even after all this time, I still occasionally screw up their pronouns. At least I didn’t say it out loud. I go inside and Janet is there sipping tea.

  “Hi. Sorry I’m late. It’s been a weird morning.”

  They put down the cup hard enough that it sloshes tea all over the kitchen counter.

  “Oh my god.”

  I hold up a hand.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  They take my face in their hands, turning me this way and that.

  “What happened?” they say.

  “I had a run-in with a psycho. I deserve the bullet for getting so sloppy.”

  “He shot you?” Their voice gets louder. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “I’m fine. I got the bullet out before coming over.”

  “By yourself? Come here and sit down. I want to take a look at you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re an idiot is what you are.”

  “That too probably.”

  They push me down and take off the bandage. Whatever it is they see makes them frown.

  “Dammit. You’re still bleeding. Just getting out the bullet isn’t enough. You know that, right?”

  “It’ll be fine by tonight.”

  They ignore me. “Hold the bandage to your face. I need to get something.”

  “It’s really not necessary.”

  “I know. You’re a fast healer and all that other macho bullshit. Just sit there and be quiet.”