King Bullet

by Richard Kadrey

And then they’re gone.

  “Finally,” says King Bullet. “Alone at last. I didn’t think you’d do it, you know. With your history, I thought you’d do something stupid and make me kill them both.”

  I say, “Dad was a bastard, but you’re an idiot. You have so much power, but you wasted it on this shit. You’re not the king of anything except the playground, you fucking child. We could have done amazing things together. But you decided a tantrum was enough.”

  “You would have trusted a Kissi enough to call him brother?”

  “With some time.”

  “Well, I never wanted to party with you, so if this is a plea for forgiveness it’s not going to work.”

  “It’s not a plea for anything other than to shut your yap. Like I said before, you’re boring. Now, let’s get going. Mason Faim could have sent me to Hell a dozen times by now.”

  King Bullet puts the gun away and jerks the ax from the ground.

  “Do you want a moment to pray to Dad or Granddad?”

  “I’ll pass. They know what I think of them.”

  “Cool. Get up on your knees and bow your head to me.”

  I do what he says. But instead of chopping me, King Bullet has one more look around, like he’s expecting some angelic cavalry to rush to my rescue.

  I say, “You’re safe. No one’s coming.”

  He scans the horizon one more time and says, “It looks that way. Ready?”

  I tilt my head up toward him.

  “Still bored,” I say.

  King Bullet swings the ax.

  And Enoch Valley disappears in a mushroom cloud of pure fire.

  So here I am. Wherever that is. Everywhere and nowhere at all. Just drifting. Like a trash bag in the wind, blown this way and that. I’m pretty sure I’m not alive. I guess this is—what? Not death. I’ve been there before. This is weirder. Maybe something in between. Maybe after the explosion there wasn’t enough of me left to go on. So I just drift. It doesn’t hurt, and I can see a lot. I mean fucking everything. Across time and stars and goddamn galaxies. But I turn away from the light show and focus back on the stupid little rock I just came from.

  How long have I been drifting? Weeks maybe. The first thing I see when I look again is Max Overdrive. The rubble is gone and the ground is clear. Candy, Kas, and Alessa are there. They’re rebuilding the place. They look happy. I wish I were there with them, but unlike the last time I died, this time it’s good to see them moving on. I plant one ghost kiss on Candy’s cheek and the wind blows me away across the city.

  Hollywood is full of people again. The virus must be gone and there isn’t a Shoggot in sight. It’s all cars and buses, and people going to work and partying. Good for you, assholes. Have some tamales for me.

  There’s a gust and I tumble through the streets. Finally, I bump my way into Bamboo House of Dolls. Carlos is giving out a free round to the unmasked crowd as Brigitte shows her new green card to everyone who’ll hold still. Allegra and Fuck Hollywood stand with Janet between them. Nice. They’re part of the family now. I reach out to touch Janet’s hand, but another gust grabs me.

  I’m tossed end over end across the city. Past the Devil’s Door Drive-In, where a long line of cars winds itself inside for a triple bill of the first three Frankenstein movies. Flicker always had good taste.

  Before I get sucked up into the sky, I grab one of the signs marking the exits along the Hollywood Freeway. Cars flash by below. But my eyes fall on a small figure hitchhiking on the shoulder of the freeway with a sign that says Everywhere. She looks younger and a little smaller than I remember her. She’s not dressed as well as usual—and clearly not quite back to her full power—but I’d know Mustang Sally anywhere. You can’t kill the road queen forever. Not in L.A. She needs a car to get back to herself again, but if I know Sally, she’ll have her pick of a dozen before dawn.

  I think I’ve figured out this drifting thing enough to drag my skyward ass across town one more time, all the way to Abbot’s mansion.

  Yeah, the fucker is in there. Barricaded in a room blazing with light in every direction, so there are no shadows a certain Abomination can slip through. He’s not Augur anymore. I don’t know how I know, but I do. I guess when he didn’t kill me, the Council cut the cord. He’s all on his own now, waiting for the hammer to fall. Quake in your boots, Richie Rich. You got off easy this time. But we’re not done yet.

  I can feel myself fading. Sheering apart to nothing. But I’m not quite ready to go. I hold myself together just long enough to go back to the apartment one last time.

  It’s empty, but I can feel all the life collected there. It’s warm and reassuring. People are safe here. People will be safe. I see my old coat nailed to the wall by the TV. Fuck Hollywood must have done it. How do I know? Because she put the damn She-Ra mask on a shelf right above it with a little Godzilla figurine looming over it like a guardian angel.

  And that’s all I get. Whatever’s left of me comes apart. I blow to pieces in the emptiness of space. Just some motes of cosmic dust drifting through nothingness forever.

  I wake up in bed in a hotel room. I can tell it’s a hotel by the pointless art and the fancy but generic fixtures. Every inch of me hurts. Groaning, I sit up.

  Samael is sitting on a sofa, sipping tea and reading a book. He notices I’m awake and raises his eyebrows when he sees me.

  I say, “How long have I been out?”

  “It’s been a while. Father told me to look after you.”

  “Yeah? How did that go?”

  “You talk in your sleep.”

  “What did I say?”

  “Nothing I can repeat in polite company.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re in one piece.”

  He slaps his chest.

  “Fit as a fiddle.” He holds up his cup. “Some tea?”

  “Why are you people always trying to get me to drink tea?”

  “It’s good for you. You have some healing to do.”

  I touch my face.

  “Don’t worry. Father fixed it. He couldn’t stand to look at you the other way.”

  Looking around the opulent room, I say, “Where am I, by the way?”

  “Where do you think?”

  “It reminds me of the Beverly Wilshire hotel.”

  “Classier than you’re used to?”

  “Classier than I deserve.”

  “That’s certainly true.”

  I try to get out of bed, but my back and shoulder are stiff and sore.

  Samael waves a hand at me.

  “Later, Superman. There’s plenty of time for that.”

  I forget getting out of bed and settle for leaning against the headboard.

  “Where exactly am I?”

  Samael chuckles.

  “You blew yourself to teeny tiny atoms. Where do you think you are?”

  “Hell again?”

  “You’re getting closer.”

  I look at him.

  “Heaven? No no no. I never signed up for this.”

  He says, “It gets worse.”

  “How could it possibly?”

  He takes a hand mirror from the dresser and hands it to me. I look at him before looking at myself.

  Oh shit.

  I shout, “Where are my scars?”

  Samael leans back on the sofa, delighted by my suffering.

  “When Father fixes things, he fixes them all the way.”

  “But my scars. They were—mine.”

  “It’s your fault. You made yourself so ugly that he couldn’t stand it, so he gave you a tune-up.”

  I drop the mirror on the bed.

  “This is a fucking nightmare. Please tell me I’m still asleep.”

  “Nope.”

  I sit there for a moment just staring at the ceiling before I remember something.

  “I know what you were trying to tell me when the King stabbed you.”

  “Of course. He was the spitting image of Uriel.”

  “Maybe not quite that close, bu
t I saw him in the King’s face. Hell. I wish I’d known earlier.”

  “What difference would it have made? Would he have pulled you into a warm embrace and called you brother?”

  “I don’t know. I just know what it’s like to be fucked over. Maybe I could have done something.”

  “Yes. I’m sure some hot cocoa and a teddy bear would have fixed things right up.”

  Before I can tell him to fuck off, he says, “Father told me about the trick you pulled with the Mithras. Very clever.”

  “He was so scared of it. The gag only worked because I talked him into chipping off a tiny piece and putting it inside me.”

  Samael looks concerned.

  “If he failed it could have been fatal for all of us.”

  “But he didn’t. He came through when he had to.”

  “That he did. And so did you.”

  He gives me a conspiratorial wink.

  “Wait. Is that why I’m in Heaven? I’m some kind of fucking hero?”

  Samael shrugs.

  “Father just assumed you’d like to stay this time.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  He makes a face at me.

  “Stop whining. People have waited millennia to get in here. And don’t even think about leaving. Father wants you here and that’s that.”

  “He has angels watching me?”

  “One or two.”

  “You?”

  Samael gets up, goes to the closet, and tosses me some clothes.

  “Time to get dressed. Your fans are waiting to meet you.”

  I sit up straighter.

  “What fans?”

  “Every human who’s ever lived since the beginning of time,” he says. “Remember that little trick where you opened Heaven’s gates?”

  “Everyone really made it?”

  “Come outside and see.”

  “How many are we talking about?”

  “A hundred billion or so. Give or take.”

  My stomach knots.

  “Shit. I don’t have to say anything, do I?”

  “Please don’t.”

  “In that case I guess it’s okay.”

  “I’ll tell Father you’re up. And, Jimmy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know you’re already plotting an escape, but forget it. Remember: you don’t have a body anymore. There’s nothing for you to escape into. No Wormwood to resurrect you. You’re part of the family now.”

  I haul my ass out of bed.

  “Go away and let me put my damn pants on.”

  Samael leaves laughing and I fall back onto the blanket. So, this is what it feels like not to have a body. I hope they have aspirin in Heaven.

  Getting clothes onto my stiff body takes a while. Worse, there’s a button-up shirt and tie with my clothes. I haven’t tied a tie in a million years. It takes me a half hour and fifty tries to get the damn thing an approximation of right.

  Finally, I limp out into the hall. There are a couple of big guys out there, also in suits. Soldiers, probably, from the loyal angelic army.

  I say, “What are you? My bodyguards?”

  The taller of the two says, “We’re just here to make sure you don’t get lost.”

  “And it takes two for that?”

  The short one points to the tall one.

  “He makes sure I don’t get lost too.”

  The tall angel nods to the shorter one.

  “And he makes sure I don’t get lost. See? It’s all a beautiful system.”

  “You’re hilarious. You’re the ones who make sure I don’t jackrabbit out of here.”

  “There’s that too.”

  I go over to them.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  The short one starts out and the tall one waits for me, so I’m pincered in from both sides. It’s diabolical.

  We go down to the third floor. They lead me to a conference room with a balcony that normally overlooks a garden. Only the garden is gone, replaced by a mob of people. A big mob. Like from the hotel to the horizon and, for all I know, beyond. Mr. Muninn and Samael are on the balcony too. I look down into the crowd and front row center are Alice, Vidocq, and Father Traven.

  Samael walks behind me and as he does, he whispers, “Wave to them, you idiot.”

  I raise my hand and do what he said. And a hundred billion people whoop and scream my name. It’s just a little overwhelming. I don’t know what to do, so I keep waving until Samael comes back and gently pushes my hand to my side.

  “I think they saw you,” he says.

  The shouting continues.

  I say, “What happens now?”

  “Father says a few words, then dinner.”

  “Can we just skip to dinner?”

  “Father did you one favor. Don’t expect another so soon.”

  “I’m not cut out for this hero stuff.”

  “We’re going to have to do something about that whining if you’re going to be around for eternity. And you are.”

  “Whatever you say, man. But I’m not saying grace.”

  We have dinner in the biggest room I’ve ever seen. It’s like someone took all of California and put it under one roof with chandeliers and gold filigree along the edges of the ceiling. Mr. Muninn puts me at the head of the center table and sits to my right. Thankfully, Alice, Vidocq, and Father Traven are around me too. There’s good food and wine and everybody is happy and chatty. Strangers come over to shake my hand or kiss me on the cheek. It’s all so goddamn heartwarming that I want to die all over again.

  After a couple of hours of people thanking me, I’m about all out of graciousness and charm.

  Thankfully, Samael pulls me aside, through a red velvet curtain, and out onto a small balcony. He slaps a pack of Maledictions and a lighter into my hand and says, “Enjoy. But don’t be too long. Father will have the hotel guards out looking for you.”

  “Thanks, man.” It’s the first time I’ve genuinely felt that emotion since I woke up.

  He goes back inside and leaves me alone, looking out over Heaven’s absolutely perfect lawns and clean streets. It’s pretty awful.

  My mind goes back to the desert. Saying goodbye to Candy and Janet. My breath catches in my chest for a second reliving the moment. But I relax again thinking of Candy kissing me in the bedroom. Of making love in the desert by a dead lake with a million dead fish watching us.

  I think of all my friends at the apartment. Candy trying to explain to them what I’d done. Man, I hate the idea of her having to do it, but it was her idea to tell them, and I know she’ll do a good job. While we were in Heaven together, I told her that Fuck Hollywood had nowhere else to go so, if she wanted it, she could keep the place. Candy, Alessa, and Kasabian were welcome to stay too while they rebuilt Max Overdrive. I know they and the others would be all right, but I missed them all so much already.

  I smoke two Maledictions and head back into the party, thoroughly sick of this hero business.

  After the dinner breaks up, I get a better look at my room in the palace. It’s actually pretty nice. A soft bed, big shower, and an entire wall that’s a TV with every movie ever made on call anytime I want. It’s paradise in a way. For someone. For me, it’s going to take some getting used to.

  Maybe I’ll see you again sometime. Not as Stark or Sandman Slim. Maybe just as a flicker in the corner of your eye. A quick blur in Bamboo House of Dolls. A breeze on your shoulder at the movies. Maybe just hanging out, keeping an eye on my friends.

  Not right away, of course. I still hurt all over. And I have some old friends in Heaven to catch up with. Besides, Samael and his Mouseketeers will be watching me 24/7. Still—

  Someone once asked Warren Zevon what he’d been up to and he said, “Just surfing and shoplifting.” I wouldn’t mind giving something like that a try.

  Never forget: Hell couldn’t hold me. This cosmic retirement home doesn’t stand a chance.

  You think I’m done?

  I’m just getting started.<
br />
  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my agent, Ginger Clark, and everyone at Curtis Brown. Big thanks to my editor, David Pomerico, and the whole team at Harper Voyager. Special thanks goes to David Southwell for insights into the wonders of Hookland. Also, Cassandra Khaw, Michelle Belanger, and everyone who made me feel at home in Austin.

  I also want to thank the readers who went on this weird journey with me. I never thought Stark and I would make it this far, and we wouldn’t have without you. I’m grateful to each and every one of you.

  Thanks,

  RK

  About the Author

  RICHARD KADREY is the New York Times bestselling author of the Sandman Slim supernatural noir books. Sandman Slim was included in Amazon’s “100 Sci-Fi & Fantasy Books to Read in a Lifetime,” and is in development as a feature film. Kadrey’s other books include Hollywood Dead, The Everything Box, Metrophage, and Butcher Bird, and he also writes comics and screenplays. He lives in Austin, Texas.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Endorsements

  Praise for the Sandman Slim series

  “Kadrey provides biting humor, an over-the-top antihero and a rich stew of metaphoric language in this testosterone- and adrenaline-charged noir thriller. . . . Darkly atmospheric settings, such as a posh gentleman’s club where angels are tortured in an attempt to bring about Armageddon, bring this violent fantasy into sharp, compelling focus.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Sandman Slim

  “Endlessly inventive and high-octane. . . . Kadrey’s an excellent writer who’s able to juggle all of it without dropping a single pin.”

  —Locus on Kill the Dead

  “I’ve encountered a lot of fictional characters with bad attitudes and vengeance on their minds, but after finishing up Aloha from Hell, the third book in the Sandman Slim series, I’ve officially moved Stark into a category of his own. . . . I hope Kadrey keeps putting out Sandman Slim books for the next twenty years. They’re that much fun to read.”

  —Wired on Aloha from Hell

  “A hell of a good time.”

  —io9 on Devil Said Bang

  “A deft mixture of urban fantasy and light comedy, the fifth Sandman Slim novel is sure to appeal to the author’s growing fan base, not to mention readers of such writers as Jim Butcher, P. N. Elrod, and F. Paul Wilson.”