Ballistic Kiss

by Richard Kadrey

  “Enby. Okay. If not ‘she,’ what should I call you then?”

  “‘They’ and ‘them’ works. I know that can be confusing at first, but I promise you it stops being weird pretty quickly.”

  “‘They’ and ‘them.’ I can do that. I’m still not sure I understand it all a hundred percent, but I’ll try.”

  “That’s all that matters.”

  I think about it for a minute.

  “I think I’m a guy. He. Is that all right?”

  “Of course. That’s what I was trying to say. If it fits, that’s perfect for you. It means you’re who you feel yourself to be and what makes you happy.”

  “That makes sense.”

  Janet looks sheepish and says, “You still like me?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? Words are words. Names are names. None of that is going to change how I feel about someone. We are who we are.”

  “Some people—especially guys—don’t handle it well. They think pronouns are stupid or that I’m going through a phase. But I’m not.”

  “Those guys sound pretty stupid.”

  I remember one of my guards when I was in the arena Downtown.

  “There was someone I knew once. Very far away. They speak another language there, but I think that person might have been non-binary too. Only they didn’t call it that. They called it . . .” And I bark a Hellion word.

  Janet laughs.

  “Holy shit. Is that a real word?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “It sounds like you farted through your mouth.”

  “That’s how it feels too.”

  “Where is this magical fart kingdom?”

  Now I’m the one who’s uncomfortable.

  “I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about that yet.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not trying to be mysterious or hide anything. It’s just that it’s kind of . . .”

  “Traumatic?”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  “Then tell me when you’re ready.”

  “I promise.”

  “So, I guess if you’re going to tell me something in the future it means we’re going to see each other again?”

  “It looks that way.”

  They kiss me and I kiss them back. For a long time.

  I’m into it and then a second later I’m out of it. I see Candy’s face clearly.

  Are you showing off for your girlfriend?

  I must tense up, because Janet gives me a questioning look.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just something popped into my head.”

  “Your friend Candy?”

  “Damn. You’re a mind reader too.”

  “It didn’t take a mind reader to see that there was some history with you two.”

  “A lot actually.”

  “And you still haven’t worked out how things are between you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does that mean I should back off and just bring you fritters and coffee?”

  “You should definitely not do that,” I said firmly. “I was gone a long time and she moved in with someone, but it’s not like we’re officially broken up or anything. It’s confusing.”

  “I think her living with a lover gives you a certain amount of leeway in who you see.”

  “I think so too.”

  “But you still feel guilty.”

  “A little. This is all new to me.”

  “That’s okay. It just means you’re a nice guy who needs to work some shit out.”

  “Probably a lot.”

  They put a hand on my cheek.

  “It’s okay. I didn’t think anything was going to happen tonight. If you had any game at all you’d have fucked me on the Bavarian creams when we were putting them out.”

  “Now it seems so obvious.”

  They look around.

  “You want some help cleaning this place up?”

  “No. It just sort of happens on its own and I don’t ask questions.”

  “That’s a nice setup.”

  I follow Janet into the living room.

  We stand by the door kissing for a few minutes and this time I don’t think about anything but Janet. When we open the door to leave they get a wicked look on their face.

  “You like old movies?”

  “I’ve seen a few.”

  Janet says, “If you want to see me again, just whistle. You know how to whistle, don’t you?”

  I say, “You just put your lips together and blow.”

  Janet does a low wolf whistle and closes the door behind her. Them.

  I go back into the kitchen and pour myself another drink.

  It’s dumb for me to keep feeling guilty about Candy. She made her choice. She has her life. I need to get one of my own.

  For a minute, I think about going after Janet. But I don’t. Not tonight. I’m not quite ready tonight. And Samael’s words are rattling around in my head.

  Give those women a break.

  This is ridiculous. I fought in the arena. Everyone in Hell was afraid of Sandman Slim. So why am I so nervous every time I kiss Janet? Does everyone know about enby but me? Am I that much of a shut-in? I need to get out more. Talk to people I’m not there to kill.

  I bring the bourbon into the living room and watch Alien 3 while eating the yule log.

  Janet was right. I should have fucked her out on the Bavarian creams.

  Them, not her.

  Fuck.

  This is going to take some time.

  It takes most of the night, but I finish all of the movies and half of the bourbon, and make a pretty good dent in the yule log. I have a vague dream where Samael talks about an angel named Zadkiel or something and how I have a week to save the world, like I’m Superman and the Pinkertons all rolled into one.

  When Abbot calls, I’m hungover and in the middle of a massive sugar crash. It’s like the little plastic Santa and reindeer from the log crawled into my head and are now bashing the inside of my skull with sledgehammers trying to get out.

  I grumble something into the phone when I pick it up.

  “You’re still in bed?” says Abbot. “It sounds like you had a rough night.”

  “I did. Want to hear about my love life?”

  “I’d rather be eaten by wolves.”

  “That’s an option I hadn’t considered. I’m guessing from the call that you need me after all.”

  “That’s right. Come by at five.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “Noon.”

  “No promises.”

  “This is serious, Stark, so don’t be late.”

  I practically crawl into the kitchen. Drink a glass of water and a shot of bourbon. Finish it all with a not-quite-stale Bavarian cream.

  I sleep a little before cleaning up. The neat-freak elves or whoever will eventually do it for me, but I want most of this stuff out of here now. Between Janet, Candy, and Brigitte’s situation, last night was too much of a mess and I don’t want it hanging around.

  When it hits four thirty I shove some papers into the pocket of my coat and get on the Hellion Hog. It would be faster to get to Abbot through a shadow, but a ride will clear my head.

  Since his boat sank a while back, Abbot has moved into a storage shed on a vacant lot in Westwood. Sub Rosa aesthetics are funny that way. Regular blue bloods like to show off their money with giant estates and palm trees that reach the sky. Sub Rosa are the opposite. The more their place looks like a hovel, the classier they are. Abbot’s place looks like a shack fucked an outhouse and they had an ugly baby. I park the Hog on the grassless lot and go inside the shed.

  That’s where the shakedown begins. Abbot, being the Augur of all the California Sub Rosa, has a security detail as thorough and humorless as a black ops hit squad. We’re doing fine until they try to take my weapons.

  “That’s not going to happen,” I tell the head of the detail, a solid chunk of muscled beef in a business suit.


  “Then you can’t come in,” he says.

  I shrug.

  “Fine. Tell your boss I was here—and early. When he fires you, I’m sure you’ll find a lucrative career in grocery store security.”

  I head for the door but before I leave I shout, “Bye, Abbot,” at the top of my lungs.

  Outside, I don’t even bother starting the bike. I light a Malediction and about two seconds later, three of the security kielbasas come out.

  The tall one says, “The Augur would like you to come to the meeting.”

  “And I get to keep my stuff?”

  “He says that you may keep your weapons.”

  “Can I finish my cigarette first?”

  “He’d prefer it if you came right now.”

  “Are you sure? Because this brand is really hard to find.”

  The big guy takes a breath.

  “Look, man. I’m just doing my job. Don’t be a dick.”

  He’s right. I am being a dick, and I was a dick when I drove to Malibu the other day. I’ve probably used up my dick allowance for the month. I pinch off the lit end of the Malediction and put the unsmoked half in the pack, then head back inside the shack, the security meat close behind. The big guy from outside leads me into a marbled office the size of Indiana. Abbot is sitting at a large partners desk. Even so, he looks ridiculous in the enormous space.

  “I’m glad you found a place to park your solid-gold blimp,” I say. “Wouldn’t want to leave that kind of thing on the street.”

  Abbot looks around and makes a face.

  “It is a bit much, isn’t it?”

  “Not if you’re the pope.”

  “Luckily, it’s just a loaner.”

  “From Superman, right? I thought the Fortress of Solitude was farther north.”

  “Come on. We just talked about this,” says the security guy.

  I hold up a hand. “You’re right. I just have an allergy to stuff like this. You don’t?”

  He glances at Abbot.

  “I’m happy to protect the Augur wherever he is.”

  “But you wouldn’t live in a place like this.”

  He looks straight ahead but mumbles, “Hell no.”

  Abbot laces his fingers together.

  “Are you finished critiquing the décor, Stark? I told you this was serious.”

  “Ghosts, right? I still don’t know why you want me. Are you telling me that between you and the wind chime squad from San Francisco you couldn’t clear the place out?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  “Huh. That’s actually interesting. Still, what do you want me for?”

  “No conventional thaumaturgic systems we’ve tried have budged the spirits. It’s time for you to use Hellion methods.”

  I lean back in the chair.

  “Why not? I finished all my movies and ate most of the yule log.”

  His eyes narrow.

  “You have a yule log?”

  “Yeah.”

  The guard tsks under his breath.

  Abbot says, “Stark, it’s summer.”

  “That’s what people keep telling me.”

  He waves the yule log away and says, “The spirits appear about an hour after sunset. They’re vicious. We don’t know how many civilians they’ve killed or how many are still alive and in hiding. We’ve cordoned off the neighborhood with wards and charms, but the spirits are powerful. They keep pushing at the edges of the boundary. I don’t know how long we can contain them.”

  “Hold on. Did you say they’ve taken over a whole neighborhood?”

  “Yes. All of Little Cairo is off-limits to civilians and Sub Rosa. It’s too dangerous for anyone but professionals.”

  I sit up straight again.

  “But like I said the other day, I’m not a professional. I’ve chased a few spooks in my time, but not a whole neighborhood full.”

  “Try,” says Abbot. “If you can hurt them, we might be able to bring a normal exorcism crew to finish them off.”

  I try to think of an argument against it, but I can’t. The leather bully aside, I haven’t seen any action in weeks and I can’t keep punching holes in walls. Maybe getting out and killing something that deserves it will do me some good.

  “When’s sundown?”

  Abbot looks at his watch.

  “In a little over two hours.”

  “So, three hours until the party gets started.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you have any Spiritus Dei lying around? That stuff will kill anything.”

  He looks at the security guy.

  “Matthew, would you bring him some from storage?”

  He moves off.

  I yell, “Don’t be stingy, Matthew. Get a thermos full. Neither one of us wants me to have to come back here soon.”

  “Is there anything else you’ll need?” says Abbot.

  “If I do I’ll let you know. And before I forget, I want to give you something.”

  I pull a folder from my coat and drop it on his desk. Abbot opens it and looks surprised.

  “What is this?”

  “Bearer bonds. They’re supposed to be valuable.”

  He looks through the thick pile.

  “These look worth several million dollars.”

  “Good. Now here’s the deal. I don’t want the Sub Rosa spending that on marble condos like this place. Spread it around. Give it to people who need it. Charities or whatever.”

  He looks at me.

  “Do I want to know where you got these?”

  “Do you want me to tell you that the people who had them are dead?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t ask.”

  Abbot lays his hand on the folder.

  “This will be put to good use. I promise you.”

  “Good. I don’t really trust any of the Sub Rosa overlords, but I do you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Two more things—does this mean I can stay in the flying saucer house for a while?”

  He holds his hands up.

  “Consider it yours. Stay for as long as you like.”

  “Good. ’Cause I don’t have anywhere else to go. Now there’s the second thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A friend of mine. She goes by the name Brigitte Bardo. She’s Czech and someone is trying to have her deported. She doesn’t want to go and I don’t want her to either. What can you do about it?”

  Abbot thinks for a minute.

  “I have friends in immigration. I can have them look into it for you.”

  “Don’t look into it. Fix it.”

  “It would help if I knew her real name.”

  I write her phone number down on the folder with the bearer bonds.

  “Call her and find out. She’s been Brigitte for as long as I’ve known her and that’s good enough for me.”

  Matthew comes back with a plaid thermos. I put it in a coat pocket and get up.

  “Thanks. If there isn’t anything else, I have a yule log to finish before sundown.”

  “Try to eat some real food, Stark. That’s why we replenish the supply. It would be embarrassing for everyone if you got scurvy.”

  “But funny,” I say, heading out. “Admit it. It would be fucking hilarious.”

  Matthew follows me.

  I get on the bike and he says, “We have a deal?”

  “What deal is that?”

  “You don’t come back unless the Augur calls you.”

  I take out the half-smoked Malediction and light it.

  “We have a deal.”

  “Good,” he says. He waves his hand, trying to blow the smoke away.

  “What the hell are those things? They smell like you set a donkey’s ass on fire.”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yeah. In fact I do.”

  “You’re not going to believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  “They’re called Maledictions and they’re very pop
ular in Hell. The Devil gave them to me.”

  Matthew thinks about it for a minute.

  “See, my first reaction was that you’re being a dick again. Then I remembered all the stories about you.”

  “And you sort of believe me?”

  “I sort of believe you.”

  I put out my hand and we shake.

  “Matthew, try not to die any time soon. Hell is a garbage dump. It’s getting worse and there’s no end in sight. You and your friends, you don’t want to go there.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to Hell?”

  “That’s the problem. Everybody, good or bad, gets dumped in Hell these days. So, check twice before crossing the street.”

  He looks at me.

  “This is you being a dick again, isn’t it?”

  “I promise you it’s not. I’m being a person right now. You, your family, your friends, don’t die until we get some shit sorted out.”

  Matthew keeps looking at me, trying to figure out what the gag is. Finally, he waves me out of the lot.

  “Don’t come back soon.”

  I gun the Hog and take off, wondering if he believes me and knowing he probably doesn’t. I hope he doesn’t find out the truth the hard way.

  Heading home, I pass the place where I saw the crazies run across the freeway. There isn’t a sign of them anymore. Not a hubcap or a burn mark or a body. I still can’t help wondering what it was all about. It looked like something you’d see Downtown. A punishment for jaywalkers—run through traffic for the next thousand years. But those people looked like they were doing it for kicks. If that’s their idea of a good time, what do they do when they’re depressed? Swim through hot tar?

  Candy calls later in the day.

  The first thing out of her mouth is, “Did you talk to Abbot about Brigitte?”

  “I just came from a meeting. He can fix things.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Fixing things is what he does. How else do you think he keeps California in one piece? He’ll know the people to lean on.”

  “I hope so,” she says. Then, brighter, “Your party wasn’t bad. Honestly, I was expecting kind of a disaster. The kitchen on fire. The living room flooded . . .”

  “The roof caved in.”

  “Exactly. But you did all right.”

  “Janet helped with things.”

  “She seems nice.”

  “Yeah,” I say, feeling my throat go a little dry. I don’t want to talk to her about Janet right now. “Anyway, I’m glad you thought it was all right.”