“The Word was there on earth. All they had to do was follow it.”
“Let’s not start a whole other argument,” Samael says.
“Thank you.”
“My answer to Eleusis is thanks but no. Traven isn’t staying anywhere in Hell.”
“You don’t respect rules at all, do you?”
“Sure I do. When they make sense. But some don’t and some are out-of-date. You keep saying you can’t change the rules. Shit, man. You wrote the rules. You can break them or rewrite them any way you want.”
“It’s a matter of both strength and inclination, and I’m not sure I possess either at the moment. And nobody but that one,” he says, looking at Samael, “has ever pressed me or spoken to me like this before.”
“I’m not trying to bust your balls, Mr. Muninn. You know I like you. You’re a nice guy and you took care of the dead under L.A. for all those years. But you’re wrong on this and you know it. None of us here ever wanted to be Lucifer. You can make sure there are no more Lucifers ever again.”
“This isn’t the time for that discussion,” he says.
“I might have an idea,” Samael says. “A compromise for you both.”
Mr. Muninn says, “I’m listening.”
“Stark, as we’ve both pointed out, Heaven isn’t the place to send anyone anymore, so your rescue of Father Traven, while brave, was ill-timed. And Father won’t permit him going to paradise. So, what do you do with a soul one party won’t let into Hell and the other won’t permit into Heaven?”
“What?” I say.
“Blue Heaven.”
“Limbo, you mean?”
“The pleasantest limbo you’ve ever seen,” says Samael.
Blue Heaven is a place out of time, literally. Its real name translates as “the Dayward.” It’s a part of the universe that broke away from normal time and space in 1582 when Pope Gregory switched from the old Julian calendar to the Christian. Fifteen days were suddenly wiped out of existence. But they never really went away. They exist on their own as the Dayward. Blue Heaven.
“Have you ever been there?” says Samael.
“You know I haven’t. The angel part of me has, but the rest of me can’t remember what it was like. I guess I have a general sense that it was a decent enough place. I don’t even know how to get there.”
“Through the Room, you idiot,” says Samael. “The Door of Drunken Eternity, I believe.”
“How do you know that?”
“When your angel broke loose of you, he talked in his sleep.”
“What, and you used to crouch over him and listen? You pervert.”
“You can take the boy out of the Devil but not the Devil out of the boy,” he says.
We both look at Mr. Muninn. He seems lost in thought.
He says, “If I was to agree to let Father Traven leave, would you give me the Qomrama Om Ya?”
That stumps me. I don’t know what to say at first. I don’t think Nefesh wanted to get near the thing.
“No,” I say. “But I promise I’ll use it against the Angra and fight them until the end.”
“Then the answer is no.”
“Let me throw you another compromise,” I say.
“All right.”
“Let Father Traven go and I’ll come back to Hell and stay. I’ll be Lucifer again.”
“Ha!” says Samael. Mr. Muninn opens his eyes a bit wider. I wish I could read angels the way I can read humans. I never know what these fuckers are thinking. That goes double for God.
“You’d really do that?”
“If I can bring Candy with me, yes.”
Mr. Muninn shakes his head.
“You’re the definition of a troublesome child.”
“What about me?” says Samael.
“You both exasperate me.”
I say, “It’s a gift. Well?”
“What can I say? You weren’t the worst imaginable Lucifer, but you were very close. No, you won’t come back as Hell’s caretaker. But I’m impressed by your offer, though I’m not rewarding you for it. I’m protecting Hell from your whims. Keep Father Traven. Put him in Blue Heaven. And this time, you’ll owe me a favor.”
“Cool.”
I put out my hand. Mr. Muninn shakes it. It’s not a happy shake. It’s not even angry. It’s weary. Being Lucifer will do that to you. He gives me a wicked smile worthy of Samael.
“I hope there are no hard feelings about the Chateau Marmont situation,” he says.
“No. I knew it was coming. I had my hand pretty deep in the cookie jar.”
“That you did, son. That you did. Well, I’m off.”
“Why don’t you stay? We were going to try and eat the last of the Chateau food, but I think we’ve lost our nerve. I figure we’ll send out for something.”
Muninn takes a last swig of coffee.
“And that’s why you won’t be Lucifer anytime soon. You don’t have the most logical work ethic. I’ll be heading back now to take care of business. Samael?”
“I’ll be along in a bit. I have a few of my own issues to talk over with Stark.”
“I’ll see you at home, then.”
And he’s gone. Vanished. Like a God.
I look at Samael.
“We have issues?”
He shakes his head.
“Of course not. I just needed a break from home sweet home. The palace is overrun with the high and holy.”
“And you’re used to having your own suite.”
He takes a Malediction from a gold cigarette case. Offers me one. I take it.
“You have to admit . . . it’s addicting.”
I nod, accepting a light.
“I’m bored to death down south. I thought you might let me raid your video collection again.”
“Feel free. It’s not like anyone wants to rent anything. Well, a few vampires, but that’s not really a long-term business model.”
He picks up a Max Overdrive bag and starts down the stairs.
“Specialization. Give the people something no one else can give them. That’s the way to stay open.”
“Between streaming video and BitTorrent, I’m not sure there’s anything left.”
Samael shrugs.
“Look harder. Consult with some younger witches. Maybe together you can conjure up a lost film or two.”
“That’s not a bad idea. I’ve always wanted to see a full version of London After Midnight.”
“A fine place to start.”
I sit down and smoke. That was all too close. Mr. Muninn might not be as strong as he once was, but he can probably still turn me into mildew on a bathroom shower mat. But I kept my promise to Traven. Maybe I’ll visit Blue Heaven with him. See what the big deal is. It’s not easy to get there if you don’t go through the Room, so everyone there is supposed to be in the high-IQ club. Definitely the place for him. Not so much for me. Still, I haven’t had a vacation in a while. Hell sure doesn’t count. Maybe take Candy there for a weekend just to clear my head so I can stomach dealing with Wells again.
“Knock knock.”
It’s Candy.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
“You know the Devil is stealing all your Italian and Japanese horror movies.”
“Ex-Devil, dear. Let him. He saved me and Father Traven’s grapes tonight.”
“Liam doesn’t have to stay in the Room forever?”
I shake my head.
“Tomorrow I’m taking him to Blue Heaven.”
“Where’s that?”
“I’m not sure. It’s supposed to be nice. You should come with us and see what it’s like.”
“Okay. So that’s it? God stops by to argue and you get everything you want?”
“Hardly. But enough. And now I owe him a favor.”
“He’ll want the Qomrama.”
“Yeah, but he knows he can’t have that. That means it’ll be something a lot harder.”
She puts an arm around me.
>
“We’ll deal with it when happens.”
“Thanks.”
I get up and drop the cigarette in the dregs of Mr. Muninn’s coffee.
“Can I tell Brigitte about Liam getting out of Hell?”
“Don’t go into details, but yeah. Why not?”
“She’ll know it was you.”
I say, “We should get food delivered to celebrate.”
“Excellent idea. What should we get?”
“You and Kasabian work it out. He has a million delivery menus around here. I have to make a phone call.”
I walk her to the stairs and call down.
“Hey, Samael. Want to stay for dinner?”
“Will there be donuts?” he says.
“No.”
“Then yes.”
Candy heads downstairs and I go back into a bedroom and close the door. I get out my phone and scroll back through the old incoming call numbers until I find the one I’m looking for.
“Hello? Who is this please? I don’t recognize your number.”
It’s a man’s voice. Vaguely familiar. He called me once when he was possessed.
“Talk to me, Merihim.”
“Who? I think you have wrong number.”
“Come on, Merihim. I know you’ve been in this guy’s head before. Come back and talk to me.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Talk to me.”
The line goes quiet but the other guy hasn’t hung up.
“Stark. How nice to hear from you. We haven’t talked in a while.”
“I miss your crank calls. Did you lose interest in harassing me?”
“Not at all. There’s just a lot of work to do down here. Busy, busy, busy. What have you been up to?”
“Killing Aelita and Medea Bava.”
“That’s not what I heard. I heard it was the priest who killed Bava.”
“Ah. So you are keeping tabs on things.”
“It’s getting easier. Using the key. Possessing humans. You might have noticed.”
“Yes. That was you possessing Father Traven.”
“Of course.”
“That’s where it all came together for me. You take over Traven. He gives the 8 Ball to Medea. Medea kills Aelita to get her out of the way. That means she can come back to Hell and give the 8 Ball to Deumos. She’s the key to all this. The goddess worshipper who brought the Qomrama to this universe from wherever the Angra are stuck. She wants it to do the final summoning.”
“Look at you, thinking like you haven’t completely pickled your brain yet.”
“And this whole thing comes back to you Hellions’ obsession with suicide. You think if the Angra come back, they’ll destroy all of Creation and put you out of your misery once and for all.”
“Why not? Father won’t do it. Or can’t. Who else are we to turn to?”
“I tried to save you tonight. I almost had him talked into opening Hell and letting you bastards flutter home to Heaven.”
“What’s the phrase? Almost only counts in hoof slippers?”
“Horseshoes. It only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. You’re right. But if you assholes hold on a little longer . . . Let Mr. Muninn—I mean Lucifer—deal with Ruach, he can reopen Heaven and you won’t have to destroy the entire fucking universe.”
“Promises. Promises. We lost faith in you when you were Lucifer. Why should we listen to you now?”
“I don’t know. It’s something to break up the tedium.”
“I tell you what, Mr. Sandman Slim. You proceed with your plan and we’ll proceed with ours, and we’ll see who gets there first.”
“I have the Qomrama, you know. I’ll use it against the Angra. And you.”
“A peashooter against an army. Good luck. Is this all you called about? I’m disappointed.”
“Stay in touch, asshole. I miss these fireside chats.”
“We’ll see. It’s not as fun when you want me to call.”
“Okay. Fuck you. If you wake up dead some night, don’t say I didn’t try to make nice first.”
“Good-bye.”
“Adios.”
I go downstairs and find Candy sitting with Kasabian on his bed, at least a dozen take-out menus spread about between them.
“Where’s Samael?”
“He kindly volunteered to go to the corner for beer. In the rain,” says Candy.
“Damn. He really doesn’t want to go home. Have you decided on dinner yet?”
“We’re down to Indian or Thai.”
“I vote Thai.”
“You might get outvoted this time.”
“This is why democracy is dying.”
I walk around the empty movie racks and restack some of the boxes of DVDs that Samael has been pawing through. A lot of memories in this place and on these pieces of plastic. If nothing else, I hate the idea of the Angra destroying us because it would wipe out all this work. All this demented horror, action, and beauty. A universe without Terrence Malick and Lucio Fulci isn’t worth living in. The Angra must be real bores. I hate them even more now. I pick up a copy of Badlands and go back to where Candy and Kasabian are still arguing about how hot they should order the food.
“Here’s the question of the night. If we lose, what movie do you want to watch at the end of the world? I call The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.”
“Spirited Away,” says Candy.
“The Snake Charmer’s Daughter, Brigitte Bardo’s best porn flick.”
I look around Max Overdrive. The rolled-up posters. The new-releases rack. The empty cutout bins. Fuck the world. I’ll kill the Angra to save my movies.
I say, “We’re going to need more TVs.”
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author RICHARD KADREY has published eight novels, including Sandman Slim, Kill the Dead, Aloha from Hell, Devil Said Bang, Butcher Bird, and Metrophage, and more than fifty stories. He has been immortalized as an action figure, his short story “Goodbye Houston Street, Goodbye” was nominated for a British Science Fiction Association Award, and his novel Butcher Bird was nominated for the Prix Elkaban in France. The bestselling and acclaimed writer and photographer lives in San Francisco, California.
www.richardkadrey.com
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Also by Richard Kadrey
Devil Said Bang
Aloha from Hell
Kill the Dead
Sandman Slim
Credits
Cover design by Richard L. Aquan
Cover illustration by Craig White
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
KILL CITY BLUES. Copyright © 2013 by Richard Kadrey. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
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ISBN 978-0-06-209459-9
EPub Edition AUGUST 2013 ISBN: 9780062094605
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