"Princess, I only know two things. One is that I'm going to kill Mason and Parker, and nothing human or inhuman is going to stop me. And two, I'm on my own."
"Don't play that martyr shit with me. I've seen how you are."
"You don't get it. You think I'm saying this because I'm still mad. I'm not. I just understand things better now. A friend laid it out for me. I'm not one of you. The only thing I live for now is to kill as many people and break as many things as I need to, to get what I want. By the standards of most sane people, that makes me a monster. I'm fine with that. And, if I'm alive when this is over, I'm going back to where the monsters live."
"Hell?"
"It's where I belong. It's where I want to be."
Allegra reaches down, picks up one of the piles of DVDs, and begins to straighten them.
"Eugene loves you," she says.
"That's nice. My father loved me. He tried to shoot me once."
"What?"
"We were out deer hunting. It was just after sunup and cold enough that I could see my breath. I'd spotted a six-point buck ahead in the tree line. I led the way, up front a few yards, with my father right behind me. I spotted the buck in a clearing, signaled my father to stop. I raised my rifle and took the shot. Just as I pulled the trigger, I heard another gun go off and something hit me on the side of the head. My father's shot had missed me by maybe an inch and hit the tree where I was leaning. I looked back at him, blood coming down my face where flying bark and splinters had hit me. He came running up apologizing, saying it was all an accident, asking if I was okay. But behind all the panic in his eyes, there was nothing but fear and loathing. He hated himself for taking the shot, but he hated me more for still breathing."
"I'm so sorry."
"Just because someone says they love you doesn't mean they're not going to fuck you over the first chance they get."
"What about Alice? Did she fuck you over, too?"
"No. She's the one who didn't."
Allegra empties a couple of overflowing ashtrays into a metal trash can on the floor.
"Doesn't that mean anything?"
"No. I told her I loved her about a million times. It didn't save her. It's what got her killed."
"But you both loved each other. You still have that."
"You loved your drug-dealer boyfriend. I bet he told you he loved you every day. How'd that work out for you?"
"This isn't about me."
"You're right, it's not. So, why don't you run along back to Vidocq and let me finish my work so I can get all of you and this town behind me?"
She shakes her head, pushes more junk from the table into the trash, and starts for the door.
"After I'm gone," I tell her, "as far as I'm concerned, you can have Max Overdrive. Parker's killed Kasabian by now, so he's not going to want it back. I'm sure Vidocq can come up with some kind of glamour that'll make it look like you owned the place all along."
She drops the trash can by the door. Lets it fall over and spill food wrappers, empty cans, and cigarette butts on the floor.
"You know what? You're not a monster. You're just a motherfucker. Eugene should have let Aelita put you out of your misery."
"Good-bye, Allegra. Go tidy up at Eugene's." She kicks the can out of the way and slams the door. I can hear her stomp down every single step, like she's punishing the staircase, like God's tiniest tyrannosaurus.
WHEN ALLEGRA IS gone, I finish cleaning and reassembling the guns. When that's done, I take old newspapers and paper bags from under the bootlegging table and lay them out flat on the floor.
When you stretch out a regulation na'at to its full length, it's ten feet of very sharp Hellion steel teeth, spikes, and spines. Some are spring-loaded and ready to go whenever you pick up the na'at. Others only open up when you trigger them from the grip.
Traditionally, you use a na'at like a spear or a staff, but there's another trigger that collapses the central shaft. Suddenly the na'at is as loose as chicken chow mein, a metal whip that can strip the skin off a rhino like peeling a grape. Not that I've ever peeled a rhino or a grape, but you get the idea.
I only mention this to explain that your basic na'at has a lot more intricate mechanical parts than anything any human has ever manufactured. When you decide to WD-40 your na'at, you need a lot of room and a lot of newspapers to soak up the excess oil. You should also open a window before you start spraying lube and solvents around your bedroom, something I almost always forget to do.
I drag the newspaper and the na'at across the room and out of the way. I stash the guns under the mattress and wash the WD-40 off my hands in the bathroom. I've trashed enough clothes that I'm back down to video-store T-shirts and jeans. I throw on the silk overcoat I've been avoiding and slip the knife inside. On the way out, I push open the three big windows on the wall opposite the bed.
The short walk to the Bamboo House of Dolls clears the stink out of my nose and head. A drink and a cigarette later and I'm happy to be back on Earth. When Carlos brings me my food, I drink to his health. I haven't done much for him lately, except maybe cooking and decapitating some skinheads, but I can't exactly talk to him about that. He brings up sports and I try to say something that doesn't sound stupid, but I didn't know much about sports before I went Downtown. Finally, he gives up and walks off to serve other customers.
I haven't talked to him much lately. I haven't wanted to talk much at all. It seems like a good idea to let the guy know that I appreciate him, his bar, and his food. Right now Carlos is about the closest thing I have to friend on this planet. With Cherry, Jayne-Anne, and Kasabian gone, so are all my ties to Mason, leaving me right in the middle of downtown with nothing to do and nowhere to go. When you're in that neighborhood, you need at least one person on your side. Preferably one with a bar.
I finish off two more drinks before it becomes dangerously clear that if I hang around much longer, I'm going to have to talk to someone.
I time the walk back to Max Overdrive perfectly. I get to the door right on the last puff of my cigarette. Flicking the butt into the Dumpster, I let myself in the back way.
Inside, the oily solvent smell is gone, but now there's something else. Alcohol? Disinfectant? The staircase smells like a hospital waiting room.
I find out why a minute later. By then I'm already on the floor and the world is a shivering Slip and Slide, so there's no chance of me getting up. I have a feeling that the robot ghost in the dirty trench coat that's waving a baseball bat in my face might have something to do with it.
Pieces of the world start falling back into place enough for to me to see that the robot ghost isn't really a robot or a ghost. It's Kasabian, and he's held together with a lot of metal rods and screws. There's a metal band bolted around his head, held in place by steel dowels that are attached to a brace on his chest. A traction halo. It holds his head onto his body well enough for him to stand up, but the rig makes him move like a rusty windup toy. Still, for a kid's toy, he's doing a pretty good job tuning up my ribs.
I deflect a couple of the blows with my arms, which feels just as good as it sounds. Kasabian is so stiff, he has to stand in one place to work me over. Lucky me. I swing one of my legs around and catch him behind the knee. He goes down on the knee, but refuses to fall over. Just keeps smashing me with the bat, teeth gritted, sweating and red-faced. But he's working from close range now, so the shots hurt a lot less than before.
I swing my leg again. This time I hit the top of the metal halo. That gets his attention. Kasabian drops the bat and crab walks his way back, putting some distance between my foot and his head.
Except for the first surprise shot on the back of my skull, he hasn't hurt me too much. Kasabian moves like he's half frozen in ice. Can't get up the strength to do any real damage. If he wasn't up and walking around, I'd swear that his body was in rigor mortis. Maybe he's afraid that if he wiggles around too much, his head will pop off. Let's test that theory.
Still on the floor, I throw a kick at his head. Kasabian tries to move out of the way, but I'm faster than him. But I still miss. Okay. So that first smack on the head scrambled my brain a little more than I thought.
I go for the guns under the mattress, but my aim is still off. It gives Kasabian a chance to drive the bat into my ribs again. I'm breathing hard, trying to take in air every time it gets knocked out with another rib shot. I could probably throw a spell at Kasabian if my head was clearer and my chest wasn't hurting. I can feel every single bruise from the Kissi attack. And all this wrestling around is waking up those bullets again. Fuck Kinski for being right about them getting angry again.
When Kasabian tries to jam me with the bat again, I move faster and get my hand on it. One twist and it's out of his hands and bouncing off the floor. Kasabian backs up and braces himself against the wall. He reaches for something under his dirty trench coat, but he's not fast enough. The world is settling down. Becoming firmer around me. I grab the bat and swing. It smashes into his halo, buckling and scattering the metal dowels.
Kasabian screams, "Fuck!" His head is hanging free, held on by just the stitches and the couple of remaining dowels. He gets his feet under him, braces his back against the wall, and pushes himself up until he's standing. His eyes are wide. Not so much in anger anymore. He's remembering what it was like the first time his melon came off and he doesn't like the picture. That's why his hands are shaking and he's muttering, "No, no, no," when he pulls what looks like a short tree branch out from under his coat. It wraps around his arm from the wrist to his elbow.
Now it's my turn to scramble back. The skinhead at Carlos's bar tried to shoot me with a Devil Daisy, but he didn't know what he was doing. In a room this small, even a crippled, half-dead wreck like Kasabian couldn't miss me. But I'm more worried about something worse.
I yell, "Stop!" and put up my hands. Kasabian just looks at me. I guess he wasn't expecting such an easy surrender. He face splits into a big grin. He waves the Daisy around a little, stabbing the air with it, trying to intimidate me. He does, but not for the reasons he thinks.
"Listen to me, Kas. I know that Parker and Mason gave you that thing. If you use it, you're going to die. For real this time. No second chances."
"Kiss my ass, man. They helped me. Parker took me out of here. He and Mason gave me back my body."
"Nice job they did, too. You look like Frankenstein's ball sac. You can barely move. Don't you think if they liked you they could find a spell to put your head back on for real?"
"That's your fault! You and your goddamn knife. It left some kind of residual magic behind. No matter what we tried, my head wouldn't go back on. Parker put together this traction rig for me. It sucks, but it's better than spending the rest of my life in that closet watching infomercials until you decide to shoot me."
"You're right. I got a little more extreme with you than I meant to. Sorry. I wanted Mason, but I had you. You got some of the grief I was saving up for him. That wasn't right. So. You know. Sorry."
"Sorry? Even if you didn't cut my head off, you came here to kill me. You think sorry covers that?"
"I'm not so sure you want to know the truth about that."
Kasabian hoists the Devil Daisy up to face level. I take a couple more steps back, until I'm on the other side of the bed. Still in point-blank range.
"Tell me," he says.
"When I got here, yeah, I planned on killing you. But after ten minutes, I was pretty much over that. I mean, how much more could I do? Mason did a pretty good job of wrecking you before I ever got here."
"Yeah, but I stood up to you and he's on my side again."
"No, he's not. He's never been on your side and he never will be. You think he gave you your body and sent you back here to get me? This is a setup. You're here to kill yourself. Me, too. But mostly you."
"Look at you. Look how scared you are. You'll say anything."
"Ask me how Jayne and Cherry are. I double-dog dare you."
"Why? Is that a trick question?"
"Yeah. Because they're dead. Parker killed them. He's killing everyone connected to him and Mason. If he gave you that weapon, it'll probably kill me, but I guarantee that it'll kill you."
"You are such a liar. Not even a good one. Look how scared you are."
"I'm scared you're going to do something stupid."
He pushes the Daisy in my direction.
"Don't call me stupid!"
"Sorry. Just don't do anything you-we-can't take back."
He starts to nod, but catches himself. The nod turns into a twitch as he pushes his shoulders and head back against the wall. His heart is a trip-hammer. His pupils narrow. Now that he's done something dumb in front of me, he's angrier than ever.
"Kas, Mason and Parker are using you."
"Keep talking, dead man. I hear there's a bunch of imps waiting for you with knives and forks."
I take another step back. He's going to do it. It's building inside him.
"Don't do it, man. You'll die, too."
The grin is back on his face.
"This is nice. This quiet moment before you die. Thanks for lying and whining. You made it really special for me."
Oh, hell.
I know it's coming, so I don't wait. I dive for the floor. When he fires the Devil Daisy, I'm behind the bed collapsing the na'at to its spear configuration. I dig one end into the floor and, staying low, angle the shaft over me.
