Killing Pretty. Richard Kadrey

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ you don’t believe me.”

      “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I’ve met my share of, let’s say, unstable angels.”

      “You mean Aelita.”

      “There were others but, yeah, she was the worst.”

      “I’m not mad and I have no desire to be here or to be a burden.”

      “Then why are you here? And why come to me?”

      Death touches the gauze bandages over the hole in his chest.

      “You closed the wound.”

      “Not me. It was friends. And you haven’t answered my question.”

      “It hurts,” he says, rubbing his chest. “Everything hurts. I’d forgotten what pain is. Do you have anything for it?”

      I take out my flask, unscrew the top, and hand it to him. He takes a swig and coughs, practically spitting the Aqua Regia all over himself.

      “This is Hellion brew,” he says.

      “That’s right. Drink up. It tastes like gasoline, but it’ll help with the pain.”

      “I’m not sure it’s permitted.”

      “I don’t think anyone would hold it against you,” says Candy. “It’s not like you’re here to party.”

      He looks at Candy for a few seconds, then drinks. He keeps it down better this time, but he’d probably be happier with an aspirin. Fuck him. I drank Aqua Regia for eleven years in Hell because there weren’t any angels to help me. Death can choke down a ­couple of mouthfuls.

      He hands me back the flask.

      “Feeling better?”

      He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

      “No.”

      “You will.”

      “The brew smells interesting.”

      “Huh. I never thought of that. I guess it does.”

      Candy gets in closer to him.

      “Why did you come here?”

      “I was looking for Sandman Slim.”

      “Why?” says Candy.

      “I need help.”

      “Because you’re in a body.”

      He nods.

      “And someone has murdered it. Murdered me.”

      I say, “Why not call one of your angel pals?”

      He closes his eyes again.

      “I don’t know who to trust.”

      “But you trust Stark,” says Candy. “Why?”

      “Because Father trusted him.”

      Father. Mr. Muninn. God.

      The bloody, dirt-­streaked trench coat he had on when I met him is in a pile on the floor. I pick it up and go through the pockets. He doesn’t object.

      I say, “Why not go to Mr. Muninn if you need help?”

      He shrugs.

      “I’ve called and called to him, but all I get is silence.”

      There’s a knife in one of his coat pockets. I’ve never seen one quite like it. It’s over a foot long, double-­bladed, with a black wooden grip. Sort of like an oversize athame ritual blade, but with a silver eagle on the grip. There’s what looks like a glob of tar by the pommel, maybe to hold it in place.

      I hold it out to him.

      “What’s this?”

      “That, I believe, was what killed me.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Because someone pulled it out of my chest and I awoke.”

      “Who pulled it out?”

      He holds up a hand and gestures vaguely.

      “I don’t know. I get the impression they were teenagers having some kind of party. By their startled reaction when I awoke, I don’t think they were looking for me.”

      “Okay,” I say. “It’s New Year’s and some kids are out partying. They find you and pull the sword out of the stone like King Arthur. Then you came and found me. Is that pretty much it?”

      “I think so,” he says.

      “And you’ve never seen this knife before?”

      “Not before I woke up.”

      “How did you find me?”

      He’s closed his eyes again. We’re losing him.

      “I’m an angel. I reached out and there you were, so I walked to where I found you.”

      “Where did you walk from?” says Candy.

      “I don’t know. There was a concrete structure. Not quite a building, but like it once was. It was covered with painted words and images. There were trees and scrub. It was dry and warm there. And stone stairs. Yes. I had to walk up a long stairway. After that, I walked for a long time down a highway and then through the city. That’s where I found you.”

      He’s looking at me and I don’t want to believe any of it, but he’s such a whipped dog I can’t throw him out yet.

      “I’m tired again. You are right about the brew. It took the pain away,” he says.

      “Okay. You get some more rest. But we’re going to talk again later.”

      “Yes.”

      “And you’re going to take a goddamn shower. Today.”

      “Yes. Thank you,” he says, and lies down. “Would you turn the light off, please?”

      “There’s just one more thing before we go.”

      “Yes?”

      “I’d appreciate it if you never mentioned anything about Candy’s face or name again.”

      “As you wish.”

      Candy turns off the light and we go back outside. It’s good to be out of the room and the dead man’s stink. I turn the knife over in my hands.

      “You ever see anything like it?”

СКАЧАТЬ