Killing Pretty. Richard Kadrey

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СКАЧАТЬ trio—­two men and a woman—­laughing and talking loudly, having a fine old time. She spots me and I invite her to the bar by pointing to my drink. She excuses herself from the table and walks over.

      She kisses me on both cheeks and I say, “At least someone’s having a good time tonight.”

      “Yes. They’re from Prague. From the old days, when I was still a killer like you. It’s good to see old friends.”

      “That must be nice.”

      “It is. And I so seldom get to speak Czech anymore. It makes me feel more at home here.”

      “I felt the same way speaking English when I was Downtown.”

      “Did it make things better?”

      “A little. Sometimes during the holidays I feel very far from the things that made me happy.”

      “Like hunting Drifters?”

      She smiles.

      “I came here to destroy revenants and become a real live Hollywood actress. The first is done, but no matter what I do, the second feels as if it’s barely begun.”

      Brigitte used to do artsy porn flicks back in Europe. I never saw any, but Kasabian worships her as a goddess. A producer brought her to L.A. with promises of big roles in big movies. He croaked and Brigitte has been trying to get a foothold in the business every since.

      “All our apocalypses keep getting in the way of work.”

      She slowly shakes her head.

      “You’d think someone was conspiring against our happiness.”

      “The universe hates happy ­people, that much I’m sure of. You need to cultivate a taste for colorful misery.”

      “Like you and your Aqua Regia.”

      We both drink. I finish mine, but don’t ask for a refill this time.

      “Maybe things will settle down awhile, end-­of-­the-­world-­wise. Once the movie moguls slink back into town, you’ll be rolling in work.”

      She pushes a stray strand of hair out of her face.

      “You haven’t said anything about my voice. I’ve been taking lessons, trying to lose my accent. How do I sound?”

      “Like the queen of the county fair. What do you think?” I say to Carlos.

      “You sound like Angelina Jolie. Kind of husky. Kind of silky.”

      “You’d think I was American?”

      “Absolutamente,” he says.

      “I think you’re both being kind. Nevertheless, I’ll take the compliment.”

      I take her arm to pull her in closer so we can talk quietly.

      “You haven’t heard any talk about High Plains Drifters, have you?”

      “No. Nothing. Is this about the man Chihiro talks about? Do you think he’s a revenant?”

      “To tell the truth, no. I just don’t want him to be who he says he is.”

      “You’re afraid of another apocalypse.”

      “No. Just a lot of goddamn trouble. If this guy is Death, the ­people who killed him aren’t going to be hard to find, and I guarantee they’re going to be unsympathetic.”

      “How do you know it’s more than one person?” says Carlos.

      “I don’t, but I also don’t see someone pulling off this kind of hoodoo all on his lonesome. You’re talking about capturing an angel in a human body . . . and that’s after you find the right body. Then you need to know the hexes and magicians who can pull them off. Then you need a weapon that can kill him. On top of that, you need a motive. Why kill Death? There are potions that will keep you going for a hundred years. Yeah, they’re expensive, but it’s easier to rob a bank than shanghai an angel.”

      “How does one kill an angel?” says Brigitte.

      “With this.”

      I take the knife from my coat and unwrap it on the bar.

      “It looks quite ordinary,” she says.

      “It’s not. It was thinking seriously of burning down Vidocq’s place.”

      “It looks Roman,” says Carlos. “Like an antique Roman dagger. See the silver eagle? Legions used to have those on their standards.”

      “How the hell do you know all that?”

      He clears away some glasses and pours Brigitte more wine.

      “My brother-­in-­law. Ex-­brother-­in-­law. He’s crazy for old weapons. He has something like that. I can send him a picture if you want and see what he knows.”

      “This brother-­in-­law of yours, is he the person who’s been slipping you potions?”

      Carlos tries to suppress a smile, shrugs.

      “He dabbles in a lot of things.”

      “He’s a magician, isn’t he? You married into a Sub Rosa family.”

      He nods.

      “She kept it from me most of the time we were together. Her family thought I wasn’t worthy and I think maybe she did a little too. You were the first person I met who did real magic right out in the open. After seeing that, I knew I’d been right to leave.”

      “If she hid it, was she into baleful magic?”

      “Baleful?”

      “Black magic,” says Brigitte.

      Carlos carefully arranges a Santa hat on a small plastic hula girl.

      “I don’t know if her magic was black, but her soul turned dark. That’s what I meant about ­people changing. First figuring out that she was a real bruja. Then finding out she wasn’t the only one. Then seeing her go to darker places. I didn’t know what she was looking for, but I knew I didn’t want any part of it.”

      I say, “You knew about our funny little world, but played innocent this whole time.”

      He shakes his head.

      “This? Lurkers and zombies and shit? I didn’t know any of that. And it’s cool at the bar. But home I like boring. The only magic I want there is in games and bad movies.”

      “It was cruel of your wife not to tell you who she really was,” Brigitte says.

      Carlos cocks his head.

      “We had some good times. And anyway, my brother-­in-­law and me get along fine. Want me to send him a picture?”

      “Go СКАЧАТЬ