Jim and the Flims by Rudy Rucker

abruptly opening her eyes. “Shut your pie hole.”
    â€œIt’s much cooler to die in a surfing accident,” said Ira. His hair was a long black mop, with the beak of his white nose sticking out. “I almost went to college,” he continued. “But then I got all hung-up on Skeeves. I could have been a guy with a head full of symbols. Brains to spare.”
    â€œThat’s why I like sculpting sounds with you,” said Ginnie, turning casual again. “Did I tell you that I spirited away some contact mikes from that motor-mouthed guy at the music store? He’s such a freak that he actually notices me.”
    â€œWork your charm, Ginnie,” said Ira. “So now we can sample your tide-pool sounds for the party mix?”
    â€œ Exactamente .”
    â€œLet’s go home now,” said Header, showing his teeth.
    â€œAnd—Jim and Weena are coming to the party too,” said Chang, also standing. He looked to be Header’s physical equal. “My man Jim needs a night out.”
    â€œFor sure,” said Ira. “Maybe Jim can open the magic door again. If Weena has her way, Jim might be going through there pretty soon.”
    â€œYes, bring Jim and Weena,” said Ginnie, her voice as soft as velvet. “It’ll shake things up. It’s time for the next level.” She ran her hand up Header’s arm and smiled, as if cajoling him.
    â€œI’ll be glad to have them,” said Header quietly. Perhaps he knew who Weena was—and he welcomed the chance to have it out.
    â€œSo we’re all set,” I said, wondering what I was getting myself into. “You guys have room in your van?”
    â€œIn back with the boards,” said Ira. “Where the sarcophagus used to be.”
    â€œThis is Skeeves’s old van?” I exclaimed.
    â€œYeah,” said Ira. “He signed it over to Header when he went underground. He was worried about some murder charges. Right, Weena?”
    â€œYou will suffer if you continue harassing me,” Weena told Ira in a low tone.
    â€œThe two goobs have to buy us pizza,” announced Header.
    â€œNot a problem,” I said.
    â€œGinnie, phone in an order so we won’t have to wait,” ordered Header. “Ten pies. One of each flavor.”
    â€œTen?” exclaimed Ginnie. “Ira and I don’t even eat.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said. “I’ll charge it. I don’t care.” More than ever, I believed that Weena was going to escort me to another world.
    We walked to the van, Weena leaning on my arm, Droog at our heels. Weena smiled at Ira like a doting great-great-grandmother, turning on her charm. “It really is very nice to see you face to face,” she said. “And I am sorry for whatever inconveniences you’ve had. What course of study might you have pursued, had you attended a university?”
    â€œPhysics,” said Ira. “I never had the money to apply, or a high-school diploma, and I used to be really busy with the surfing—but lately I’ve been drifting into some cosmology lectures up the hill at the university. There’s all this stuff about dark energy—it’s like an invisible kind of matter. But I know it’s real.”
    â€œOf course you do,” said Weena. “Where I come from, in Flimsy, we call it kessence, as you may already know. A soul is but a speck of information, but with luck and effort, it gathers unto itself a kessence form.”
    Ira ran his bony fingers down his arms. “That’s what I am these days. A kessence shadow of my former self.”
    â€œYes,” said Weena in a low tone. “And Ginnie is the same.”
    â€œHow about finding the path to the Whipped Vic,” I interrupted, still not quite understanding what Weena and Ira were talking about. “How does that work?”
    â€œThe trail changes from day to day,” said Ginnie, about to order