and is about to find himself with number one singles in Mongolia and Uzbekistan. God watches while a bus full of his worshippers spins out on a patch of black ice, flips, and catches fire, burning everyone inside alive.
The universe is a meat grinder and we’re just pork in designer shoes, keeping busy so we can pretend we’re not all headed for the sausage factory. Maybe I’ve been hallucinating this whole time and there is no Heaven and Hell. Instead of having to choose between God and the devil, maybe our only real choice comes down to link or patty?
When I got back to my room above Max Overload, I put Kasabian in the closet where I used to lock him up. I built him a bachelor pad in there. Padded the shelves with cabinets where he can keep beer and snacks, along with a bucket where he can slop the remains. There’s a computer inside, so he can surf the Web and watch any movies he wants. It’s soundproof so I can sleep and not hear if he’s watching
Behind the Green Door.
I know I’m going to dream about Springheel’s chewed-up carcass tonight and I don’t need Kasabian and Marilyn Chambers joining the party.
I DON’T WAKE up until almost two the next day. It took a fair amount of drinking to fall asleep last night. All the pillowsare on the floor and the blankets are in a knot by my feet, so I know I dreamed, but I can’t remember what about. Kasabian probably knows. He’s back over on the table at the PC going through online video catalogs, pretending he doesn’t know I’m awake. I think Lucifer gave him a touch of clairvoyance so he can get snapshots of my mind. That’s okay. I’ve been playing a lot more with hexes lately so I don’t always have to go for the knife or gun. I have some tricks I’ve worked up that he doesn’t know about yet.
Losing the Bugatti has punched a car-size hole in my heart, so I steal a Corvette from in front of Donut Universe and drive to Vidocq’s. Maybe I should start thinking of it as Vidocq and Allegra’s. She’s always there when I go. I don’t think she goes back to her apartment to do anything but change clothes.
I hate Corvettes, so I leave it in front of the most obvious crack house in Vidocq’s neighborhood and walk the last few blocks to his place.
Inside, I take the elevator to the third floor and head down the hallway. I can’t find my cigarettes, so I stop in the hall to pat myself down. A gray-haired guy in a green windbreaker and worn chinos stops beside me.
“Didn’t you used to live here?”
I nod, still patting myself down. If I left the cigarettes in the car, the crackheads have them by now, dammit.
“A long time ago.”
“With a girl, right? Pretty. And she kept the place after you left.”
Why do I do this to myself? This is what happens every time I try to be a person. I do something normal, like walkin the front door of a building, and the Neighborhood Watch is on me.
“Yeah, she was very pretty.”
He gives me a just-between-us-guys half smile.
“What happened, man? She throw you out for doing her sister?”
Sometimes there’s nothing worse than the truth. It can be harder and sharper and hurt more than a knife. The truth can clear a room faster than tear gas. The problem with telling the truth is that someone then has something on you that they can use against you. The good part is that you don’t have to remember which lie you told who.
“I got dragged to Hell by demons from the dawn of time. While I was down there, I killed monsters and became a hit man for the devil’s friends. How have you been?”
The guy’s smile curdles. He takes a step back.
“Don’t let me catch you hanging around the halls anymore, okay? I’ll have to call the manager.”
“No problem, Brenda. You have an extra cigarette?”
“My name’s Phil.”
“You have an extra cigarette, Chet?”
He walks away and gets a good twenty feet before he mumbles “Fuck you,” sure I can’t hear him.
I knock on Vidocq’s door to let him know
The universe is a meat grinder and we’re just pork in designer shoes, keeping busy so we can pretend we’re not all headed for the sausage factory. Maybe I’ve been hallucinating this whole time and there is no Heaven and Hell. Instead of having to choose between God and the devil, maybe our only real choice comes down to link or patty?
When I got back to my room above Max Overload, I put Kasabian in the closet where I used to lock him up. I built him a bachelor pad in there. Padded the shelves with cabinets where he can keep beer and snacks, along with a bucket where he can slop the remains. There’s a computer inside, so he can surf the Web and watch any movies he wants. It’s soundproof so I can sleep and not hear if he’s watching
Behind the Green Door.
I know I’m going to dream about Springheel’s chewed-up carcass tonight and I don’t need Kasabian and Marilyn Chambers joining the party.
I DON’T WAKE up until almost two the next day. It took a fair amount of drinking to fall asleep last night. All the pillowsare on the floor and the blankets are in a knot by my feet, so I know I dreamed, but I can’t remember what about. Kasabian probably knows. He’s back over on the table at the PC going through online video catalogs, pretending he doesn’t know I’m awake. I think Lucifer gave him a touch of clairvoyance so he can get snapshots of my mind. That’s okay. I’ve been playing a lot more with hexes lately so I don’t always have to go for the knife or gun. I have some tricks I’ve worked up that he doesn’t know about yet.
Losing the Bugatti has punched a car-size hole in my heart, so I steal a Corvette from in front of Donut Universe and drive to Vidocq’s. Maybe I should start thinking of it as Vidocq and Allegra’s. She’s always there when I go. I don’t think she goes back to her apartment to do anything but change clothes.
I hate Corvettes, so I leave it in front of the most obvious crack house in Vidocq’s neighborhood and walk the last few blocks to his place.
Inside, I take the elevator to the third floor and head down the hallway. I can’t find my cigarettes, so I stop in the hall to pat myself down. A gray-haired guy in a green windbreaker and worn chinos stops beside me.
“Didn’t you used to live here?”
I nod, still patting myself down. If I left the cigarettes in the car, the crackheads have them by now, dammit.
“A long time ago.”
“With a girl, right? Pretty. And she kept the place after you left.”
Why do I do this to myself? This is what happens every time I try to be a person. I do something normal, like walkin the front door of a building, and the Neighborhood Watch is on me.
“Yeah, she was very pretty.”
He gives me a just-between-us-guys half smile.
“What happened, man? She throw you out for doing her sister?”
Sometimes there’s nothing worse than the truth. It can be harder and sharper and hurt more than a knife. The truth can clear a room faster than tear gas. The problem with telling the truth is that someone then has something on you that they can use against you. The good part is that you don’t have to remember which lie you told who.
“I got dragged to Hell by demons from the dawn of time. While I was down there, I killed monsters and became a hit man for the devil’s friends. How have you been?”
The guy’s smile curdles. He takes a step back.
“Don’t let me catch you hanging around the halls anymore, okay? I’ll have to call the manager.”
“No problem, Brenda. You have an extra cigarette?”
“My name’s Phil.”
“You have an extra cigarette, Chet?”
He walks away and gets a good twenty feet before he mumbles “Fuck you,” sure I can’t hear him.
I knock on Vidocq’s door to let him know
Similar Books
