Kill the Dead (Sandman Slim 2)

I drain the dregs of the dog shit cocktail and set down the glass, feeling queasy. The things we do to stay ugly. I check my hands hoping that maybe I’ll be able to see the scars grow back in front of my eyes like Lon Chaney Jr.’s hair in The Wolf Man. Nothing. I can’t live without scars. I bet if I asked nicely, someone around here would tie me to their back bumper and drag me a few blocks. I’m like a marathoner coming off an injury. Only I need to get my wind back by peeling off a few layers of skin. Is that too much to ask? Where are Mason and Aelita when you need them? They’d drag me to Alamogordo and back.

Enemies kill you with a knife in the back. Friends kill you with kindness. Either way you’re dead.

I didn’t need to stomp out on Allegra like that, but I couldn’t just stand there after she opened her mouth. There are things you think and things you say out loud and they’re very different things. You’d think someone like her, six months into hoodoo lessons, would know that. You don’t ever say “The devil is your daddy” out loud. It doesn’t matter if you and everyone else in the room are thinking it. You don’t say the words. Words are weapons. They blast big bloody holes in the world. And words are bricks. Say something out loud and it starts turning solid. Say it out loud enough and it becomes a wall you can’t get through. The last thing I need is a big brick Lucifer in my way.

What kind of kid would want Lucifer for a father? He’d give you the shittiest Christmas presents ever. On the other hand, he’d throw great Halloween parties.

Carlos comes back with the bottle.

“You want another one to wash the taste out of your mouth?”

“Just a half. Thanks.”

A woman says something to the guy on the stool next to mine.

“That pretty redhead in the Gucci blouse? She’s been looking at you the whole time I’ve been here. Why don’t you go and say hello?”

This guy looks around and gets up. The woman slides into his seat.

I know that accent. I turn and look at her.

“Brigitte?”

“I wanted to tell you that you’re not an easy man to find. That I had to scour the back streets of Los Angeles to track you down. The truth is that you’re ridiculously easy to find. All of Simon’s friends know where you drink.”

“But do they know where I get my donuts?”

“I’m not sure I know exactly what those are.”

“Frosting and grease with a little cake in between. Sometimes chocolate on top. Sometimes they put in industrial waste that tastes like cherries or apples. They’re like eating sugar land mines.”

“Ah. You mean koblihy. Yes, I’m fond of them.”

“No. What you ate back home probably resembled food. You’re not in America until you’ve eaten an American donut.”

“Then I’ll have to try one. You’ll take me?”

“If you promise not to tell Ritchie’s friends. I don’t mind if they know about Carlos’s place. It’s more money for him. But a man should be able to enjoy a fritter in peace.”

“It will be our secret. Is that red wine? I’m famished. Do you mind?”

“It’s not wine.”

She sputters and spits it out. Curses in Czech.

“What awful thing is that?”

“Aqua Regia. It’s an acquired taste.”

Carlos appears with a glass of water.

“Drink this or you’re not going to have any taste buds by morning.”

“Brigitte, this is Carlos. Carlos, Brigitte.”

“Nice to meet you, Brigitte. Have we met somewhere?”

“She’s in the movies. Maybe you saw one of them. She goes by the name of Brigitte Bardo.”