Kill the Dead (Sandman Slim 2)

When I’m upstairs I lock the door.

“The revenuers onto you selling moonshine?”

I drag the bedside table over and wedge it under the doorknob. Get my lead out of the top drawer and sketch shield circles on the door and table.

“What’s going on, man?”

I open the closet that’s Kasabian’s bedroom.

“I know that running your board is most of the hoodoo you’re into these days, but can you use anything else in here, like a weapon or some antispirit rune stones?”

“What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

I sit on the bed, suddenly tired.

“We were ambushed tonight by a load of Drifters. Brigitte got bit. I got her out and over to Vidocq’s. But most of the Drifters got out in the streets. I don’t know how many, but by morning there are going be a lot more. I’m going to be running around trying to take care of this, which means you’re going to have to look out for yourself.”

“Fuck me.”

I’m hot and my head is throbbing. I toss the coat, the belt, and the gun on the bed and go to the bathroom. Half my face is smeared with soot from the barbecued zeds. I run water in the sink and wash my face. Drying off, I remember the wounds on my hand. I get an Ace bandage from the medicine cabinet and wrap it up. I don’t really need to. The cuts are all scabbed over, but I learned a long time ago that hand wounds and scabby knuckles tend to make people nervous. Since it’s vaguely flesh-colored, an Ace can keep people from noticing. And it isn’t as much trouble as throwing a glamour on the hand and trying to keep it there when you’re punching people in the brain.

“What are you doing in there? Talk to me.”

I bring a big bottle of Pepto with me and go back to the bed and down half of the pink sludge right away. Then I stretch out and drop the bottle on the floor because I moved the goddamn night table to the door. Rolling over to pick up the bottle, I get dizzy.

“What’s that on your hand?”

Kasabian might be dumb, but he’s not stupid.

“Oh shit. You got bit, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Where? You going to call a cab to take you to LAX? Maybe the airline will give you a discount because you can fit in the overhead compartment.”

He looks at me.

“That’s cold, man. And for your fucking information, I’m going into the closet. You think I haven’t been waiting for you to flip out this whole six months, you crazy drunk motherfucker? I’ve been scratching spells in the walls. And I’ve been online loading up on protection charms whenever I ordered videos. I’m Fort Knox, man. I’m the goddamn Death Star.”

He looks at me. I nod.

“Actually, that’s a pretty smart idea. Go and lock yourself in. You have a phone in there?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Stay in there until I give you the all clear.”

“What if you don’t come back?”

“I’ll get Allegra or Vidocq to come and get you if anything happens to me.”

“Do they even know about me?”

“Sort of. No.”

“Great.”