Ballistic Kiss (Sandman Slim 11)

“I’ll have to get some new movies. Company kind of movies.”

“Come by anytime. Kasabian misses you too.”

“Now I know you’re lying.”

“I love you.”

I feel dumb. I want to talk like a grown-up but all that comes out is, “Got to go. There’s trees that need killing.”

“See you tomorrow.”

I hang up, considering the sound of Candy’s voice. It has a weird kind of hold over me. It always has. How does she do that?

And then it hits me:

Oh fuck. What did I just agree to?

That panicked feeling again. Friends. Here. I’m so out of practice. What if I’ve forgotten how to talk and just grunt like a damn ape? And shopping. Aren’t there services that’ll do it for you?

“Hello, Foods ’R Us. I’d like some meat and crackers. Also, a life. You’re out of those? Then just send bourbon.”

I take a cup of coffee and the Colt to the living room and set them on the table with the remains of my old life. The black blade. A na’at—my favorite weapon when I fought in Hell’s arena. And my most prized possession: a single Malediction cigarette that fell through a hole in my coat pocket. I found it just the other day and I’m saving it for a special occasion. I could probably find more smokes if I went back to Hell, but I’m done with the place for now.

I use some of the gun oil on the joints of the na’at. It’s a Hellion weapon, so it doesn’t take much maintenance, but it feels good to be doing something with my hands. I turn on The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 where I left off last night. It’s a minor piece of work but charming in its own grotesque way. I clean my weapons and let sounds of chain saws and screams fill the room. I know it’s probably not good for me, what with all the nightmares, but old habits die hard.

I stay that way for I don’t know how long. Cleaning the knife and na’at. Glancing at the Malediction, tempted by its tire-fire aroma. My mind clears and I finally relax.

Maybe Candy is right and I should stop by Bamboo House of Dolls. I could do with a drink and food that isn’t cold cuts and mayonnaise. The thought of being back somewhere familiar, listening to Martin Denny on the jukebox, and seeing Carlos immediately makes me feel better.

Which is when the fucking phone rings again. For a minute I feel a twinge of relief, hoping it’s Candy with a good excuse to cancel the party. Instead it’s Abbot. My landlord. His calls, I can’t ignore. I put the phone on speaker and say hello as I continue cleaning the weapons.

“Hello,” he says. “How’s the house treating you?”

“Just great, thanks. Is this the eviction call?”

“Why do you say that?”

“No reason in particular. I’m still a little surprised tha

t the Sub Rosa is being so generous with me.”

“You’re an asset, Stark. A mess, but an asset. People understand that.”

“Also, it’s a good way to keep track of me.”

“That’s a definite plus.”

When the knife and na’at are sparkling, I set them aside. Pick up my coffee. It’s cold.

“Are you calling to see if I’m stealing the towels?”

“Steal away. Haven’t you noticed that, like the food, they replace themselves?”

“Yeah. I thought you just sent elves over or something.”

“That’s the deluxe service. You’re not there yet.”

“So, what is the call about?”