Kill City Blues. Richard Kadrey

thing to walk away from and have a normal life.

      “Listen. I wouldn’t normally call you with something as boring as this.”

      “Boring? How could a task of yours be boring?”

      “I’m trying to track someone down, and the thing is, Blackburn might know the guy, but his head of security braced me the last time I was there, so I can’t ask him.”

      “So we won’t be fighting monsters or kicking in doors?”

      “Right now I’m just looking for a phone number and maybe an address.”

      “You were right. This is boring,” she says. “Who is it?”

      “A Tick-Tock Man named Atticus Rose.”

      “Are you looking for a pet? I can see you strolling down Sunset Boulevard with a lovely poodle. Or perhaps a white cockatoo on your shoulder. A very butch cockatoo, of course.”

      “How do you butch up a bird? Get it a little leather cap and chaps?”

      “That’s your fantasy, Jimmy. Not mine.”

      “Do you think you can find me a number?”

      “Of course. I can get anyone’s number. But just remember that everything comes with a price.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “I’ll call you later with Herr Rose’s information.”

      “What price, Brigitte?”

      Too late. The line is dead. Once a killer, always a killer.

      I DITCH THE Charger by the Whisky a Go Go and walk the rest of the way back to the Chateau.

      When I get back to the room, Candy is just waking up. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and stretches like a panther. She blinks when she sees me.

      “Oh. I thought you were off bringing me coffee in bed. What are you dressed for?”

      “I was out talking to Manimal Mike. I tried waking you.”

      “Try harder next time. Where did he shoot you?”

      I hold up my arms so she can see me.

      “No blood. See? I made it back unmolested.”

      She runs her foot up my leg to my thigh.

      “Maybe we should do something about that.”

      I close the bedroom door and turn up the new Skull Valley Sheep Kill album on the stereo. Kasabian doesn’t like to listen when we smash up the furniture.

      AN HOUR LATER and we’ve only broken one side table. The gunshot and the blast took a little more out of me than I like to admit. I light up a Malediction and look for some Aqua Regia, but the bottle is still in the living room.

      Candy is lying next to me in one of the absurdly plush hotel robes.

      “So what did you and Mike talk about?”

      “The 8 Ball. He says he knows who made it.”

      “Great. Let’s go pay Dr. Frankenstein a visit.”

      “Can’t. He didn’t have a number for the guy, so I called Brigitte.”

      “She knows the guy?”

      “No. But she can probably track him down.”

      “Clever girl.”

      “They’re the only kind worth knowing.”

      “Ain’t that the truth.”

      We wander out to the living room. I pour some Aqua Regia into a coffee mug and Candy picks at the remains of last night’s food. We always order too much and leave the food carts along the wall buffet style. I wish we could squirrel away all the leftovers. We’re going to miss them when they kick us out.

      Kasabian calls us from across the room.

      “Check it out. My first client.”

      “Congratulations,” says Candy.

      “I didn’t even know you had the site finished.”

      Kasabian is on the landing page for Aetheric Industries Psychic Investigations.

      “The wonders of the cyberspace and desperate suckers,” he says. “I put the site up an hour ago and already have three inquiries and one bona fide, already-got-his-credit-card-number customer.”

      “Who are you supposed to find?”

      “The guy’s idiot older brother. Get this. Big brother was a hoarder and hid their dad’s gold coin collection somewhere in the house. My client doesn’t want to spend the next ten years spelunking under old pizza boxes and soggy newspapers looking for Daddy’s swag.”

      Candy says, “I didn’t think you could get that kind of information. All you can do is look at things.”

      “That’s right. But get this. My client thinks if I can find big bro in Hell, he can get another psychic to do a kind of Vulcan mind meld and they can talk over old times.”

      “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say.

      Kasabian nods and smiles.

      “I know. Isn’t it great? See, being online so much, I learned that normal desperate people are sad and boring, but stupid desperate people are a fucking riot. And some of them have money.”

      “That’s not very nice,” Candy says.

      “If my life was any lamer, I would have taken a nap in a trash compactor a long time ago, so forgive me for not farting kittens and rainbows.”

      “I didn’t know you were that unhappy.”

      “I’m not. I’m realistic about my situation. And I’m honest with my clients. I spell out exactly what I can and can’t do in the site’s disclaimer. If someone comes along and wants to pay me to do what I said I can’t, I’m not turning him down. Stupid people’s money is just as green as everyone else’s.”

      “I might have been that desperate after Doc died,” says Candy. Doc Kinski was the guy who took her off the street and gave her potions to calm her Jade bloodlust. I think he was as close to a real father as she ever had. Kind of like Vidocq for me.

      “Yeah, well. You might have been desperate but you’re not dumb, so it wouldn’t be the same thing,” says Kasabian. “And goddammit, can I have just one minute of happiness here before one of you points out what a monster I am and tries to shut me down? What do I have left then? I go back to finding weirder and weirder online porn just to keep my brain cells from imploding.”

      “Sorry. Of course,” says Candy.

      She puts a hand on his hellhound shoulder. Says, “Good luck in the Hellovision business.”

      Kasabian’s eyes open a little more.

      “Damn. I wish I’d thought of that name. I wonder if I can get that domain?”

      “I guarantee you someone else already has it. Someone always has the cool names,” I say.

      Kasabian is already typing.

      “We’ll see how long they can keep it.”

      I say, “Did you find anything else out about Moseley?”

      He shakes his head, still looking at the screen.

      “Nothing except that he kind of dropped off the face of the earth a few months ago. No employment records. No bills or utilities. Nada.”

      “Thanks. Oh yeah. Mike says he has another idea on how to fix you up.”

      That gets his attention.

      “How?”

      “Don’t get your tail bunched up, Old