Killing Pretty

  Which is almost empty.

  Story of my life. Thanks for listening. Be sure to tip your waitresses on the way out.

  PAUL NEWMAN AND Steve McQueen are jumping off a cliff when I get back to Max Overdrive. I recognize the movie immediately. It’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, but not any version I’ve seen. Robert Redford is nowhere in sight.

  “You like it?” says Maria. Her voice cracks a little, like she only takes it out on special occasions.

  Maria is about my height, her skin darker than Allegra’s. She reminds me of a young Angela Bassett if she’d grown up with alley-­cat gutter punks. She’s got a heavy-­gauge ring through her nose and a smaller one in her lower lip. A muscular neck with tattoos of the four elements—­air, earth, fire, and water. Her hair is about shoulder length, dyed sky blue, but with black roots showing, and pulled back in a ­couple of ragged pigtails. Each of her fingernails is painted a different color.

  “It’s great, right?” says Kasabian. He’s drumming on the front counter like a beatnik with a pair of new bongos, his metal hand bouncing like silver spiders.

  “McQueen was originally supposed to play the Sundance Kid, but the deal fell through,” he says. “Get it? This is the future for the store. Movies that never happened. Dirty Harry with Frank Sinatra instead of Eastwood. David Lynch’s Return of the Jedi. Brando in Rebel Without a Cause. The right ­people will pay a fortune to see this stuff.”

  I watch Newman and McQueen trading quips for a ­couple of minutes.

  “It’s not the worst idea you ever had.”

  “It’s goddamn genius and you know it,” he says. “The next one Maria is getting for us is Alejandro Jodorowsky’s version of Dune.”

  I look at Maria.

  “Was this his idea or yours?”

  She rubs her throat nervously, like she’s not used to being the center of attention.

  “Neither,” she says. “It was Dash. Want to meet him?”

  “Now we’ve got another partner? How many ­people are we bringing in to this thing? I don’t like surprise guests.”

  Kasabian stops drumming and gives me a look.

  “Calm down, Frank Booth. Tell him who Dash is before he needs smelling salts.”

  Maria reaches into a small clutch bag and pulls something out.

  “It’s okay, Stark. He doesn’t want money. He just likes to keep busy. He’s a ghost.”

  Christ. I hate ghosts. They’re nothing but trouble.

  “I need a drink.”

  “Good,” says Maria. “He likes liquor. Bring down a shot for him.”

  “Your ghost is a drunk? Fuck me with all this good news.”

  I go upstairs and find the Aqua Regia. I refill my flask, pour a shot into a glass, and down it. I fill the glass again and take it downstairs.

  “Right there is fine,” says Maria, indicating the counter. I set the shot glass down.

  “You don’t have anything to eat, do you?” she says. “Something sweet.”

  Kasabian takes a Donut Universe bag from under the counter, removes an éclair, and sets it next to the shot.

  I watch as Maria unfolds a black plastic clamshell. An old-­fashioned makeup compact.

  “If we’re doing dead-­­people makeovers, the guy in the storeroom can use one.”

  “Give it a rest, man,” says Kasabian. “Show an artist a little respect.”

  Maria sets the open compact on the counter with the mirror facing the glass and donut. She blows on the mirror and draws a symbol I don’t recognize on the misted glass.

  “Are you home, Dash?” she says.

  Nothing happens.

  But then the mist fades, and a face drifts into view behind the drink and donut. I can’t get a good look at him. A lot of his face is hidden behind the food. He’s a kid, maybe sixteen, with messy blond hair streaked with bright red. He closes his eyes and sniffs. He’s getting high off the food offerings.

  “Dash, this is Stark,” says Maria. She moves her hand, letting me know I need to get closer to the mirror so the kid can see me. I don’t really want to get too close. I don’t trust ghosts.

  I lean over, but stay on the far side of the food.

  “Hey, kid. Thanks for the movie. You have good taste.”

  Dash mouths something, but I can’t hear him.

  Maria, standing behind me, has been watching the whole thing.

  “He says you’re welcome and he hopes to bring more with him next time you meet.”

  Next time. Great.

  “You read lips,” I say.

  Maria nods.

  “I learned when I was a girl. Like Dash, some ghosts are shy and will only appear through a looking glass.”

  Kasabian shoulders me out of the way and practically sticks his mug in the mirror.

  “Hey, Dash. How’s it going?”

  The kid’s grin widens. They’ve talked before.

  “You working on getting us Dune?”

  Dash nods and gives a thumbs-­up.

  “Swell. Do it and next time you come by I’ll have a steak dinner waiting.”

  Dash shakes his head.

  “He’s vegetarian,” says Maria.

  “Okay,” says Kasabian. “How about a big salad with croutons and edible flowers?”

  Dash nods.

  I look at Kasabian.

  “Edible flowers?”

  “Yeah. Fairuza uses them when she cooks. They’re not bad.”

  “If you say so.”

  I lean over to the mirror.

  “Keep the movies coming and I’ll get you a whole damned wedding cake next time.”

  Dash mouths “thanks.”

  “Thanks, Dash,” says Maria. “Now everybody knows everybody. Isn’t that nice? I’ll talk to you tonight.”

  Dash gives a little wave and drifts out past the edge of the mirror. Maria snaps the compact shut.

  “That’s Dash,” she says.

  I pick up the shot glass.

  “Seems like a nice kid. Thanks for hooking us up.”

  Maria puts out a hand as I raise the glass to my lips.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that when we present food to Dash, any looking-­glass ghost, he eats the essence of the offering. Don’t worry. The food isn’t poison or anything like that. It’s just a bit empty.”

  I look at the glass. Ghost leftovers. Why not? I open up and toss the Aqua Regia back.

  Maria was right. It isn’t awful, but it’s not booze anymore. The taste is thin and slightly sour, like the memory of a drink. I take a bite of the éclair. It’s worse. Like Play-­Doh and chalk. I go behind the counter and spit it into the wastebasket.

  “Classy,” says Kasabian. “You really know how to impress the ladies.”

  “I don’t need etiquette tips from you, Tin Man.”

  Maria is tugging on the loose threads of her jacket sleeves again. She’s used to nicer ­people than us.

  “What do we owe you for the movie, Maria? We aren’t exactly rolling in cash, you know.”

  “Oh, no. It’s not like that,” she says. “I was just hoping you could show me some magic.”

  “You’re a witch. What do you think you can learn from me?”

  “That’s it. Kasabian said you know different kinds of magic. And that you’re good at improvising spells and hexes.”

  “Yeah, I can improvise things. But that’s not what you’re after, are you?”

  She looks up from her sleeves.

  “No. I want to see Hellion magic.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s different. I’m curious.”

  Her pupils contract almost imperceptibly. She’s lying.

  “Maria? Wha
t’s this really about?”

  She takes a breath and lets it out.

  “Some ghosts are angrier than others. They want to get out of where they are. Some are scared. Some are vicious. I’ll want to talk to one like Dash and one of the others will appear. It’s getting worse.”

  “Did you ever think about not talking to ghosts? You’re not a Dead Head necromancer. Why bother?”

  Her brow furrows.

  “They’re my friends. I can’t abandon them. Would you refuse to see a friend because she lived in a bad neighborhood?”

  “No. I guess not. But I’m not a ghost expert. Mostly I deal with things I can punch. For ghosts, I’d have to think about it.”

  “That’s okay,” she says. “I’d rather have the right answer than a quick wrong one.”

  “Okay. But I just started a new job and I kind of have my hands full right now. Let’s maybe talk the next time you come by.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “No. Thank you,” says Kasabian. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget.”

  Maria puts her handbag under one arm.

  “I appreciate it. I’ll come by when Dash gives me your movie.”

  “Thanks. You’re always welcome to come by,” says Kasabian, suddenly a fucking diplomat. He and Fairuza broke up a few days ago. Is he already on the prowl? Does Maria know he’s 90 percent machine?

  “See you around, Maria,” I say.

  She smiles and starts out. Stops.

  “Did you know there’s something sprayed on the front of your store?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  Kasabian and I watch the big-­screen monitor bolted to the ceiling for a few more minutes. He was right, of course. The movie has a completely different feel with McQueen playing the Sundance Kid. We could make a mint if we can get more never-­mades like this.

  Candy comes in during the closing credits.

  “Chihiro?” Kasabian says. “Holy shit.”

  She smiles and does a turn.

  “You like the new me?”

  “You look great. I mean you always looked great, but I think you nailed it this time.”

  I take out a Malediction.

  “She doesn’t look like Candy. That’s the important thing.”

  “Don’t light that cigarette,” she says.

  “Why?”

  She comes over to me.

  “Why this?”

  She leans in and kisses me. I kiss her back. It’s been long enough that we’ve been even somewhere safe together that it feels strange and new to hold her. And I’m not used to her being Chihiro yet. It feels a little like I’m cheating on Candy. But she is Candy. This whole thing is going to take a while longer to get used to.

  When she lets go of me she steps back and laughs.

  “What?” I say.

  “You have lipstick all over yourself. Hold it.”

  She gets a napkin from the Donut Universe bag and wipes my lips. Which, with perfectly lousy timing, is when Fairuza decides to walk in. She’s a Lurker. A Ludere. Blue-­skinned, blond, and sporting a small pair of Devil horns. She knew Candy for a long time. She played drums in Candy’s band back before she “died.”

  Fairuza takes a DVD from her bag and slams it down on the counter. Walks over and slaps me hard enough it feels like hornets are having a hoedown on my cheek.

  “Candy’s barely gone you’re already with this little bitch? Fuck you.”

  She starts to hit me again, but I get my arm up and her hand glances off.

  “Fairuza,” says Kasabian.

  She turns and stabs a finger at him.

  “And fuck you too for hanging around with this asshole. Is this the bitch he gave Candy’s guitar to? Yeah, I heard about that. Fuck all of you.”

  She heads for the door and slams it hard enough I half expect the glass to crack.

  Candy takes a step back and hands me the napkin. I wipe the last of the lipstick off my face myself.

  “I’ve got to tell her,” says Candy.

  “No, you don’t. The more ­people that know, the more dangerous this gets. Let her hate me. I can live with that.”

  “Goody for you,” says Kasabian. “What about me? She’s never going to speak to me again as long as I’m here with you two.”

  “What are you worried about? I thought you broke up.”

  “We did,” he says. “But at least we were friends and . . . I don’t know. Maybe there was some chance of getting back together. Now, though . . .”

  I put my hands out like a goddamn preacher.

  “No one tells Fairuza or anybody else. We are on thin fucking ice. One mistake and Candy ends up in a federal pen. It’s too much of a risk.”

  “What about me?” says Candy. “Okay, some ­people are going to think you’re an asshole for being around Chihiro, but you still get to be you. I’m no one.”

  I hadn’t really thought of that.

  “Look, I’m still trying to get my brain around all this too. Maybe down the line it would be safe to let a ­couple of more ­people know. But we’ve got to play this out for a while. Chihiro didn’t even exist a ­couple of weeks ago. You stick out. Let ­people get used to you. Then maybe we can think about letting other ­people in.”

  Candy thinks for a minute.

  “I’ll give it till the end of January. Then I’m talking to Fairuza. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

  “Fine. But she’s the only one for the time being.”

  “I guess.”

  “Listen. If this thing falls apart, it’s not just on you and me. There’s other ­people too. Julie. Brigitte. Allegra and Vidocq.”

  “Aren’t you maybe leaving someone out?” says Kasabian.

  “I was getting to you, Iron Man.”

  “I thought we discussed no more nicknames.”

  I ignore that.

  “I know you think I’m a drag sometimes, but there’s a lot at stake here.”

  “I know,” Candy says quietly.

  “I saw you dead once. I don’t want to see that again.”

  “I wasn’t really dead, dumb-­ass.”

  “You sure looked like you were.”

  “That’s ’cause I’m such a good actress. Me and Brigitte are going to star in a remake of Thelma & Louise.”

  “As I recall, that didn’t end well.”

  “In our version the car is a Delorean time machine, so we just drive off and have adventures with pirates and robots.”

  “Or Lethal Weapon,” says Kasabian. “You could do a girl-­girl remake.”

  “Or Bill and Ted,” she says.

  She looks at me.

  “I need another drink. You have supplies upstairs?”

  “You know it.”

  I step aside and let her lead the way.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  It’s a man’s voice coming from the storage room.

  I look at Kasabian.

  “Lock the front door.”

  “Sure. It’s not like we’re a place of business or anything.”

  As he does it, Candy and I knock on the storage room door.

  “You all right in there?”

  “Where am I?”

  I open the door. He squints and pushes himself back to the farthest corner of the cot I set up for him, huddling there like a bug.

  He says, “It’s too bright.”

  Candy and I go inside and close the door. It’s ripe in here. The guy wasn’t clean when I met him. Add an extra week to that. We’re in a cheese factory.

  Candy hits the overhead light. It’s only a sixty-­watt. Candy liked the room dim when the band rehearsed.

  I take a step closer, getting between the guy on the cot and Candy
in case he’s as unhinged as he looks.

  “Is that better?”

  Slowly, he opens his eyes. He keeps a hand up, blocking the bulb. When he can focus he stares at me.

  “Where am I?”

  “At Max Overdrive. Do you remember coming to me at Bamboo House of Dolls?”

  He sits up and leans against the wall. Candy steps around me, fiddling with her phone. Who the fuck is she calling right now?

  “Who’s that?” he says.

  “A friend. What do you remember?”

  He looks at the blanket, his hands, and the room like he’s never seen any of it before. When he looks at me I can see the gears starting to turn in his head.

  “You’re Stark.”

  “That’s right. And this is Chihiro. You met her the other night too.”

  He stares at Candy for a little too long.

  “That’s not her real face,” he says. “Or her name.”

  Candy shoots me a worried look. I hold up a hand to say “be cool.”

  “You can see through the glamour,” I say. “So, you really are an angel.”

  He nods.

  “The oldest, known to mortals as the Angel of Death.”

  “Yeah. You said that the other night.”

  “And you don’t believe me.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but I’ve met my share of, let’s say, unstable angels.”

  “You mean Aelita.”

  “There were others but, yeah, she was the worst.”

  “I’m not mad and I have no desire to be here or to be a burden.”

  “Then why are you here? And why come to me?”

  Death touches the gauze bandages over the hole in his chest.

  “You closed the wound.”

  “Not me. It was friends. And you haven’t answered my question.”

  “It hurts,” he says, rubbing his chest. “Everything hurts. I’d forgotten what pain is. Do you have anything for it?”

  I take out my flask, unscrew the top, and hand it to him. He takes a swig and coughs, practically spitting the Aqua Regia all over himself.

  “This is Hellion brew,” he says.

  “That’s right. Drink up. It tastes like gasoline, but it’ll help with the pain.”

  “I’m not sure it’s permitted.”