LITMIR.BIZ

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to go. When you’re in that neighborhood, you need at least one person on your side. Preferably one with a bar.

      I finish off two more drinks before it becomes dangerously clear that if I hang around much longer, I’m going to have to talk to someone.

      I time the walk back to Max Overdrive perfectly. I get to the door right on the last puff of my cigarette. Flicking the butt into the Dumpster, I let myself in the back way.

      Inside, the oily solvent smell is gone, but now there’s something else. Alcohol? Disinfectant? The staircase smells like a hospital waiting room.

      I find out why a minute later. By then I’m already on the floor and the world is a shivering Slip and Slide, so there’s no chance of me getting up. I have a feeling that the robot ghost in the dirty trench coat that’s waving a baseball bat in my face might have something to do with it.

      Pieces of the world start falling back into place enough for to me to see that the robot ghost isn’t really a robot or a ghost. It’s Kasabian, and he’s held together with a lot of metal rods and screws. There’s a metal band bolted around his head, held in place by steel dowels that are attached to a brace on his chest. A traction halo. It holds his head onto his body well enough for him to stand up, but the rig makes him move like a rusty windup toy. Still, for a kid’s toy, he’s doing a pretty good job tuning up my ribs.

      I deflect a couple of the blows with my arms, which feels just as good as it sounds. Kasabian is so stiff, he has to stand in one place to work me over. Lucky me. I swing one of my legs around and catch him behind the knee. He goes down on the knee, but refuses to fall over. Just keeps smashing me with the bat, teeth gritted, sweating and red-faced. But he’s working from close range now, so the shots hurt a lot less than before.

      I swing my leg again. This time I hit the top of the metal halo. That gets his attention. Kasabian drops the bat and crab walks his way back, putting some distance between my foot and his head.

      Except for the first surprise shot on the back of my skull, he hasn’t hurt me too much. Kasabian moves like he’s half frozen in ice. Can’t get up the strength to do any real damage. If he wasn’t up and walking around, I’d swear that his body was in rigor mortis. Maybe he’s afraid that if he wiggles around too much, his head will pop off. Let’s test that theory.

      Still on the floor, I throw a kick at his head. Kasabian tries to move out of the way, but I’m faster than him. But I still miss. Okay. So that first smack on the head scrambled my brain a little more than I thought.

      I go for the guns under the mattress, but my aim is still off. It gives Kasabian a chance to drive the bat into my ribs again. I’m breathing hard, trying to take in air every time it gets knocked out with another rib shot. I could probably throw a spell at Kasabian if my head was clearer and my chest wasn’t hurting. I can feel every single bruise from the Kissi attack. And all this wrestling around is waking up those bullets again. Fuck Kinski for being right about them getting angry again.

      When Kasabian tries to jam me with the bat again, I move faster and get my hand on it. One twist and it’s out of his hands and bouncing off the floor. Kasabian backs up and braces himself against the wall. He reaches for something under his dirty trench coat, but he’s not fast enough. The world is settling down. Becoming firmer around me. I grab the bat and swing. It smashes into his halo, buckling and scattering the metal dowels.

      Kasabian screams, “Fuck!” His head is hanging free, held on by just the stitches and the couple of remaining dowels. He gets his feet under him, braces his back against the wall, and pushes himself up until he’s standing. His eyes are wide. Not so much in anger anymore. He’s remembering what it was like the first time his melon came off and he doesn’t like the picture. That’s why his hands are shaking and he’s muttering, “No, no, no,” when he pulls what looks like a short tree branch out from under his coat. It wraps around his arm from the wrist to his elbow.

      Now it’s my turn to scramble back. The skinhead at Carlos’s bar tried to shoot me with a Devil Daisy, but he didn’t know what he was doing. In a room this small, even a crippled, half-dead wreck like Kasabian couldn’t miss me. But I’m more worried about something worse.

      I yell, “Stop!” and put up my hands. Kasabian just looks at me. I guess he wasn’t expecting such an easy surrender. He face splits into a big grin. He waves the Daisy around a little, stabbing the air with it, trying to intimidate me. He does, but not for the reasons he thinks.

      “Listen to me, Kas. I know that Parker and Mason gave you that thing. If you use it, you’re going to die. For real this time. No second chances.”

      “Kiss my ass, man. They helped me. Parker took me out of here. He and Mason gave me back my body.”

      “Nice job they did, too. You look like Frankenstein’s ball sac. You can barely move. Don’t you think if they liked you they could find a spell to put your head back on for real?”

      “That’s your fault! You and your goddamn knife. It left some kind of residual magic behind. No matter what we tried, my head wouldn’t go back on. Parker put together this traction rig for me. It sucks, but it’s better than spending the rest of my life in that closet watching infomercials until you decide to shoot me.”

      “You’re right. I got a little more extreme with you than I meant to. Sorry. I wanted Mason, but I had you. You got some of the grief I was saving up for him. That wasn’t right. So. You know. Sorry.”

      “Sorry? Even if you didn’t cut my head off, you came here to kill me. You think sorry covers that?”

      “I’m not so sure you want to know the truth about that.”

      Kasabian hoists the Devil Daisy up to face level. I take a couple more steps back, until I’m on the other side of the bed. Still in point-blank range.

      “Tell me,” he says.

      “When I got here, yeah, I planned on killing you. But after ten minutes, I was pretty much over that. I mean, how much more could I do? Mason did a pretty good job of wrecking you before I ever got here.”

      “Yeah, but I stood up to you and he’s on my side again.”

      “No, he’s not. He’s never been on your side and he never will be. You think he gave you your body and sent you back here to get me? This is a setup. You’re here to kill yourself. Me, too. But mostly you.”

      “Look at you. Look how scared you are. You’ll say anything.”

      “Ask me how Jayne and Cherry are. I double-dog dare you.”

      “Why? Is that a trick question?”

      “Yeah. Because they’re dead. Parker killed them. He’s killing everyone connected to him and Mason. If he gave you that weapon, it’ll probably kill me, but I guarantee that it’ll kill you.”

      “You are such a liar. Not even a good one. Look how scared you are.”

      “I’m scared you’re going to do something stupid.”

      He pushes the Daisy in my direction.

      “Don’t call me stupid!”

      “Sorry. Just don’t do anything you—we—can’t take back.”

      He starts to nod, but catches himself. The nod turns into a twitch as he pushes his shoulders and head back against the wall. His heart is a trip-hammer. His pupils narrow. Now that he’s done something dumb in front of me, he’s angrier than ever.

      “Kas, Mason and Parker are using you.”

      “Keep talking, dead man. I hear there’s a bunch of imps waiting for you with knives and forks.”

      I take another step back. He’s going to do it. It’s building inside him.

      “Don’t do it, man. You’ll die, too.”

      The grin is back on his face.

      “This is nice. This quiet moment before you die. Thanks for

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