Free Devil Said Bang by Richard Kadrey Page A

my face isn’t my face
anymore. The glamour makes me look like any other ugly Hellion.
    I put the bike in gear and head up the ramp to one
of the repair bays in back of the hotel. When I get the gate open and I’m sure
the way is clear, I pop the clutch. The rear wheel screams and smokes and I
blast off into the dark.
    It takes my eyes a while to adjust to the night
light. I hit the throttle and the bike tears over the city’s broken streets,
bouncing and flying high over sudden drops, fishtailing in the curves. By the
time I can see right, Pandemonium is a superhighway of light, streaks of color
bounded by the blood reek of sinkholes and the bruised Hellion sky. I cut in and
out of traffic. Around troop transports and pedestrians. I’m up on the sidewalk,
and in the few places that have working traffic lights, I run every red I can
find. I’m a menace. I’m a monster. I’m a stooge and I don’t care who knows it.
I’m moving and for the first time in a long time everything is perfect. Hell can
kiss my ass.
    I hide
the Hellion hog under the collapsed roof of an abandoned garage. On the way out
I smooth over the dust to disguise my footprints and toss some cinder blocks
inside to give the place an extra about-to-completely-collapse look.
    I find Wild Bill smoking outside the Bamboo House
of Dolls. When I walk over he shakes his head at me.
    “Hop on by, froggy. You see this mark on my
shirt?”
    He shows me his sleeve. Lucifer’s bloodred sigil.
He blows out blue cigar smoke.
    “I’m bought and paid for by Mr. Scratch himself and
he doesn’t appreciate simpletons manhandling his merchandise. It lowers the
resale value.”
    “Is that what you tell people? That I own you? I
suppose it’s technically true, the way things work down here. I just never
thought of it that way.”
    Bill leans forward and squints. Shakes his head and
spits.
    “I swear to God, boy. Warn a feller when you’re
going to come ’round looking like a goddamn hobgoblin. I was five seconds from
tattooing your head with a shovel I leave out here for just that purpose.”
    He’s telling the truth. There’s a solid old shovel
in a half-dug hole by the side of the building. I’ll bet cash money that hole
never gets any deeper or any more full.
    “Next time I’ll wear a rose in my lapel so you know
it’s me. I can’t stand another night locked in Gormenghast and thought I’d come
by for a drink. Maybe let someone start a fight. It’s one of those nights when I
want to break things, bones especially. You know the feeling?”
    Bill eyes me and tosses the stub of his cigar.
    “I’m acquainted with it but you’re not going to
start any fights in my establishment. I don’t want it to become known as
somewhere bastards can pay for drinks with the heels of their boots. Also,
there’s some witches and other magical sorts from your palace inside. I don’t
know that they could see through your Halloween mask but it seems a foolish
thing to chance.”
    I try to think of a good argument but nothing comes
to mind.
    “That’s too bad. I really want a drink.”
    Bill shrugs.
    “Speaking of drinking, did you get the trifle I
sent your way? It’s a bottle of a local swill I discovered that’s not half bad
by the standards of the Abyss. Tastes a bit like bourbon and turpentine. There’s
a note in there too.”
    “I haven’t gotten anything from you in weeks.”
    Bill nods slowly.
    “You might want to speak to your butlers or
whatever kind of flunkies you have up there. Sounds like someone is pilfering
your liquor cabinet.”
    I close in to whispering distance.
    “How easy will it be for whoever stole the bottle
to find the note?”
    He waves his hand dismissively.
    “It’s sealed under the label. You’d have to look
for it to find it, so I wouldn’t worry. And any future bottles I send your way
will be rotgut. Feeding your demon staff is not my job.”
    One more thing to worry about. One more reason to
punch someone very hard.
    “I’ll