Free Love Is the Law by Nick Mamatas Page A

Arby ’ s wrappers littering the well of the front seats; excellent. But most important was the manual lock. So I undid the lace on one of my boots and made a little noose-like loop of it. With the trusty screwdriver on my trusty Swiss Army knife, I pried open the passenger side door the slightest, and then I slid the lace in, snagged the lock, yanked, and popped the door open. Then I moved inside, closed the door, locked it, and ducked under the back seat and waited. The Chevette was a three-door, but I was sure he ’ d not see me even if he threw a backpack or something in the back before taking off.
    This was going to be so much cooler than going to the county clerk ’ s office to find out who owned my old house.
    I was tired of being pushed around, of being messed with by virtually everyone I met. Even Greg, even with scars I left decorating his fool mouth, found a way to treat me like shit. I needed to assert my Will once again. The well of the back seat lent itself to yoga and the clearing of the mind, but my thoughts couldn ’ t help but drift toward Bernstein again. Was the Chelsea girl sucking his cock too, and if so, did that make her the killer? My heart rate roared, so I pushed back, toward another memory.
    Bernstein once told me what brought him to Mount Sinai. The answer was magick. “This town was once called Old Mans,” he said.
    “With an apostrophe?” I asked. “Like, belonging to an old man? Or was it some Dutch thing?”
    “Depends on the document. It was the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries after all. Maps were more creative, and perhaps even more accurate for it, back then. When it came time to change the name of the town, the postmaster performed a work of bibliomancy. With a knitting needle in hand, he opened the Bible and felt the hand of God, so he said, draw the point of the needle to the words Mount Sinai .
    “Names are important things. Your surname, Seliger, means blessed man .”
    “And Bernstein ?” I asked, because I knew that ’ s what he wanted me to ask. His voice was an octave lower than usual, after all.
    “The stone that burns. Amber was thought to be created by burning, but—”
    “Sulfur, eh?” I said. Bernstein smiled at me, his little cocksucking genius. “All fiery and brimstoney. And can the Old Man of Mount Sinai be . . . Saaaatan?” Bernstein normally didn ’ t like my Church Lady impression, but he nodded this time. It was a rare moment of frivolity, and Bernstein ’ s smile was even rarer. I was sufficiently immersed in the memory of it that I barely felt the car move until it stopped in a driveway in Setauket. I scrambled to my feet and before the comic book guy could leave the car I had my shoelace around his neck.
    “Surprise!” He was shocked, his eyes wide. I had all the leverage, and his throat, and my Will. I could have killed him then and there, just to show him that I could. To show myself that I could. “Don ’ t piss yourself, please.”
    He didn ’ t. He glared at me with infinite hate in his rear-view mirror. Who knows how many daydreams of vigilante heroics he had, or fantasies of being tied up by a wanton she-devil of a girl and utterly ravaged? Well, they both had gone right to shit. I tugged a little tighter on the shoelace. “We ’ re going to go inside and have a nice chat.”
    “I ’ ll . . . fuckin ’ . . . kill,” he said as best he could. True, there was no real way I could get him to let me into his house and chat, but I just wanted him to realize that. I smiled at him and leaned back, planting my knees against the back of his seat. He couldn ’ t get his fat fingers between flesh and rope. He kept eye contact with me, which was good for him, so I could see his eyelids flitter and face go purple. When he was just about to lose consciousness, he suddenly shuddered terribly, and I let him go. My plan had been to leave him in the car, alive, while I checked out his apartment, but I hadn ’ t realized that one of his