Devil Said Bang

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 go through the staff offices with hellhounds and a flamethrower. I bet that will turn up the bottle. Hell, maybe the Holy Grail and Amelia Earhart’s bones too.”

Bill looks past my shoulder as he lights another cigar. I half turn and see legionnaires staring at us. I slap the cigar from his mouth, grab him, and push him hard around the side of the building.

“Move, drytt!”

When we’re in the dark, I let Bill go. He shoves me with his free hand and balls the other into a fist.

He yells, “What the hell are you playing at, boy?”

“We were being watched. Hellions and damned souls don’t have heart-to-hearts in public.”

He lowers his hand and uses it to rub the arm I grabbed, more out of annoyance than pain.

“I suppose you’re right. Still, I don’t care for being rough-housed.”

“Would you rather I shoved you and stopped or that one of those other assholes who’d mean it did?”

“I suppose you have a point. But it don’t make me any less aggravated.”

“So what did the letter say?”

He leans his back against the bar and feels around for another cigar. Pulling one out, he lights it and glances back at the one I knocked to the ground. Cigars and cigarettes aren’t easy things for the damned to come by. I’ll send him a box in the morning.

“It wasn’t much of anything,” he says. “You’re always concerned with how the local populace regards you. From what I’ve seen, the rabble takes you as the grand exalted master of the infernal hindquarters just fine. Though your boisterous days as Sandman Slim have left a deeper impression. You’re credited with every cutthroat murder and cracked skull in town, of which there are more than a few.”

“Lucky me. Most people don’t get hated for one life. I’m hated for two. If I get a part-time gig as a meter maid, I can probably make it three.”

I find Mason’s lighter in my pocket but nothing to smoke.

“Do you have any cigarettes? I left mine back home.”

Home. That’s a bad habit. Stop thinking that way.

“Sorry. My last smoke went down the shitter when you knocked it out of my mouth.”

“Liar.”

He half smiles and pulls a pack from another pocket. Bill’s been in enough saloons to know that a well-timed cigarette can calm an argument quicker than an ax handle.

“Was there anything else in the note?”

Bill takes a while tapping the Malediction out for me. At first I think it’s just how a man who spent decades rolling his own smokes handles premade cigarettes. Then it hits me that he’s stalling.

“No. I don’t suppose there was anything else that mattered in there.”

I check both ends of the alley for movement. Nothing.

More secrets. Just what I need. Is he changing sides? Bill isn’t the happiest saloonkeeper in the universe. Taking orders and abuse from drunk Hellions isn’t what he’s built for. Maybe someone made him a better offer. Is there anywhere in this fucking town I don’t have to look over my shoulder? Do I have to fill the Bamboo House with peepers now?

I turn and start away.

“I shouldn’t keep you from your bar, Bill. Thanks for the information.”

“Where are you headed?”

“I’m thinking about getting drunk and seeing if I can pick a fight at the arena. I still want some carnage tonight.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

I stop and look back at him.

“You can do that? Just walk around?”

He holds out Lucifer’s mark.

“This keeps me out of all kinds of trouble. These pig fuckers might stab each other over a nickel’s worth of beer, but they aren’t about to break the Devil’s toys.”