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    Aloha from Hell: A Sandman Slim Novel
    Aloha from Hell: A Sandman Slim Novel
    Aloha from Hell: A Sandman Slim Novel
    Ebook448 pages7 hours

    Aloha from Hell: A Sandman Slim Novel

    By Richard Kadrey

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    Supernatural fantasy’s greatest anti-hero goes back to hell!

    In Sandman Slim Stark came back from hell for revenge.

    In Kill the Dead he tackled both a zombie plague and being Lucifer’s bodyguard.

    Once again all is not right in L.A. Lucifer is back in Heaven, God is on vacation, and an insane killer mounts a war against both Heaven and Hell.

    Stark’s got to head back down to his old stomping grounds in Hell to rescue his long lost love, stop an insane serial killer, prevent both Good and Evil from completely destroying each other, and stop the demonic Kissi from ruining the party for everyone.

    Even for Sandman Slim, that’s a tall order. And it’s only the beginning.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateOct 18, 2011
    ISBN9780062101181
    Aloha from Hell: A Sandman Slim Novel
    Author

    Richard Kadrey

    Richard Kadrey is the New York Times bestselling author of the Sandman Slim supernatural noir books. Sandman Slim was included in Amazon’s “100 Science Fiction & Fantasy Books to Read in a Lifetime,” and is in development as a feature film. Some of his other books include The Wrong Dead Guy, The Everything Box, Metrophage, and Butcher Bird. He also writes the Vertigo comic Lucifer.

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    Reviews for Aloha from Hell

    4/5

    441 ratings34 reviews

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    • 3/5
      I read the first two and enjoyed them, despite some editing issues.
      But in this novel, there are construction issues, world building conflicts as well as editing problems.
      Editing was the usual loose style that needs to be tightened. For example, reference is made in a conversation to something that was not actually part of the conversation. It probably probably referring to a line of dialog that was edited out, but it needed to be corrected in the entirety.

      But those are issues that can be ignored. What dropped this novel to a 3 star was its general "throw the spaghetti at the wall and call it a plot" theme. The first half of the novel doesn't feel related in any way to the second. And frankly the first half is better. The second half takes place in hell, which is fine, but the amount of filler descriptiveness is truly dismally boring. And there does seem to be a sort of contrived meandering around, without any movement in the plot.

      The fact that the hell he visits is now entirely different than the one we get glimpses of in his previous books, is explained in a rather contrived manner. And frankly, I think the choice of making hell a carnival mirror representation of LA was just silly. Beyond that, it has some glaring internal conflicts as well as logic conflicts.

      The final twist at the end, was I suppose surprising. But it was hardly satisfying, and made the entire Metaphorical Hell even more unrealistic. It was also a bit of an internal conflict compared to previous book issues.
    • 2/5
      WARNING - There are SPOILERS in this review! Don't read it unless you really feel like reading a rant of poopy pants-ness.

      I have to start out that I really enjoyed the first two books in this series, so this being book three I was expecting great things. I know some people will probably be shocked that I have such a low opinion of it.

      The entire reading experience to me this time around was completely lackluster. The entry action scene of Stark and Vidoqc robbing a house for an item that really ended up being of no import to the story as well as the demon that attacks them outside the house. I felt like there was a bit of that throughout.

      So we have the mystery portion in the first half the novel where they are trying to figure out what's going on with this 'possessed' boy. Did it really need to take up that much of the book? Or better yet did the trek through hell really require the second half. Yes, it probably did - but for me it was like plucking lint off of a pair of black pants...tedious.

      Aelita was mentioned plenty of times but was never seen. These big things that happen, her kidnapping Alice, her at the end killing one of the 5 beings that make up "god". I feel like those were bigger things that just were under handled.

      The trip to hell, I liked how he ended up getting in, meeting Mustang Sally and going through the garden of Eden - but this hell itself, and the trip through it - I found it boring. Oh I wish I had a writers skill to be able to describe and define all the reasons why I was so aggravated. I just don't articulate myself well... but lets see - I think it was because the whole second half of the book to me was just "more of the same" page before it.

      Stark's humor didn't hit the high points for me that the previous two books did. Don't get me wrong I'm not giving a low rating just because it didn't stand up to the other two books in my mind but mostly just because I felt like the story in this one fell flat and just didn't do it for me. I'm sure it will rock the socks off of alot of other fans.

      Were big things done? Yes! of course, he got laid by a new girl, decided he'd finally be emotionally moving on from Alice (thank freaking Hades), met Jack the Ripper, destroyed the Kissi again, got rid of the angel alter ego (which should provide some interesting fodder for the next book I'm sure), got Mason to kill himself, ended up being the ruler of Hell in the end *shoulder shrug*...was it too much? - or was it not enough. I don't know I'm just a debbie downer when I think about this reading experience.

      Does someone need to bring me a sammich to get me to shutup?
    • 3/5
      Just okay. Stark is as entertaining to ride along with as usual and the plot expands in new ways, along with memorable new characters. It just didn't tickle me as much as the premise of the whole series.
    • 5/5
      What can I say, I love Sandman Slim. Describing his stories is a whole different thing. Irreverent, sacreligious, outrageous, violent with lots of blood and gore, sexy, supernatural, humorous, and that's just for a beginning. Sandman Slim is a nephilm...half angel and half human. His friends are not your normal friends. His roommate, Kasabian, is a living head. (SS cut off the head but its back to life and using a skateboard as a body with magic...or hoodoo as it's called...allowing the wheels to be used as limbs (sort of). It steals his cigarettes and drinks his beer and beats him at pool. His current girlfriend is a Jade, a monster that turns your insides to liquid so she can drink them, but she's on the wagon and controlling those urges for the most part with a potion. He travels through the room of 13 doors to which only he has the key by moving through shadows and can go pretty much anywhere in the Universe this way.He spent 11 years in Hell as a living human and now he is returning there to try to find and rescue his old dead girlfriend and to save the universe. God has left Heaven and is missing. Lucifer has left Hell and gone to Heaven. The Kissi (angels God made but threw in the reject pile and who are now chaos loving demons) are back. Mason, Sandman's nemesis, is in Hell and gathering Lucifer's Generals and their armies to take over Heaven and destroy both Heaven and Hell. Hell is going to Hell so to speak under Mason's leadership with chaos and mayhem running rampant. There was actually some degree of order when it was under Lucifer's control). Oh, and most of this occurs in Los Angeles, even when it is taking place in Hell.This book, as well as the other Sandman Slim novels, is constant twists and turns and magic and mayhem. The writing is different and fast paced with something new in almost every sentence. I truly cannot do justice to these stories. That said, there would be many people offended by this type writing...VERY offended. It definitely isn't something you would find in a Christian bookstore and, if that is your preferred genre, I would recommend you stay far away from these books. However, if you can put your tongue in cheek and accept it for what it is, I think you will find this a very entertaining series of books. (This book was first provided and reviewed for the Amazon Vine Program)
    • 4/5
      So much better than book 2. I was about to give up on this series. Now I can't wait to see what book 4 has in store for us.
    • 4/5
      Warning: These books are not for people averse to graphic violence, sex and language.Richard Kadrey impresses me with his knowledge of mythology (especially the demonic sort) and how it's woven into the fabric of his Sandman Slim series. Aloha From Hell is the third book.Jim Stark aka Sandman Slim is a nephilim, the product of a male angel and a human woman. To many of the supernatural world, especially some angels, this makes him an abomination to be gotten rid of.Stark is also the only human who has escaped Hell and lived to tell the tale. In Aloha From Hell, he finds himself in the position of having to rescue both Heaven & Hell from a human interloper named Mason Faim, who wants to tear the entire universe down and start over.Along the way, Stark tangles with demons, making deals with them to get back into Hell to rescue Alice, his dead love who was yanked out of Heaven unceremoniously and is being kept prisoner in Hell. Stark is a very angry nephilim who literally struggles with his angel while making his way through the Garden of Eden, Tartarus, and Pandemonium to convince the demonic generals to gather their troops and ride to war.All through the book, Slim has this idea that he'll rescue Alice, stop Mason from tearing the universe apart and get back to Los Angeles in time to break more furniture with Candy. The twist, of course, changes all of that.Aloha From Hell is tons of fun with interesting philosophical lamentations on the purpose of being and what it all means anyway.
    • 4/5
      A decent showing from Kadrey, but not nearly as much fun as the previous novel, Kill the Dead, which had me giggling like a teenager at Stark's many caustic remarks. Kadrey is so skilled at turning a phrase (and he can make Stark swear like a wounded pirate with a wide and colorful vocabulary); I wish he had done more of that in Aloha. I believe he may have been too focused on tying up loose ends and bringing the story (at least the first act) to a conclusion, which made it feel more stilted and mundane than the previous novels. Nevertheless, I'm still a fan of Sandman Slim.
    • 3/5
      I started reading Aloha From Hell on February 15th of this year. Here it is, September 20th, and I've just now finished it. What began as a read on my Kindle changed to the hardcover edition in July when I found it at the library. I made it to about page 100 before I had to take the book back so someone else could tear their fucking hair out. Finally, I downloaded the audio book, because MacLeod Andrews can make Cannibal Corpse lyrics sound like Catholic hymns. And whataya know? I actually finished this mother-humping book. Amen, and pass the maledictions!

      Oh, how I loved the first two books in this series. The witty sarcasm, the foul-mouthed humor, action that explodes on the page... What in the name of Tom Cruise's bleached asshole happened here? Sure, Stark is just as sarcastic as ever, but the humor was like listening to an obese comedian tell his hundredth fat joke of the night. It was funny the first 99 times, but now it's just kinda sad. Doesn't he have any other material, for Cruise's sake?

      Aloha From Hell drones on about religious bullshit and other godly mythos as Kadrey tries to figure out who God is and what purpose the deity will serve in his Sandman Slim urban fantasy series. As far as action is concerned, we get an anti-climactic exorcism, three or four gladius battles that seem ripped from the Sword Fighting Playbook of 1940, Stark driving a Ferrari Testarossa out of Hell and into a war with Heaven ( literally pause the audio because I was laughing so hard at the mid-life-crisis-fantasy-porn), and a finale on par with the ending of the Richard Donner's Superman. Other than that, we receive roughly two billion conversations. There's so much dialogue in this book, I though I was reading a script. And, for the most part, the cast are not talking about anything worth a fuck. No! We get page after page of hellions whining about why Hell sucks, bad guys spouting off exposition, and good guys complaining about having to be good guys. By the time I was done with this (and I never thought I'd say this, but...), I was chomping at the bit for some of Peter Straub or Stephen King's infamous walls of text, wherein we get paragraphs that last two or three pages without a single shred of dialogue. I was actually tired of hearing people talk. More than once I thought, "Shut the fuck up and get on with the goddamn story, you mouthy pricks!"

      This book is packed full of filler. It's bursting at the seams, really. I mean, for fuck's sake, it takes Stark until the 54% mark to get to Hell. The book's story doesn't even really start until halfway through the goddamn book! All the bullshit before he goes to Hell is superfluous. Wanna know how I know? Because I forgot everything that happened during the first section of the book and was not even close to lost at the end. I got the full picture, and I can't even remember the first fifty percent!

      Oh, and Jack the Ripper's appearance was pointless. So very cliched and pointless. What about H. H. Holmes or Albert Fish, or someone who hasn't popped up half a trillion times in books about Hell.

      See also: Hell being a twisted version of Los Angeles... FUCKING GODDAMN SQUIRREL-MOLESTING MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST ON A TAMPAX YACHT, KADREY, SHOW SOME ORIGINALITY!

      (*takes a deep breath* Sorry, about that. Now back to our regularly scheduled review)

      I almost rage-quit this pile of dumpster leavings five times since February, but friends kept telling me, "The fourth book is SOOOOO worth the trouble." You guys better be right, or I'm going to burn this book and use the flames to light your pubes on fire.

      Now, with all this cussing and fussing, I bet you're asking yourself how in the name of Tom Cruise's waxed weasel hole did it garner three stars from me? Well, the answer is this: There are parts in this book that I liked quite a bit. All the emotional stuff was handled expertly, and I even teared when Alice tells Stark how she really died. I got another sentimental boner while Stark was ranting about how God was just another deadbeat dad in his life. Any scene that was designed to tug at my heartstrings worked like a bodybuilder bench pressing bags of cotton. And that's what I don't understand, Mr. Kadrey. This is urban fantasy, not literary fiction, so why the huge emphasis on emotional content here? Some of your prose herein is fucking gorgeous, but when it comes to action and plot progression, Aloha From Hell eats all the ass with pancake syrup and sprinkles on top. Had the fight sequences been up to par with the tear-jerking shit, and the dialogue edited down a couple dozen pages, I believe this would have been the best book in the series. Because, Kadrey,dude, you had some important shit to say, it's just that most of it got buried under a metric-fuck-tonne of bloated text.

      In summation: I don't know if reading this volume was worth it yet, so I cannot recommend Aloha From Hell, nor can I tell you to stay the fuck away from it. I will tackle that after reading the next book in the series, which, strangely enough, is a novella. Devil in the Dollhouse (book 3.5) comes before Devil Said Bang (Book 4), so to the Dollhouse I turn. It best not suck, Kadrey. Best not!

      Three balls sucked out of five.
    • 3/5
      Just when this was getting good(better than volume 2, in fact) someone went and placed a hold on it from the library and I had to abandon it. Oh well... maybe I'll get back into it someday.
    • 4/5
      Yup another Sandman Slim novel. This one, I think is the weakest out of all three (because I thought Hell superimposed on LA was weak), but it has all the action you need - lots of carnage, lots of death. I'm not completely sold on the way Hell is portrayed - as a weird mashup of Free for all, rules, and suffering, but it is fun, but ultimately, Stark makes his way running through Hell, meeting THE God,or a God, depending, destroying things, generally screwing things up.Its exactly what it is - a well written book, fun, fast, no great message, but not stupid, either.
    • 4/5
      Mason kidnaps Stark's ex-girlfriend Alice from Heaven and brings her to hell and Stark decides that he's going to find a way around the traps to rescue her and keep heaven from Mason's clutches. This sets off a cascade that will change his role in the worlds.I love this series, it's serious pulpy fiction but I just really enjoy it, it loves its sources and it shows and Kadrey writes stories that really get me caught up in them and avidly reading. I'm looking forward to mroe of this.
    • 5/5
      A great series. Mason is still in hell, but has trapped something that Jim Stark really cares about with him. A teenage boy is possessed and Stark is warned off the case. The war between heaven and hell is about to begin.Love the series. Love the characters. Love the stories. Love it.
    • 4/5
      This is the third book in the Sandman Slim series. If you haven't read the other ones, I would recommend picking them up first. The author doesn't spend a lot of time getting the reader back up to speed on previous events. This book flows much better than the other two as the author seems to be more comfortable with his characters. This time, Stark heads back to hell to confront Mason and save Alice. A quick but very enjoyable read. The ending suggested that we haven't heard the last of Sandman Slim.
    • 4/5
      The Devil isn't dead, he's headed back to Heaven... which means Hell has a job opening.When he landed on the garbage heap in the Cemetery of Eternal Rest, Start for sure never thought he'd be trying to get back into Hell. But someone's kidnapped Alice's soul from Heaven, and Stark will stop at nothing to get her back. Love it!
    • 4/5
      Another great, page-turner from Richard Kadrey.
      James Stark, after ignoring Mason, the arch enemy he banished to Hell in the first book as long as he could, gets challenged to confront Mason when Mason ups the ante.
      Exciting climax as Stark heads back Downstairs to head off a maniac wanting to end everything, but especially end Stark.
    • 4/5
      I think overall the whole series is refreshing. I enjoy the take on Heaven and Hell.
    • 4/5
      After reading the first two books in this series I was excited to get to this the third book in the Sandman Slim series. I have always found Richard Kadrey's imagination to be top notch and this was no exception.

      I liked the idea of Hell being whatever you brought into it. This nightmare version of LA was interesting. I thought there was many too much time spent wandering around, and the double cross of Stark's 1st guide was not that surprising.

      The story is simple Stark has to venture once again to Hell to save his lost love Alice from Mason's evil clutches. There is more detail than that, but that is the basic story. I would have liked to see more interaction with the people Starks knows in "real life" like Vidocq or Candy. I felt no connection between the characters in the text, it was very brief and undefined.

      Overall, I did really like this book. I thought it was fun and I wasn't disappointed.
    • 5/5
      I got an advanced reading copy of this book through the Amazon Vine Program. This is the third book in the Sandman Slim series by Kadrey. I have absolutely adored all of the Sandman Slim books; they have a grittiness to them that you don't find in many other books and are incredibly creative and interesting...not to mention absolutely hilarious at times.Stark (Sandman Slim) is enjoying the peace that has come after he annihilated all of the zombies in the entire world (I know, Stark never does thing small does he?). Well of course things never remain calm for long. Stark is called to look in to a demonic possession of a boy. Crazy thing is that the demon that's possessed this boy seems to know Stark. Could this be a simple demon posession? Of course not, all roads lead to Hell and this little twist is no exception to the rule.I absolutely love these books. I love Stark's witty, sarcastic, and absolutely hilarious comments. Yes, you need a dark sense of humor to laugh at this book...but if you have that there is so much to laugh at. It is all written in such a clever, sarcastic, and just absolutely wonderful way. As with previous books there is swearing, sex, violence, violence, and did I say violence? in spades...those with weak stomachs you may want to read elsewhere.Stark is everything anyone could want in a half-angelic anti-hero. His angelic side is constantly trying to rope him into saving the innocent; which Stark can be talked into if it lines up with taking care of his own personal vendettas. Candy (the Jade) is in this story a lot more too, which is great. I missed her is the second book and she is exactly who Stark needs. Who better to back him up than a woman who can liquefy the men/demons who piss her off and eat them for dinner? This whole book reads like something between a gritty Noire movie and a gory horror film. Everything everyone says is a bit over the top and you never know what you are going to run into next. At points the story reminds me of The Nightside series by Simon Green; you never know what deity, what devil, or what reality you are going to find yourself in next. The story always keeps you guessing and keeps you on your toes and is just absolutely wonderful.So, yeah, I pretty much loved everything about this book. There were some parts when Stark is down in Hell that dragged a bit and we have a lot of Hellion Generals' names thrown at us which are a bit hard to keep track of. That being said, this is probably the weakest of the Sandman Slim books. Given how much I absolutely love these book though even the weakest book in this series is spades above most other books out there.Overall I just loved it and gobbled it up and can't wait for more. This book isn't for everyone; it is full of violence, swearing, and Stark is offensive (yet oddly noble) in numerous ways. If you like your urban fantasy gritty, down-and-drity, full of craziness, with mind-blowing action, and surprising twists then this is the book for you. Don't start with this book though, go back and read the first two books first; Sandman Slim and Kill The Dead are just as awesome. If you are a Nightside fan, a Dresden Files fan, or a Spellbent fan come and check this series out!
    • 4/5
      A former member of the Golden Vigil asks Stark, Vidocq and Candy to look into a failed exorcism. A sin-eater had tried to remove a demon from a youngman and failed. When Stark and the others find the kid they discover he isn't being possesed by a demon, but by Mason, Starks nemesis. Mason tells him he has kidnapped Alice, Starks first love, from Heaven and is holding her in Hell. Stark decides it's time to go down to Hell and deal with him.This is the third book in the Sandman Slim series. It was much easier to follow than the last novel. There was a lot more backround story and it links better with the first book. If you want to read only one book in the series read this one or the first.I enjoy Kadrey's style of writing. There are no chapter breaks and the story goes full tilt to the end. I can't wait until the next book is published. This is a great series.
    • 5/5
      This was by far my favorite book in the series.

      I'm really starting to enjoy urban fantasy as a series, and I've enjoyed this series more than dresden. Just because of the dark not entirely goodie goodie aspects.

      Its late (you can tell I enjoy a book when I stay up late reading it) so don't exactly have lots to say about it, but I recommend anyone who even remotely likes the genre to give it a read.
    • 5/5
      I picked up Sandman Slim after absolutely adoring another one of Kadrey's novels, Butcher Bird, and it definitely lived up to my expectations. While different from Butcher Bird, Kadrey still makes use of his awesome writing skills, and describes for us the world as it is, or at least as he or maybe better yet, as Sandman Slim sees it. It's a quirky, action packed novel for those of us who can't get enough of the horror genera, but isn't so off-putting that someone who isn't so into horror wouldn't get a kick out of it. As always, I love Kadrey's humanization of both The Devil and angels and demons, and how everything is so gritty. The language and attitudes of the characters fit perfectly and I don't think I've stuck with a series as long as I have with the Sandman Slim books. No holds barred in this series. There are times (as in a lot of books) where the narration drags a little, but it in no way takes away from the epicness that is Sandman Slim. This series has everything - angels, demons, revenants, vampires, and whatever else you can think of, all wrapped up in an ugly little package of awesomeness.
    • 4/5
      Another wild ride Downtown with Sandman Slim. Can't keep up with all the movie references. We need a video playlist. Anyone know of such a beast?
    • 4/5
      Lucifer is dead.......All hail Lucifer!
    • 4/5
      This is the third in Kadrey's Sandman Slim series and it is just great pulp. There is nothing earth shattering here, just great writing and a really cool lead.
    • 4/5
      Who knew that Lucifer is a title, not a name?

      There is, obviously, a 4th book in the works. BUT, he didn't stop in the middle of a story.

      I love the way Kadrey writes. His characters as smartasses and absolutely hilarious.
    • 4/5
      In this third installment of the Sandman Slim series, our hero gets involved in a battle
      for no less than control over Heaven and Hell. This requires him to travel to Hell to face
      his nemesis Mason. Along the way his romantic involvement with Candy deepens and
      he meets some old friends. The writing is comparable to the previous books and as usual
      it is an action packed thrill ride.
    • 4/5
      Another fun read in the series. The author flirts with some deeper ideas on the nature of things, what good and evil might mean, and the power of love, but the author is more interested in snarky comments, action and telling an adventure story. So fun but maybe a tad shallow.
    • 4/5
      The premise: ganked from publisher's website: Supernatural fantasy’s greatest anti-hero goes back to hell!In Sandman Slim, Stark came back from hell for revenge.In Kill the Dead he tackled both a zombie plague and being Lucifer’s bodyguard.Once again all is not right in L.A. Lucifer is back in Heaven, God is on vacation, and an insane killer mounts a war against both Heaven and Hell.Stark’s got to head back down to his old stomping grounds in Hell to rescue his long lost love, stop an insane serial killer, prevent both Good and Evil from completely destroying each other, and stop the demonic Kissi from ruining the party for everyone.Even for Sandman Slim, that’s a tall order. And it’s only the beginning.My Rating: Good ReadI hesitated before getting the third installment to Kadrey's Sandman Slim series. Partially because I'm trying really, really hard to control my book-buying habits (says the addict), and partially because after the great ride that was Sandman Slim (the debut, not the series), the follow-up Kill the Dead was a bit of a let down. I should've never feared: Aloha from Hell has plenty of satisfying surprises in store and more than enough WTF moments, but Stark is as cranky as ever, and is learning how to be a monster again. The story wraps up nicely, and if I didn't know there were five to six book planned in the series, I'd suspect Kadrey meant to stop here. But there's more books ahead, and there's just enough hooks planted to keep you reading to the next installment, despite how interestingly things wrap up here. I know I'm looking forward to what happens next, and if you enjoy this series, you will too.Spoilers, yay or nay?: Nay. It's a relatively new title and I don't want to spoil any surprises. I also didn't take any notes, so that definitely points to a lack of spoilers. The full review is at my blog, and as always, comments and discussion are most welcome.REVIEW: Richard Kadrey's ALOHA FROM HELLHappy Reading!
    • 3/5
      More than the previous two, this is not a book to read if you have strong Christian beliefs—I guarantee you will be offended. That said, this third installment about the ass-kicking, wise-cracking, last member of the nephilim is going to be pretty much what you'd expect it you read the first ones: a bit of humor, a lot of action, some novel takes on the heavenly cosmology. I did think it had a little less depth and color...more of a "formula" feel to it, hence the lower rating. I also hope that the situation at the ending is extremely temporary as the real interest for me is James Stark's interactions with the mortal world to which he returned—his getting over the loss of Alice, his not-quite-friendships, his basic impulses to do the right thing once in a while—not reading about the latest Can of Whoop Ass he opened on Generic Supernatural Bad Guy #8376.
    • 4/5
      Book Review - Sandman Slim 03 - Aloha From Hell by Richard KadreySandman Slim 03 - Aloha From HellRichard KadreyUncorrected Proof438 pages Trade PaperbackPublisher: Harper Voyager Publication Date: October 18, 2011ISBN-13: 978-0061714320Genre: Urban Pandemonium FantasyJames Starks (A.K.A. Sandman Slim) demon killer and nephilim* has been to Hell and back… literally. When his fame as a teenage warlock attracted the notice of demons years ago, they snatched him up and sent him off to the underworld, where he spent the next eleven years as a combatant in the Arena fighting demons as entertainment for Satan's spawn. Since escaping Hell (a long story revealed in the first two books) and returning to L.A. he’s been busy killing demons, staking vampires, and preventing a zombie invasion but things of late have been a bit slow and Stark’s is a little off his game. So what exactly does a half-angel do on his day off? Apparently he attempts to locate and rescue the survivor of a failed exorcism. But the demon possessing this victim knows Sandman Slim intimately and now Starks must descend into Hell to rescue his dead soul mate. But in the land of Nod nothing is at it seems. He must travel through a barren desert then traverse Malchut of Atzilut, Gan Eden, Tartarus, Eleusis, and the suicidal streets of a burning Los Angeles before he can face down the minions of Hell. But first, he’s going to have to take an unexpected side trip back into the Arena as the epic battle between Heaven and Hell threatens to rage out of control.As reported previously all the books in this series are very quick reads (for those who like their death, destruction, mayhem, and demon-killing cranked up to level 11!) This series is a good starting point for anyone interested in blood and guts urban fantasy.Disclaimer: Review copy provided free as part of the Amazon.com Vine Program.4 stars out of 5The AlternativeSoutheast WisconsinMy favorite quote: “After you’ve been shot, stabbed, slashed, burned, and almost zombified and survived it all, death gets kind of abstract.”Sandman Slim Series by Richard Kadrey1. Sandman Slim (2009)2. Kill the Dead (2010)3. Aloha from Hell (2011)

    Book preview

    Aloha from Hell - Richard Kadrey

    ALOHA FROM HELL

    A SANDMAN SLIM NOVEL

    RICHARD KADREY

    Dedication

    To Suzanne S, always inspiring

    Epigraph

    I sat upon the shore

    Fishing, with the arid plain behind me

    Shall I at least set my lands in order?

    —T. S. ELIOT, The Waste Land

    Life is a bucket of shit with a

    barbed wire handle.

    —JIM THOMPSON

    Contents

    Cover

    Title Page

    Dedication

    Epigraph

    Aloha from Hell

    Acknowledgments

    About the Author

    Books by Richard Kadrey

    Credits

    Copyright

    About the Publisher

    Aloha from Hell

    TELL ME, SAYS the Frenchman. How long has it been since you last killed anything?

    He’s fucking with me. He knows the answer, but he wants to make me say it. Father Vidocq taking confession.

    I don’t know. What time is it?

    That long, then?

    I shrug.

    Vidocq and I are in a very dark room in a very large house full of very fashionable furniture and we’re stealing something very valuable. I have no idea what and pretty much don’t care. It’s just nice to be hanging out and doing some crimes with the old man. Crimes where no one ends up zombie meat, shot, or annoyingly decapitated.

    It’s been a while, I say. Six. Eight weeks. Somewhere around there.

    I slipped us into the house through a shadow. Vidocq is working on the wall safe. He’s good with safes. He’s had over a hundred years of practice.

    So, no crusades? No great wrongs that need to be righted?

    I reach into my pocket for a cigarette, then remember there might be smoke alarms.

    Nothing worth killing for. I’m no cop. The Sub Rosa has their own Mod Squad to deal with the small stuff.

    I like watching Vidocq work over a safe. He has hands like a surgeon. Nimble. Precise. He could thread a needle while being shot out of a cannon.

    "Incroyable. Perhaps you’re reaching something of a rapprochement with your angelic half and it’s having a moderating effect on your disposition."

    Right. I’m part angel. Half, if you want to get picky about it. It’s great. A halo and five bucks will get you a cup of coffee in L.A.

    Maybe. The angel screams at me sometimes, mostly at night when I’m tired and he can ambush me with one of his Give-Peace-a-Chance, no-smoking, veggie-bacon sermons. But he isn’t trying to run the show single-handed anymore. We reached a kind of MAD pact the other day.

    Vidocq looks at me.

    MAD?

    Mutually Assured Destruction. I told him that if he ever tried to push me out of my brain and turn me into a clean-living choirboy again, I’d have to do something, you know, unreasonable.

    Such as?

    I told him I’d get hammered and go through the Room of Thirteen Doors to the Pearly Gates. Then I’d find the Archangel Gabriel and thunderbolt-kick him in the cojones in front of all the other angels.

    Whereupon the other angels would draw their swords and kill you.

    Exactly. Mutually Assured Destruction.

    That sounds much more like the old you.

    Thanks.

    Technically, I’m what you call a nephilim. Half human, half angel. And I’m the only one. The others are all dead. Suicides mostly. Some people call my type freaks. If you’re one of heaven’s lapdogs, you’ll probably call me Abomination. I say, call me either of those things to my face and you’ll get to see what your lungs look like as throw pillows.

    The angel half of me got shaken loose a while back when a High Plains Drifter—that’s zombie to you—bit a chunk out of my hand. The human half of me almost died and the angel half thought that was its chance to take over. It was for a while, but then I got my strength back and I locked the angel upstairs in the attic like Joan Crawford in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? It still bangs on the door and shouts, but I’ve learned to ignore it most of the time. Some of the time. It depends on the day.

    Vidocq goes back to work on the safe. Over his clothes, he’s wearing a tailored gray gabardine greatcoat. Looks like his girlfriend Allegra’s been dressing him again. He looks like the doorman at a speakeasy in the Kremlin. The greatcoat tinkles gently when he moves, like he’s smuggling wind chimes. The sound of the hundred or so little potion bottles he has sewn into the coat’s lining. I have my guns, my knife, and na’at. Vidocq has his potions.

    What exactly are we stealing? I ask.

    A golden brooch or device in the shape of a scarab. It’s quite ancient. There is a clockwork mechanism inside. Perhaps it’s God’s pocket watch.

    He doesn’t need a watch. He needs a compass so he can find his own ass.

    There’s a click and the front of the safe swings open.

    Vidocq moves his hands in a graceful TV-spokesmodel arc in front of the safe.

    Et voilà.

    You are the man, Van Damme.

    He squints at me.

    Jean-Claude Van Damme is Belgian, not French.

    There’s a difference?

    Fuck you.

    I like how Vidocq pronounces fuck: fock.

    He whispers, C’est quoi, ça?

    Anything wrong?

    No. It’s very interesting. The owner of this safe is a very paranoid man. The inside is etched with spells and runes.

    Can you still get the swag?

    He flashes a small LED light around the inside of the safe.

    I don’t see anything in here that should stop us. They mostly seem to be containment spells. He must have been afraid of this shiny scarab walking away.

    He reaches into the safe and pulls out a polished ebony box the size of a cigar box and pushes up the lid. A beautiful gold scarab lies on bloodred silk. He hands me the box and begins packing his tools. I slip it into my coat pocket.

    I say, I have to admit, it doesn’t feel bad, but it feels a little weird not raising a hand in anger this long. I can pretty much just talk humans and Lurkers out of doing stupid shit to each other these days.

    See? he says from the floor. By embracing your angelic half, the mere force of your personality is enough to keep the peace.

    I think killing all zombies in the world in one night helps.

    Yes, that could be a factor.

    And Lucifer and the Vigil aren’t around paying me to be a hit man rent-boy bitch.

    Vidocq scrolls his gear into a leather tool roll and stands up.

    I ask him, Are we cool?

    He smiles and says, As the North Star on Christmas Eve. But we aren’t quite done.

    He takes two potion bottles from inside his coat and pours their contents onto the floor where we were standing and on the safe door, trying to shampoo away any magic or forensic dandruff that might lead back to us. When he tosses the contents of a third bottle into the safe, I hear the scratching.

    You heard? he asks.

    Get out of the way, Eugène.

    He doesn’t. Vidocq has a scientific mind. Instead of getting out of the way, he looks inside the safe.

    It wouldn’t be my fault if the back of his stupid French skull blew out like a five-dollar retread, but I pull Vidocq out of the way just before the demon cannonballs out of the safe and hits the far wall.

    The demon’s carapace gleams like blue-black gun steel. The big bug doesn’t have eyes, just two sets of jaws at an angle to each other and two huge hooked front claws. The moment it hits the wall, it starts tunneling through it. That’s what this particular type of demon does. It’s a digger. A greed demon. It’ll protect anything it thinks it owns. Like the contents of a safe. It’s why the safe had containment spells on the interior. To keep the demon inside. Smart. Your basic bad guys—us, for instance—will maybe test for eaters, but who’s going to worry about a brainless digger until it’s excavating the Panama Canal through your intestines?

    Vidocq bumps against the desk when I pull him to his feet. The digger freezes and turns. It’s blind but it has great hearing. I can slow my heart and breathing, but in a few seconds the demon’s going to zero in on Vidocq. I step back from him, leaving him exposed to the digger. He turns and looks at me with wide horrified eyes.

    Sorry, man. This is how it has to be.

    The digger turns. It has Vidocq’s heartbeat. It hooks its two huge digging claws into the wall and uses them to slingshot forward. A metallic blur, four glittering jaws, and arm-size hooks going right for the old man’s chest. He doesn’t look at it. He never takes his eyes off me.

    As the digger’s body blurs across the desk, I whip the na’at out. Twist the grip out from the body into a hair-thin serrated whipsaw.

    The digger hits the na’at like a meteor with teeth. I twist the na’at’s cutting edge into its body and the bug splits in two lengthwise. The halves come apart and smash into the wall on either side of Vidocq, embedding themselves deep into the wood and plaster.

    Vidocq swivels his head, checking out the giant insect shanks that flank him.

    I say, What do you know? I do remember how to kill things. Good news for our side.

    Fuck you, boy.

    An alarm goes off when a naked fat man kicks open the office door. I’m going to roll the dice and guess he’s the home owner. He points an exquisitely made-over and -under shotgun at us. It might even be a Tullio Fabbri. A hundred and seventy-five grand worth of etched steel with a carved walnut stock and accurate as a cruise missile. I’m almost tempted to ask him, but his pupils are dilated and I smell the excitement in his sweat because he thinks he’s finally going to get to use that Fort Knox popgun on actual human beings.

    Through the angel’s senses I hear the infinitesimal scrape of metal over lubricated metal as the fat man applies pressure to the shotgun’s trigger. I grab Vidocq in a bear hug and jump through the window just as the gun goes off.

    Davy Crockett here isn’t Sub Rosa, but he must know some because he has an antimagic cloak over his house and the grounds outside. What that means is no one’s supposed to be able to throw any hoodoo or hexes around here. Whoever built the cloak probably pegged him for a mark right off. I figure they got him to pay a bonus to build it big enough to cover the whole estate, the perfect way to turn a cloak into something as reliable as a marshmallow condom. Antimagic shields are powerful things when you do them right, and part of that’s knowing they can only be so big. Blow them up too much and the skin stretches thin. Keep blowing and they can pop right out of existence. That’s what Davy the Rube paid for: a one-hundred-thousand-dollar soap bubble.

    The cloak is stretched so thin I can throw all kinds of hoodoo in here. Like when we climbed the fence onto the grounds, I could take us into the house through the Room of Thirteen Doors. But I can’t get us off the grounds that way. Of course, I could have used some hoodoo to wrap Davy Crockett’s shotgun around his neck like a mink stole and swung him around like a carousel pony while I shot the shit out of his office, but I didn’t do any of that. Someone else might think that would earn them karma points down the line, but I know better. Karma is just loaded dice on a crooked table. Celestial pricks with wings and halos make the rules and the house always wins. Always.

    SO VIDOCQ AND I are falling. Tinkling glass falls with us like razor-blade snowflakes.

    When you’re jumping two floors with a civilian whose broken bones won’t heal overnight like your own, you need to remember a couple of things. One, cushion the fall as much as you can, and two, be prepared to use your body as an air bag. That means controlling the fall enough so the other, usually extremely startled, person lands on top of you. Does it hurt? Go outside, get a friend to drop a garbage-can-ful of bacon fat on your chest, and see.

    Trying to control a fall is no tea party when you’re holding on to someone who’s thrashing around like a Tasered octopus. But it’s not impossible. The trick is to grab them just under the ribs and squeeze so they can’t breathe. Then you let go just as you hit the ground so they breathe out hard when they hit. It helps absorb the shock, though it still hurts. Especially if you’re the one on the bottom.

    There’s a tree below Davy’s window. I aim for it, rolling us into the branches, hoping it’ll slow our fall a little. It does. Coming down into the hedges helps, too. We still have some momentum to burn off, so I keep rolling and we end up on the lawn that Davy was kind enough to lay out with fresh soft sod in the last few days. Thanks, man. I’ll send you a honey-baked ham for Christmas.

    I pull Vidocq to his feet and we run for the wall like a couple of spooked raccoons. I look back over my shoulder and Davy is standing in the broken window with the shotgun at his shoulder. Wishful thinking. We’re too far away for him to hit anything but the air.

    Don’t sweat it, Davy. Vidocq and I aren’t going to touch your safe or wreck your office again. But I might have to come back some night for that Tullio Fabbri and you can try to shoot me with something else. I am in severe need of something like that. It’s so quiet and peaceful out here I’m getting bored with breathing. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the world will go to Hell again. Fingers crossed.

    I PARKED THE stolen Lexus half a block away. Vidocq is limping. He stops and opens his coat like a flasher. There are dozens of pockets sewn into the lining. Each holds a different potion. Batman has his utility belt. Vidocq has his coat. I have guns and a knife. None of us will be on the cover of GQ.

    Satisfied that Vidocq’s little glass vials aren’t broken and leaking about a hundred hexes into his underwear, we head for the car. The old man is limping, but when I put a hand on his arm to help him, he shrugs it off. Another grateful customer. I have a knack for pissing people off, especially my friends.

    He still won’t talk to me, but at least when we get to the Lexus he lets me help him into the car. I start to close the door, but he blocks it with his hand.

    Who is that? he asks.

    I turn and see a man a few yards away. He’s standing in the shadow of a big shade tree on someone’s lawn. He doesn’t move when I look at him. I reach behind my back and pull a Smith & Wesson .460, making sure he sees it. He doesn’t flinch. I put the gun back and start toward him. Now he moves. He comes right at me.

    Is this Disneyland? I say. Are you Mickey Mouse? I always wanted to shake hands with giant vermin.

    Not a peep. Maybe he’s a Daffy Duck fan.

    There’s something wrong with his face. I can’t make out any ears and there’s a deep slit where his nose should be, like he’s healed up from third-degree burns. Must be a tough bastard to go through that and still walk.

    We both stop about six feet apart, having a Sergio Leone stare-down.

    I don’t know if you’re looking for directions or a date, but we’re fresh out of both. Take a walk and stare at someone else.

    He’s fast for a guy who looks like he just escaped from a deep-fat fryer. He lunges and grabs my arms over the biceps. He’s strong for a cripple, but nothing I can’t handle.

    Then my arms are burning. Literally. My coat sleeves smoke and burst into flames where he’s holding me. I have heavy Kevlar inserts in the sleeves, but in just a couple of seconds the heat is almost through and down to my skin.

    I step back and bring up my forearms in an outward circle from underneath and hit his arms hard. Standard self-defense stuff every high school kid knows. It doesn’t work. It’s like hitting Jell-O. And now my forearms are burning. Wrestling this guy is like waltzing with lava. I try to form hoodoo in my mind to knock Smokey the Asshole across the street or at least make him let go, but the pain makes it hard to think straight.

    I bark some Hellion I learned back when I was fighting in the arena. If you do the hex right, it’s like a garbage-can-size gut punch that hits in a blaze of purple light and bores like an oil-rig drill through just about anyone or anything. I get it just right. The purple explosion, the whirlpool of power. Smokey’s midsection collapses in on itself. And goes through and out his back, dragging a long strip of lava flesh with it like burning taffy. The prick doesn’t even seem to notice.

    The guy isn’t a burn victim. His face churns like thick liquid as we wrestle. Stupid. I should have known this asshole wasn’t human.

    The heat is down to my skin, cooking my arms. Being hard to kill means a lot of things. I have a high pain threshold, but it’s not infinite. Not when something a volcano shit out is trying to give you an Indian burn. Being hard to kill also means that you don’t go down fast, so whatever’s cutting you, shooting you, or burning you alive is something you get to experience for a good long time.

    Being hard to kill isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you, but it sure as shit isn’t the best, and right now it isn’t even fun.

    Something clear and hard spins past my shoulder and hits Smokey in the face. He jerks his head away like I have bad breath. But he doesn’t let go. Another vial flies past. And another. Smokey lets go this time. Vidocq is behind me, limping over and tossing potions like a pitching machine.

    Smokey backs away, his arms pulled in close to his body. Something’s hurt him. Good. He starts to shake like someone stuck a vibrator in a bowl of cherry Jell-O. I step back and grab my gun, but before I can use it, Smokey melts like the Wicked Witch of the West, leaving a circle of scorched black earth on the green lawn.

    Vidocq grabs my shoulder and pulls me back to the car. He bunny-hops on his good leg into the passenger side and I slide into the driver’s seat, jam the black blade I carried back from Hell into the ignition, and we peel out.

    What the hell kind of burglar alarm was that? Why can’t rich people have rottweilers like everyone else?

    I don’t think that was an alarm. That was a demon.

    I glance at him. My arms are throbbing now, and between each throb they still feel like they’re burning. I smell something, but I don’t know if it’s the coat or me.

    I’ve never seen a demon like that before.

    Neither have I, but the potion that hurt the creature was a rare type of poison. A toxin formulated to affect only demons.

    I drive at a moderate speed. I pause at stop signs and obey every light.

    Think it was after us?

    Vidocq shrugs.

    Possibly. But who knew we’d be here tonight? And why would someone attack you now? You’ve been a good boy for weeks.

    I roll down the windows to let out the smell. I’m stinking up the Lexus, but who cares? I hate these luxury golf carts. Gaudy status symbols with as much personality as an Elmer’s-Glue-on-white-bread sandwich.

    I say, Maybe someone was settling an old score. Hell, maybe it was after you.

    Vidocq laughs. Who would send a demon for me?

    I don’t know. The few thousand people you’ve robbed over the last two hundred years?

    It’s more like a hundred and fifty. Don’t try to make me sound old.

    ’Course, sending a demon for something like that sounds like overkill. Especially something rare enough that neither of us recognizes it.

    I’ll look into it tomorrow when I’m certain I’ll be able to feel my right leg again.

    Whiner. Your girlfriend is the best hoodoo doctor in town. She’ll give you an ice pack and conjure you some kangaroo legs. Then you can do your own second-story work.

    Vidocq pats me on the shoulder.

    There, there . . . like he’s patting a five-year-old with a skinned knee. I would have thought you’d be happy. You got to have a fight. Draw a little blood. Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting?

    I think it over.

    I suppose. And you killed it, not me, so my not-slaughtering-things record is still intact.

    Unlike your arms.

    A little Bactine and they’ll be fine by the morning.

    Judging by the look of them, they’ll hurt in the meantime. Take this. It will help you sleep.

    He reaches into his coat and hands me a potion.

    No thanks. Dr. Jack Daniel’s is coming by tonight. He’s got all the medicine I need.

    He slips the vial into my pocket.

    Take it anyway. He might be late.

    Yes, Mom.

    And don’t forget to brush your teeth and say your prayers.

    Fuck you, Mom.

    WE DRIVE ACROSS town, near what the city fathers call the Historic District, an ironically named area in a city that has no history but has seen more shit go down than a lot of countries. It’s all right to forget all the Mansons, the celebrity ODs, the brain-boost religions, the UFO religions, the tinhorn Satanists, the rock-and-roll suicides, the landgrabs, the serial killers, the ruthless gangs and even more ruthless cops, the survivalists with cases of ammo, cigarettes, and freeze-dried beans in their desert compounds, as long as we remember to bring the family downtown to grab a latte and admire the knockoff Mickey Mouse T-shirts.

    We ditch the car in the Biltmore Hotel parking lot and start the four-block walk to the Bradbury Building. This is flat-out stupid, but Vidocq insisted that he could walk off whatever happened to his leg in the fall. I’ve seen plenty of injuries. I know he can’t, but I let him hobble until he grabs my arm, huffing and puffing before falling against a newspaper box full of local porn papers. I didn’t know those things were still around.

    Want to take the shortcut? I ask.

    Please, he says.

    I put one of his arms around my shoulder and lift him off the box. We limp to the corner and around the side of a Japanese restaurant. I pull him into a shadow by the delivery entrance. We go into the Room of Thirteen Doors and I pretty much carry him out the Door of Memory and into Mr. Muninn’s place.

    Every good thief needs a fence and Mr. Muninn is Vidocq’s. Muninn’s regular shop, the one he keeps for his vaguely normal clients, is in the old sci-fi–meets–art-deco Bradbury Building on a floor that doesn’t exist. He serves a pretty select clientele—mostly Sub Rosa and über-wealthy L.A. elites. But if you ever stumbled into his store and could afford a Fury in a crystal cage, the seeds from Eve’s apple, or Napoleon’s whalebone cock ring, he’d let you in. Mr. Muninn’s a businessman.

    The really interesting stuff he keeps in a deep cavern beneath the Bradbury Building. His secret boutique for only the oddest and choicest items in the world. That’s where we come out.

    When he sees us Muninn holds his arms out wide like he’s giving a benediction.

    Welcome, boys. What a pleasure to see you two working together again.

    Vidocq says, Just like the good old days. I’m limping and he was just on fire.

    Vidocq drops into a gilt armchair that probably belonged to King Tut.

    I stamp my foot on the stone floor a few times, shaking loose shotgun pellets that have embedded themselves in the soles of my boot.

    On fire is my best look. Ask anyone.

    Muninn shifts his eyes to Vidocq and then back at me.

    How may I ask did a simple robbery turn into a Greek drama? And were there any witnesses who might make things complicated later?

    I say, The drama started and ended with demons. One in the house and one in the street.

    The only witness is the man who owned the scroll you wanted, says Vidocq. His residence was badly cloaked and there was a guardian demon in the safe. He’ll be too embarrassed that he paid for a worthless shield to tell anyone. No doubt he knows that leaving a demon mantrap where an innocent party might stumble on it is a serious violation of Sub Rosa precepts. No, I believe he’ll lick his wounds and not tell a soul about tonight.

    Muninn smiles and does his benediction thing again.

    And there we are. An adventure complete with just a few scars to make the memories all the more vivid. And then there’s your reward. Not a bad night’s work, I’d say.

    I take the box out of my pocket, then peel off the charred remains of my coat and drop it on the stone floor. If it was anyone else, I’d stomp him for his attitude, but Muninn doesn’t think like regular people. I don’t know if he’s the oldest man in the world, but I’ll bet there isn’t anyone else within midget-tossing distance who’s seen multiple ice ages freeze and thaw the world. He’s a nice guy for someone who thinks like a Martian. And he’s always fair when it comes to business. If you ask me, we could use a few more like him. You never know what’s going to come out of his mouth and he always pays on time.

    He rummages around his endless maze of shelves crammed with books, bones, strange weapons, the crown jewels of kingdoms no one’s ever heard of, and ancient scientific devices. Does even he know what they do? They could be Krishna’s gumball machine for all I know.

    He comes back with a handblown green glass bottle and three small silver cups, takes them to his worktable desk, and pours drinks. He hands us each a glass and raises his own.

    To God above and the devil below.

    Vidocq says something pithy back in French.

    Great. Now it’s my turn to sound smart. The angel in my head chimes in with something, but I shove Beaver Cleaver back into the dark.

    You owe me a coat, is all I can think of.

    He smiles and nods, pouring more drinks.

    A man of many thoughts but few words. Lucky for us all that it’s not the other way around.

    Vidocq laughs and turns away, pretending he’s looking at the shelves so I won’t see him.

    Muninn says, "I hear that when you’re not playing le voleur with Eugène, you’re rebuilding your movie house."

    Rental place. We don’t show them. We just pimp them. And yeah, Kasabian and I are rebuilding and expanding Max Overdrive with all the Ben Franklins that vampire bunch, the Dark Eternal, gave me.

    Muninn looks down, contemplating his glass.

    I expect they would be grateful for you clearing out the revenants. Zombies can’t have much nutritional value for vampires.

    According to the news, it never happened. It was mass hysteria. Drugs in the water or weaponized LSD. Between tourists, traffic cams, and private security, there’s a million video cams in L.A., but there’s not one good minute of zed footage anywhere, just blurry cell-phone shit. We might as well say we were attacked by Bigfoot.

    It stinks of the feds like ripe roadkill. Like Marshal Wells.

    Until I snuffed the zeds, Homeland Security had heavy muscle in L.A. I mean, they had a goddamn angel on staff. Aelita. The meanest celestial rattlesnake I ever met and I’ve partied with Lucifer. Aelita is Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS, but not as good-natured. She was the organ grinder and Marshal Wells was the monkey. They’re exactly the kind of bastards with connections to levels of occult and law enforcement power who could make thousands of hours of video disappear overnight.

    Washington spanked Wells hard after the zeds got out of control. Aelita strolled away, so he got to be the fall guy. DHS closed him down out here. Who knows, if he plays nice and eats his vegetables, maybe the Men in Black will send him back. They might even let him resurrect the Golden Vigil, his and Aelita’s private jackboot army. Heaven’s Pinkertons on earth.

    Muninn waves his hand.

    It was bound to happen. Most ordinary people’s desire to forget what they can’t comprehend is virtually infinite. It’s more comforting to disbelieve their own eyes than accept the possibility that the dead can walk the streets. I can’t say I blame them.

    I raise my glass.

    To reality. The most overrated and underpaid game in town.

    We all drink.

    So, what will you do until your movie palace is complete? asks Muninn. Are you considering carrying on as an investigator? You seem to have a flair for it. No one else figured out the nasty little secret behind the revenants.

    That was a onetime thing. And I got lucky. If Brigitte and I hadn’t been bitten, I wouldn’t have done any of it. I would have taken her and blown out of town.

    Brigitte is a friend from Prague. A trained High Plains Drifter—that is, a zombie—hunter. I might have fallen for her if we’d met at a different time, under different circumstances, and on another planet. I screwed up and let Brigitte get bitten by a Drifter. She almost turned. If it hadn’t been for Vidocq and his alchemy hoodoo, she would have.

    That’s not true and you know it, says Vidocq. Perhaps you’ll turn your attention back to Mason? If I remember correctly, finding him was the main reason you returned from Hell. I understand, of course, your getting distracted, what with saving the world and all.

    I did find Mason. And I locked him up good and tight Downtown.

    Which is what he wanted all along, says Vidocq. I’m not sure you can call that punishment.

    I give the old man a look. I don’t like having my own stupid confessions thrown back at me. Of course he’s right. Mason wanted to go to Hell and he wanted to go there alive, just like I did. And I walked up to him like a backwoods rube with a corncob pipe and put him there. Not many people know about that. I couldn’t walk the streets if they did. I couldn’t look people in the eye if they knew I’d sent the most dangerous man in the world to the worst place in the universe so he could raise an army to kill them all. People get murdered for mistakes like that. Sometimes they don’t wait for someone else to do it. If someone else tries it, they might get it wrong and leave you in a coma, only half dead. That would be even worse. Someone might feel sorry for you and that’s something I couldn’t take.

    "Kasabian still has access to Lucifer’s book, The Daimonion Codex. He keeps an eye on Downtown twenty-four/seven. If Mason makes a move, I’ll know about it."

    Why not simply go yourself?

    I’ve tried a few times. Even changing my face with a glamour, there’s always some Hellion or other who spots me and I have to de-ass the place fast. There’s got to be another way to get to him, but I haven’t figured it out yet.

    I’m lying. I’ve tried it a couple of times and I was so nervous that the glamour wasn’t even half-baked. I thought I could walk back Downtown like Patton riding a tank. But I can’t. The smell and the heat hit me and I’m back on the arena floor, ripped open and bleeding, hoping my guts don’t slip out into the dirt. Or I’m covered in thick Hellion blood, playing hit man for another Hellion while he tells me Alice will be safe as long as I keep killing for him. And then she’s dead and all I am is a murderer. So I close the door to Hell and I slink back home, sitting at my favorite bar long enough that the smell fades and Kasabian won’t know what a coward I’ve become.

    What’s more useless than a weak-kneed killer?

    You’ll find a way in, says Vidocq.

    I nod and finish my drink, putting on my serious, thoughtful face.

    I hope it’s soon. Since I can’t play Hannibal Downtown, the angel in my head wants me to roam the streets at night looking for bad guys like Batman. I got so pissed one night that I actually did it. Know what happened? Exactly nothing. Looking to get mugged is crazy and bad guys walk the other way when they see crazy coming. What I need is angel Valium to shut this Boy Scout up.

    Muninn nods.

    I know how it feels to constantly be at odds with those closest to you. Eventually you reach the point where none of you can stand the sight of each other anymore. My brothers and I are like that.

    Brothers? says Vidocq.

    That’s more interesting than a two-headed calf singing Some Velvet Morning in tight harmony. I have about a million questions, but most aren’t real discreet. I go with the easiest.

    Are they like you? Live in caverns and know everything about everything?

    Muninn shakes his head, lost in thought. He stares at the green liquor bottle.

    I have four brothers, and no, none live in caverns. None of us is even the slightest bit like the others. I haven’t seen any of them in years. Centuries. Occasionally I miss them, but the truth is that I have no real interest in tracking any of them down. I daresay they feel the same thing about me.

    No one says anything. We’ve hit into one of those weird silences that happen when someone drops something too real into the middle of a conversation that should just have been about drinking and patting ourselves on the back. Somehow, while we were talking, Muninn has opened the box and extracted a scroll from the scarab. I pick it up.

    What’s so special about this that we had to bust open Fort Knox to get it?

    Muninn’s eyes lighten. He smiles.

    Yes, that. The scroll is for a gentleman in, let’s say, investment banking. A man like that can do extraordinary damage to his soul. Maybe even several souls. He is always on the market for new souls to wear until he ruins them too. Even L.A.’s many soul mongers can’t keep up with him. The price of souls is going up for everyone. And Los Angeles is a town that needs all the souls it can lay its hands on.

    So, the scroll is a soul?

    No. It’s a bit like . . . What do you call the elixir that restores hair?

    Rogaine?

    Yes! Rogaine for the soul. It restores and replenishes the user’s original umbra. A re-souling will last him a year or two I hope. Buyers can become testy when they want a new soul and you have to tell them that the cupboard is bare.

    Suddenly I don’t feel so bad about my life.

    Vidocq says, If you feel so good, why not come take a trip with me tomorrow?

    Another job?

    That’s for you to decide. I sometimes do work for a private investigator. Today she called and asked about you. She has a job that she believes you would be perfect for.

    I finish my drink and smile.

    "Get mixed up in a total stranger’s problems for no

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