The Everything Box
Chapters (42)
- DEDICATION
- EPIGRAPH
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- ALSO BY RICHARD KADREY
- CREDITS
- ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
DEDICATION
To S. J. Perlman, early Woody Allen (not creepy recent Woody), Douglas Adams, and every heist and caper author and filmmaker ever. You made me want to write one of these stories and so I did. Now, though, I need a drink, so this is also for all the bartenders who got me off the cheap stuff, and especially that guy in Arizona (yes, Arizona) who made a mean Sazerac. You convinced me that whiskey didn’t have to be downed neat and that absinthe was fit for human consumption. Like it or not, this one is for all of you.
EPIGRAPH
“DON’T JUDGE A TACO BY ITS PRICE.”
—Hunter S. Thompson,
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
ONE
Earth. Four thousand years ago. Give or take.
THE ANGEL, MAJESTIC IN GOSSAMER ROBES, STOOD ON a mountaintop, taking it all in. The sky was clear and a few minutes earlier he’d been poking the carcass of a dead whale with a stick. The way he understood things, whales didn’t normally spend a lot of time five thousand feet up the side of a mountain, which was probably why this one was so dead. It was the angel’s first trip to Earth and everything was so exciting and new. Especially the destruction. A whole planet drowned. A damned clever way to clean up the whole “humanity mess.” Of course, the flood made a different kind of mess, what with cities, people, and animals smashed willy-nilly across the land. And now that the rains had stopped, it was all getting a bit, well, ripe. But none of that was his problem. God got things rolling, and now he’d take care of the rest.
The angel raised his arms and unfurled his wings. They were large. Very large. Like a condor with a pituitary problem. The angel cleared his throat and spoke.
“Oh, humanity, heed the sound of destruction for your sins!”
“You don’t have to shout. I’m right here.”
The angel whirled around. The creature behind him was human. A man. His hair was wild, like he hadn’t combed or washed it in weeks. His face was streaked with mud and his filthy clothes were little more than damp rags.
“Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“Are you the one who’s been fluttering around here the last few days?”
The angel smiled, standing a little straighter. Puffing his wings out even wider.
“Ah, you saw? Yes, that was me. I wasn’t sure anyone had noticed. I was hoping someone might send an emissary. Is that what you are?”
“Sort of. People asked me to come up. I’m Tiras.”
“Hello, Tiras. Very nice to meet you.”