BooksBarbecue
Back The Everything Box Save as PDF
Chapters (42)
  1. DEDICATION
  2. EPIGRAPH
  3. ONE
  4. TWO
  5. THREE
  6. FOUR
  7. FIVE
  8. SIX
  9. SEVEN
  10. EIGHT
  11. NINE
  12. TEN
  13. ELEVEN
  14. TWELVE
  15. THIRTEEN
  16. FOURTEEN
  17. FIFTEEN
  18. SIXTEEN
  19. SEVENTEEN
  20. EIGHTEEN
  21. NINETEEN
  22. TWENTY
  23. TWENTY-ONE
  24. TWENTY-TWO
  25. TWENTY-THREE
  26. TWENTY-FOUR
  27. TWENTY-FIVE
  28. TWENTY-SIX
  29. TWENTY-SEVEN
  30. TWENTY-EIGHT
  31. TWENTY-NINE
  32. THIRTY
  33. THIRTY-ONE
  34. THIRTY-TWO
  35. THIRTY-THREE
  36. THIRTY-FOUR
  37. THIRTY-FIVE
  38. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  39. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  40. ALSO BY RICHARD KADREY
  41. CREDITS
  42. ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

Now, on top of everything else, there was something wrong with the map. Shapes, significant ones, were converging very near where he was standing, but when he looked up, all he saw were some werewolves in a van and a couple of men arguing by the bus stop. One of the men was in a threadbare blue suit and the other man looked like he might manage a Burger King. The one in the suit smelled like he spent too much time in swamps.

Qaphsiel shook his head. There was nothing for him here, no matter what the map said. He gave it a hard shake and headed north, wanting to get as far away from the swamp smell as possible.

FIVE

COOP HAD NO IDEA WHERE THE BUS WAS HEADED, BUT that was fine as long as it was away from Morty. He didn’t really hate the guy, though he still felt that he owed him a lot more pain than the anemic little knee job outside the prison. No, a lot of why he wanted away from Morty was his luck situation. With getting out of prison, Coop was riding a very fragile line of luck, and he knew that one of Morty’s half-assed schemes could land him right back inside.

He really didn’t want that.

When he finally looked out the window, he saw that the bus was taking him into Hollywood. Okay. That was an actual place, with tourists, hustlers, and street performers, people who were even worse off than him. It might be nice to stroll around non-jailbird losers for a while and soak in the Hollywood misery. If nothing else, it would make him feel at home.

As the bus rolled on, Coop considered his options. It didn’t take long. He had a voucher for two nights in a fleabag hotel in East L.A., far from the sights and temptations of L.A.’s hocus-pocus underground. After those two nights, however, he had no idea what he was going to do with himself. He didn’t have any savings. His car had been stolen a few days after the Bellicose Mansion job, so who the hell knew where it was now. Probably, it had been chopped up and sold part by part to used-car lots all over town. Any of the cars out the bus windows could be cruising with his engine or transmission. The thought didn’t make him angry, just tired.

And he hadn’t been kidding with Morty about not knowing many people—he really didn’t have many friends to fall back on. Not any he wanted to see. There were maybe a few people he could call to crash a night or two on their sofa, but then what? How long could he couch-surf without contemplating a messy suicide? And living in other people’s spaces was no way to plan a job that might stake him for a while.