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
Also 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.
