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Semyazah pulls me aside.
“Are you sure your people are going to go along with this?” I ask.
Semyazah watches Josef go.
“We’ll know soon. If not, we’ll both be dead. Even if we win, we could be killed, so what does it matter?”
“You didn’t get the pep-talk badge in Hellion Boy Scouts, did you?”
IN FRONT OF the hotel trainers gather the smaller hellhounds into packs by the giant hounds. Weapons specialists with faces like children’s nightmares do last-minute adjustments on their equipment. A lot of them recognize me. Their eyes go a little wide when they see my new arm and all the dried blood on my coat. I was expecting more hostility, but they know I’m here with Semyazah, so maybe having Sandman Slim on his side gets him extra brownie points. I’ll be his beard if it gets the job done.
Semyazah says, “My men are bringing up your transport. Which would you prefer, a male or female hellhound? The males are stronger, but the females are faster.”
“Fuck you. I didn’t sign up to be Tarzan. Get me a truck or a Harley or anything else, but I’m not riding one of those things.”
One of his officers drives up in a red Ferrari Testarossa. He gets out and hands the keys to the general.
“This is Mason Faim’s vehicle. I thought you might be more comfortable in it,” says Semyazah.
I walk around the car, running my hand over the nearly frictionless surface.
“Damn, General. I think you almost made a joke a second ago.”
Semyazah tosses me the keys.
“If both you and the car survive the battle, I suggest you use it to get away from Pandemonium. When the fighting is over, Sandman Slim will be the next target for a lot of my men.”
I rub my shoulder where the new arm is attached.
“Let’s hope there’s enough of us left to worry about that.”
Semyazah walks around the car. His lips are drawn and thin. He hates the mortal stink on it.
“You’ll be able to keep up in that. You, Josef, and I will be in separate trucks at the front. Can you handle a vehicle like this?”
“Just keep the trucks and hellhounds off my back. I’m not looking to pull a Jayne Mansfield down here,” I say. “One question. This isn’t a convertible. If I’m tucked up in here, how is anyone going to know it’s me?”
“Mason Faim might have driven this, but he wouldn’t have taken it into battle. You’re the only one stupid enough to do that.”
“Cool. That’s even better than vanity plates.”
As Semyazah goes he calls over his shoulder.
“Meet me where the Kissi are massing on the other side of the palace.”
It feels a little weird using keys to start a car. I turn them in the ignition and the engine roars like a stealth fighter. I give it some gas and pop the clutch. Hellions scatter as I blast across the lawn straight at Josef and his big boys.
The Kissi formation wavers and falls apart as I drive right at them. Josef doesn’t move.
At the last minute I downshift, crank the wheel, and grab the hand brake, spinning the car in a one-eighty and stopping in front of him.
“Very funny,” says Josef. “You always were the king of comedy.”
“And I don’t work blue. You’ll play the big rooms if you work blue.”
Semyazah, in full battle armor, rides shotgun in a Unimog. The armor is dented where it was hit with bullets and crossbow bolts and slashed with heavenly swords. Another truck pulls up next to it for Josef. He doesn’t try to hide his disgust when he sees it. Kissi fly into battle. He must feel like an invalid having to ride. I just hope he doesn’t do anything clever and fuck things up. I gun the Ferrari and wait for the order to move.
Climbing on top of the Unimog, Semyazah gives the signal to fire up the vehicles. The growl of a thousand engines and gears shifting is something you feel as much as you hear. Your rib cage shakes and your heart bounces around in your chest. I could do this every night.
