The Caryatids - Bruce Sterling [85]
Then Biserka hauled her forward, tugging at the leash of jewels. “Where’s the justice? I hated them for that! I mean: People did that to the whole world, didn’t they? Such a pearl of a world, they had once! And now look at it!”
Biserka dragged her outside and down the stairs of the derelict building. There was a big black hearse parked in a seaweed-strewn gravel driveway. That hearse hadn’t been there before, when Biserka had first abducted her.
Radmila tried to look around, feeling jewelry bite into her throat. Tall brown palms towered over the mansion, all of them killed by rising seawater.
Biserka meant to force her into the black hearse. Radmila moaned.
“Pretty evening for a drive,” said Biserka.
Radmila snorted through her nose.
“You’re planning to kick me again and then try to run away,” Biserka diagnosed. She placed one flat hand against Radmila’s collarbone and pushed her. Radmila, her arms trapped behind her, reeled helplessly, stumbled, and fell.
Biserka pulled Radmila’s shoes off. She filled each shoe with a handful of sharp gravel. Then she daintily tied the shoes on. “So now—happy dancing girl—let’s see you run, hey?”
Radmila had to take four steps to reach the hearse. Those steps were like walking on sharp nails. Tears came to her eyes.
Biserka heaved her through the door of the hearse, then joined her on a velvet pew in the back. They sat together next to a huge, dirt-stained coffin.
“I could rip that tape off your lipstick,” said Biserka, studying her, “but you’d give me all kinds of lip for that. If you’re mean to me, I might lose my temper!”
The black hearse rolled silently into motion. The machine left the shoreline, humped and bumped over a broken patch of flattened woven-wire fencing.
In a matter of moments, they were in the indestructible LA freeway system, quietly cruising under the flashing lights.
“I know you’re wondering about this big dirty coffin here,” said Biserka, languidly kicking it with rhythmic, bongolike thuds. “Well, there’s some good news for you. The coffin is not for you. The casket has an occupant already.”
Some time passed. Biserka enjoyed a chilly sip from a cocktail thermos. “You’re not alert anymore,” she said. “Are you ignoring me?”
Radmila turned toward her, eyes burning.
“That’s better. Good. Okay, now I’m explaining tonight’s events to you. You can’t understand all this, because you are this rich-chick blond actress and you’re kind of stupid. Never mind. Because I had a long time to think about this. It’s been one of those asymmetric terror things where the enemy is very rich and has all her skyscrapers, but I always have the initiative. So: You become my hostage now. Only, Radmila: I don’t want you as my hostage, because, wow! Wow, wow! I can’t stand the sight of you!”
Biserka kicked the side of the coffin harder, with her cheap black rubber ninja boot. “This man is my hostage. This dead gentleman in his coffin. I dug him up out of a graveyard today. What an exciting day full of action for Biserka Mihajlovic!”
Radmila looked longingly at the thermos.
“You are thirsty, but you don’t want to drink this,” Biserka told her, yawning. “It would put you out flat on your ass!” Biserka rolled her neck on her shoulders, and massaged the back of her own skull.
“So, as I told you: the graveyards. I know that sounds weird to you: my dear lively sister Biserka, in the graveyards? But graveyards are blackspots! People don’t wire the graveyards, because there are no paying customers in there, and they don’t imagine that the locals would get up and leave. So there’s an imagination gap in a graveyard.”
Biserka giggled, and enjoyed another sip from her thermos. “Because I can work fine in graveyards! They never scare me! I love them! Because they’re a huge blind spot for everybody stupider than me. For people like you. Huh? So, you know, who else is in there in graveyards? Besides me. Well, your people are in there, that’s who. Every famous old family has famous dead people. Like Svetlana, Bratislava, Kosara! Half