by Mark Cain
After retrieving Benito, I queried him about the nature of his problem. His description, “Non funziona,” was patently obvious. I could see that for myself. Mussolini was not being particularly cooperative, so the demon shot him again and chucked him back on the meat hook. I then began my diagnosis. After five minutes, I determined the sewing machine was plugged into the power outlet on the floor and the power switch was in the “on” position. I tried unplugging and plugging back in the device, switching the button on and off a few times, but to no effect. To be thorough, I unplugged the sewing machine (you never can tell down here) and tried the switch in both positions. Yet still I was unsuccessful.
At this point, Edison was turning beet-red with frustration, which of course had been the main point of my useless examination. When I allowed him to speak, he pointed out that the plug had been stepped on and probably just needed to be replaced. Edison reached into the pocket of his coveralls and pulled out a replacement plug. How, when and where he got it, I’ll never know, but he seemed rather fond of this reminder of his past, when he was “King of Electricity.” BP stroked the plug like a lucky rabbit’s foot and called it by name, “My Precious” I think, but to his credit he offered it up to the cause, provided he could install it himself.
I knew that was ill-advised, but I also knew that Hell would provide and I needed to do nothing. I stepped away from the sewing machine. With a feral gleam in his eye, Edison pulled some wire cutters from his tool belt and snipped off the damaged plug from the wire’s end.
He was rewarded with
* A blast of Hellfire
* A pie in the face, and
* A full 120 volt jolt of electricity from the wire (Yes, I know the machine wasn’t plugged in, but when do natural laws come into play down here, unless of course they make things more difficult?)
As amusing as it all was, I still had a job to do, so after helping Edison put out the flames that had engulfed him - Remember how I coated his coveralls in sulfur earlier today? - I allowed the now slightly-charred Wizard of Menlo Park to talk me through the process of installing the plug. This turned out to be easier than I thought, except that attaching the individual wires to the contacts in the plug was an exercise in fine motor coordination that was almost beyond me. Nonetheless, I managed the task, though undoubtedly I took four times as long as Edison would, if he had been allowed to do the work.
As my assistant though, alas, he was not.
I plugged the machine back into the socket and turned it on (the former, not the latter). This blew a fuse and put the entire room in darkness. The demon cursed me in Akkadian. (I find I am developing an excellent ear for extinct Semitic languages, no doubt due to the time I spend with Beez … Lord Beelzebub.) After he finished his string of invective, the supervisor showed me to the fuse box. I had no replacement, but Edison suggested a copper penny. That was something I did have, so I inserted it in lieu of a fuse (note to file: this may result in a new work order at some point), and the lights came back on, as did the Great One’s sewing machine.
We retrieved Benito from his meat hook and set him back at his workstation. Mussolini was a little woozy from the blood that had been running to his head, but he signed off on the work order and got busy on some nice-looking taupe pantyhose. I believe they had a reinforced toe.
At the time of writing this report, I have yet to select the next work order, but I shall do so forthwith.
xc: Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies
I took my stapler and shot a staple into my left hand. As hoped, the pain of the two metal teeth as they dug into my ectoplasm distracted me from the headache that had begun to grow behind my eyes as I’d worked through Orson’s detailed memo. I looked around the office. As good a job as Orson was doing keeping the wheels turning on our little operation, I didn’t know how many more of his reports I could stand. It was just one more incentive to get to the heart of the HVAC mystery as quickly as possible. There was another danger, I noted. In Orson’s first memo, he had listed his title as my assistant. This one said Hell’s Super Pro Tem, Acting Hell’s Super. Whether consciously or not, Orson was taking a big chance here. With his ego being stroked by success in this temporary capacity, he’d promote himself to Head of Plant Maintenance in no time, and that wouldn’t sit well with Beezy.
I filed the memo, along with the work order paper clipped to it, in File Thirteen, that is, I threw it in the trash can. No one in Hell really cares about the official record, and if we kept all the work orders we completed, they would just contribute to the almost overwhelming clutter in our office. The circular file was a fine final resting place.
Leaning back in my chair, I thought about my special assignment. I wasn’t much closer to identifying who was behind the failure of the HVAC system, but I had made a little progress. Mammon, at least, was eliminated as a suspect. There were two left, if Pinkerton’s and my logic held true, and in a short while, I would have the opportunity of assessing the guilt or innocence (“innocence” being a relative term here - we were in Hell, after all, and I was talking about devil nobility) of at least another. And that meant I needed to hie on home and find something respectable to wear before heading up for my date with Lilith. That is, my meeting with Asmodeus.
The wind had picked up while I was inside, and for the first time since being made aware of the failure of the HVAC system, I felt a little chill in the air. True, I’d been used to two hundred plus degree days for a long time, so the temperature might have just dipped down into the double-digits, but there could be no doubt: Hell was suffering from climate change, and by the standards of anyone who existed on this plane, this was a cold day in Hell. Now, even I could detect it. Probably had something to do with the hot pants I was wearing.
As I hurried along the sidewalk, thinking about getting ready for meeting Lilith, I thought again about the powerful attraction I had for her. I hadn’t felt anything like it in a while, not since my time with …
Flo.
A familiar brunette beauty was standing at the bus stop, twenty feet ahead of me. She was dressed in a simple white nurse’s uniform, though her sublime figure filled it out in all the right places. All of a sudden I didn’t feel so cold. In fact, my face was burning. Months had passed, or what felt like months down here, since I had last seen Florence Nightingale, since our one night of blissful passion.
Being caught in sexual congress by two devils with a video camera had pretty much killed the mood. The last I saw of Florence was her head disappearing under a sheet. She had just peeked out to see me on the floor of her bedroom. I had told her I loved her and been punished with Hellfire and an oversized coconut cream pie.
As far as I knew, Flo still wanted me to keep my distance. Also, since my thoughts had just been on a very sexy succubus, I had another reason for avoiding Miss Nightingale, but it was too late. She had already seen me.
“Hello, Steve,” she said, giving me a sad little smile.
“Hi, Flo,” I said, coming to a stop a few feet away. “Uh, sorry I didn’t spot you earlier. I know you don’t want to see me right now.”
“That’s all right,” she said, stepping up and laying her hand on my arm briefly. “In fact, I was just thinking about you.”
“You were?” All thoughts of Lilith disappeared from my brain as I stood before the perfection that was Florence Nightingale.
Boy, I had it bad.
“Yes,” she continued. “I was … I was just wondering how you were. If you were doing well, and … and why are you wearing those short mauve knickers and that blousy shirt?”
“I, uh, washed my coveralls a while ago,” true enough, “and they’re still wet.” That was probably true also. “This is the only other outfit I own … except my clown suit.”
“What about that nice white dinner jacket and slacks?”
She was remembering the outfit I had worn the last night we’d been together. “One of Satan’s minions filched them the next day.”
Flo nodded. “Just so. M
y dress disappeared as well.”
I closed my eyes briefly and sighed, remembering her ensemble from that evening, a tight black cocktail dress that looked great on her. She wasn’t as large topside as a certain succubus I knew, but Florence was very well-endowed and perhaps better proportioned, a classically beautiful woman.
“There’s something else different about you, but I’m having trouble placing it.” Florence stared critically at me for a moment then brightened. “Your hair! I don’t remember your hair being so full. What did you do?”
“Hair Club for Men!” I blurted out then immediately felt guilty for lying to her.
“Is that where men share a toupee amongst themselves?”
“No, not quite. The hair is real. Feel it.” This was a pretty feeble ploy, but anything to get Florence to touch me again was worth it.
Hesitantly, Flo touched my hair, running her fingers through my thick brown locks. “What a wonder! It is real, and very nice, but … ”
“But what?” I asked, anxiety in my voice.
“Well,” she demurred, removing her hand. “I guess I liked the old Steve, thinning hair and all.”
Great. The person in Hell I most wanted to look good for, and she preferred me as a balding, middle-aged man. Just great.
“But you didn’t answer my other question.”
“What?” I said, coming back to the conversation. “You mean, how am I? Okay, I guess, though I have another big project that’s taking a lot of my time right now.”
“Really? What?”
I told her about the HVAC system.
“Hmm, it seems to me that the poor souls trapped down here could use a little break from the heat.”
Which led to me explaining the metaphysical ramifications.
“That’s dreadful!” she said, appropriately horrified. “True, many of these unlikely events could be positive, but … ” Florence looked at my hair and frowned.
“But it would be chaos, on Earth, in Hell, and even in Heaven!” I said quickly, trying to draw her attention from my flowing locks.
“Just so,” she said primly.
“Flo,” I said, taking her hand quickly. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I … I’ve missed you too,” she sighed.
“Have you forgiven me yet? You know I was just as humiliated by the affair as you were.”
“Affair?” she asked.
“Situation!” I substituted quickly. “The situation!”
“Yes,” she said at last. “I know it wasn’t your fault.”
“Flo, do you believe I love you? I do, you know.”
The pie thing was getting pretty old, but at least Flo helped me to my feet, a gentle smile on her face. “Yes, Steve, I know. My feelings haven’t changed toward you either, and I am beginning to have faith that they are my own, and not the mere machinations of the Prince of Lies.”
“Nice alliteration.”
“Thank you.” Flo knew I liked alliteration and had probably done it on purpose just to please me.
“Do you,” I said slowly, “do you think we could spend some time together?”
Florence smiled her sad smile. “I’m not quite ready for that, but maybe soon.”
“That would be wonderful! I’ll wait for you Flo, you know I will. Take as much time as you need, darling.”
For some reason, I got away with “darling.” Either it wasn’t a word on the punishment list, or someone was on break. Anyway …
The founder of modern nursing blushed when I called her “darling,” but she smiled as well. At that moment, a bus pulled up to the stop. “I have to go now, Steve. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to see you again.” On sudden impulse, she kissed my cheek then stepped aboard.
Meanwhile, I stood on the curb with my mouth agape.
Then I thought about my upcoming date with Lilith. True, it was all part of the job, and the fact that I met her at all wasn’t my fault. Well, it was my fault, because I was being a smartass when I made my “cold day in Hell” comment, but I didn’t expect meeting another beautiful woman to actually happen. Guilt pressed down on me like the thumb of a 500-foot Beezy, but there wasn’t much I could do right now to change things. I needed Lilith to get to Asmodeus, and if it meant being her escort to a cocktail party, then that’s what I had to do, regardless of my feelings about Flo. I hurried the remaining blocks to my apartment building. Six floors later, I was huffing before the door to my studio.
I closed my eyes before grabbing the knob. Satan frequently monitored my thoughts, and I hoped he was doing so now, because I really needed a tuxedo or something similar in order for Lilith to get me into the reception. “I have to have it if you want me to get the job done,” I mumbled, and opened the door.
There was nothing draped over any of my furniture. Other than the clown outfit, my still-damp work uniform was the only clothing hanging in my apartment. I plopped down on the couch.
Great. He’s leaving me no choice. Might as well get it over with. “It will be a cold day in Hell before I have another tuxedo and accessories that are as nice as what I had on my first date with Flo.”
Abracadabra! The outfit was draped across the far end of the couch, the shoes on the floor nearby. After I put out the flames on my head with a pillow, I retrieved them.
This time there was no grumbling in my head. So … Satan knew I could take care of the problem myself and just used my need for an outfit as an opportunity to punish me. Nice.
By the time I was dressed, my hair had grown back. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized that I cut a more dashing figure than I had on my dates with Flo. It’s all about the hair, I thought, running my fingers through the tresses and giving them a rakish, if tousled appearance. Of course, I thought, walking down the stairs to meet up with BOOH at street level, I didn’t need to make my coif look tousled. Flying up to Level Two would take care of that.
Chapter 16
BOOH was already waiting for me, leaning against a lamppost, trying to look cool, though the metal pole was beginning to buckle. One advantage to riding on BOOH’s shoulders was my outfits tended not to get damaged. As precise and gentle as the giant bat was when handling me, his pickaxe-sized claws usually snagged whatever fabric I was wearing. When in coveralls, it didn’t make much difference, but a tuxedo, well, you know.
In seconds, BOOH alighted before the corporate headquarters of Lust Unlimited. I hopped off his shoulders. “Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours,” I told him as he took off for parts unknown. My friend was very efficient, and if he knew I was going to be occupied for any amount of time, he’d use the opportunity to run some errand for Satan. Didn’t matter, though. When I was ready to go, all I had to do was whistle, and BOOH would hear me, no matter where he was in the Underworld. I guess that was one of the benefits of being a creature of magic.
I brushed a little bat dandruff from my trousers, straightened my bowtie, and ran my fingers quickly through my mane.
“So that’s how the BatRider rolls,” said a luscious voice from behind me. “Pretty cool.”
Lilith was wearing a skimpy black cocktail dress that looked to have been applied with a spray gun. The spaghetti straps were straining to keep the black satin fabric of the garment from being catapulted off her enormous tetrahedra; the cleavage she was showing, well, she could have hidden a blowgun in there.
My mouth was suddenly very dry, so I closed it and swallowed a few times. When a little moisture came back to my tongue, I managed to say, “W … Wow, Lilith! You look great!”
The succubus shimmied her way to my side. Even in her four-inch spikes, I had five inches on her. Nonetheless she managed to get her lips on mine. Levitation, no doubt.
“Mmmm … mmmm … ! No, Lilith. People could be watching!”
“Let ‘em watch,” she said, and ran her fingers down my backside before releasing me. “But if you don’t want to smooch in public, shall we head up to the reception?” Lilith held her arm up to me, elbowing me in the rib
s. I took the hint, and her arm, then we headed inside the building.
As we approached the elevator, the bellman spotted me and ran for the door with his out-of-order sign. Then he saw Lilith and skidded to a halt, leaving scuff marks on the marble floor behind him.
“That’s okay, Milhous,” she said, patting the bellman on his ski-nose. “He’s with me.”
The man gave us a pained grimace and backed away.
“Isn’t that … ?” I began.
“Yes.”
“How the mighty falleth,” I said, repeating one of my favorite phrases. It always seemed appropriate down here.
Lilith shrugged. “There’s a lot of that going around in Hell. That’s one of our specialties, you know.”
“Do tell.”
We stepped inside the elevator. Once the door closed, Lilith pulled out the emergency stop button. “Hey, big boy, ever done the Nasty in an elevator?” She applied a few judicious strokes to just the right spot on my anatomy, and I rose to the occasion.
“B … better not,” I gasped and pulled the zipper back up. “I need to keep my wits about me.”
The succubus looked at me speculatively as she twisted one of her auburn locks around a finger. “Okay. I’ll just settle for a little face sucking … for now.” She pushed the button back in as she grabbed my head and pulled it down to her level. The taste of cinnamon filled my mouth as our tongues intertwined. Her hand went back to pressing on my privates in a soft but insistent fashion, and my resolve started to crumble.
Bing!
I managed to pull away from her just as the door began to open on the penthouse level. Quickly, I buttoned my tuxedo jacket, thankful to have camouflage with a little style to it.
Lilith took my arm and led me into the crowded room. There were many people I recognized. Well, generally not people, though there were a few humans too, like Giacomo Casanova and Lucrezia Borgia, who were serving drinks and canapés to the guests. The people I was referring to were not people at all; for the most part, they were devils and demons. I saw, for example, Hecate, Astaroth and Baal. Even Bifrons, the film critic who wrote that humiliating review of ‘Flo Does the Super,’ and little Uphir from the hospital were there. That put a frown on my face, since they were two of my least favorite demons, but a frown beat the look of a horny hellion, so I suppose I should have been grateful they were there.