Artful Evil

by C. G Harris

  Artful Evil

  C.G. Harris

  Copyright © 2021 by C.G. Harris

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2021

  Hot Chocolate Press, Fort Collins, Colorado

  Cover design by: Karri Klawiter

  WWW.CGHARRIS.NET

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  New Series by C.G. Harris

  Now on Audio!

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Fights in The Nine usually ended up in one of two ways; either you won, or you were dead—again—and found yourself in the Gnashing Fields. The winner wasn’t so much the problem. The dead guy, he was bad for business. Not my business, of course. I worked for The Judas Agency, A.K.A. The Disaster Factory. They thrived on death, dismemberment, and destruction. My friend, Dan, was a different story. He was a conservative guy straight out of the 60’s. He owned Hula Harry’s. One of the only torture free establishments in Hell. I wasn’t about to let a couple of beefeaters bust up his joint with their brawl. I laced my fingers into my Knuckle Stunner and pulled it out of my pocket. There was no need for subterfuge. By the time either of them registered my involvement in their little sideshow, the first guy was flat on the ground.

  The Knuckle Stunner was a Hellion-made weapon that somehow scrambled the circuits in the brain. The harder you hit someone, the thicker the scramble. I had set the first guy on purée and was headed for the second when he put his hands up in surrender.

  “Sorry, man. He wouldn’t stop bugging me! What was I supposed to do?”

  “First, you’re in a bar where you can’t get drunk.” It was true. Booze didn’t work in The Nine because, well ... Hell. “You have no excuse for acting like a stupid frat boy. Second, grab your new buddy and drag him out of here. You’re both banned for two weeks.”

  “What? That’s not fa—”

  I cut him off by raising my Knuckle Stunner in his direction. “If I have to drag you both out, it’s six weeks, and you don’t want me to pick the drop spot. I know a lot of back alley cesspools with your name on them.”

  Frat Boy didn’t say another word. He just nodded, bent over, and dragged his penance toward the door.

  “Any of you good citizens willing to help this young man out?” I looked around the bar. Everyone seemed unusually preoccupied with their tabletops.

  “A free drink for anyone who helps him.” Dan wandered in behind me. The yellow button-down he wore was so thin you could almost read the tag on his undershirt, but somehow, he made it work.

  The bar came to life with the sound of scraping chairs and shuffling feet. I half expected another fight to break out over who got to help him. Hard to believe a free drink full of impotent booze could be so effective.

  “Thanks for your help, Gabe—again.” Dan smoothed out his thinning hair and turned to look at me. “You do so much around here I feel like you should be a partner.”

  I shoved the Knuckle Stunner back into my pocket and turned away from the gaggle of makeshift rescue workers. “No, thanks. I have enough irons stoking in the fire. I can’t keep them all hot as it is.”

  Dan laughed. “Still, I owe you for everything you have done for me around here.”

  “You owe me nothing. Spending time here is a pleasure. Besides, where else can I hide out from all my responsibilities?” I put a hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Speaking of hiding, I finished my little project in the back room. Why don’t you come take a look?”

  Hula Harry’s was an unusual place for many reasons. Yes, it was a torture-free establishment. That in and of itself made the place an oddity in The Nine. Most establishments thrived on some sort of violence or cruelty as a form of entertainment, all fully endorsed by Hell’s management, of course. Hula Harry’s was different. It was just a local bar filled with Woebegone souls looking to pass eternity any way they could, even if they couldn’t catch a buzz.

  The original Harry, whoever he was, had built the place entirely out of crushed cars. The walls were bricked with cube shaped monstrosities of rims, axles, and Detroit steel. The multi-colored marvel was a sight to behold. It also made Hula Harry’s one of the most solid structures in the area.

  We strolled past the bar, made from old school bus doors, and headed into the back. “Your storeroom’s as safe as a titanium piggy bank. No one will lay a hand on your precious inventory now.”

  Dan peered around the seemingly empty room, seeing nothing but a few shelves— that, and the false wall I had installed to hide his valuable stock.

  “That’s incredible, Gabe.” He lowered his voice so the nearby patrons wouldn’t overhear. “What’s the secret to getting in?”

  I motioned him away from any prying eyes, then I reached down and hit the hidden catch in the wall. The door swung away and revealed Dan’s treasure trove of black-market goods. Case after case of sugar-loaded soda. We didn’t waste time with the diet stuff. We were in Hell after all.

  “Fantastic.” Dan clapped me on the shoulder. “Keep this up, and I’ll have to hire you on full-time for sure.”

  I laughed. “I wish. Working here would be a lot more fun than my regular gig.”

  “I don’t know how I’m going to pay you back for all of this.”

  I shrugged. “This was nothing. I’ve learned a trick or two along the way. Sometimes you have to keep the good stuff hidden.”

  That was true. I had a black-market shop of my own. A place I used to pour my heart and soul into. That was before my appointment at The Judas Agency. Now I seemed too busy to even keep my own place running.

  “Not just the door. The supply line too.”

  Dan pointed over to a gadget my Agency partner, Alex, and I had set up in the corner. I had no idea how the thing worked, but it transported cases of liquid gold straight to Dan’s storeroom from a warehouse I’d arranged Topside. Like I said, booze did nothing for a wayward Woebegone sentenced to an eternity in The Nine. Soda, however, that still held all its reminiscent sugary goodness ... as long as you could lay your hands on some. I, as
it happened, specialized in procuring this sort of hard to find item in my off time. I kept Hula Harry’s in soda, and Dan, in turn, kept the local Woebegone happy ... ish.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just don’t get caught with that thing. If The Agency finds out I swiped one of those transporter gadgets for you, we’ll both wish we were ...” I stopped short. “Well, we’re already dead, but you know what I mean.”

  Dan nodded as he secured the secret storeroom again.

  “Don’t worry. They’ll never find it now that you built this hidey-hole.”

  We strolled out of the storeroom, and a Woebegone woman walked over from a nearby table. Her eyes darted from side to side, never quite meeting anyone’s gaze. A Freshborn—a Woebegone straight out of the Gnashing Fields with no recollection of who she was or how she got here. Every Woebegone cycled through the Sulphur Pools over and over each time they died in The Nine. They suffered a perceived eternity in unending pain and suffering only to be reborn right back here in The Nine, clueless and vulnerable. It made them ripe for any lowlife to pick up as something known as a Disposable—a slave to be used and reused again and again for any number of horrible atrocities.

  I had a friend who had made it her mission to rescue as many of these Disposables as possible. I kept telling her she couldn’t save them all, but she was stubborn.

  “Dan, this is Rita. Another one of Zoe’s rescues. Can you give her a job here until she gets back on her feet?”

  I gestured in her direction, making her flinch, then lowered my hand in a more careful motion. “It’s ok. We’re here to help. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  She still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Okay.”

  It was all she said before taking a step back to clasp her arms across her body in apprehension.

  “Sure. No problem.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Come over here, and we’ll get you started.”

  They went behind the bar, and Dan introduced her to another woman. Another Freshborn further on her way to recovery.

  A motion at the front of the bar caught my attention, and I looked up to see my partner, Alex, come through the door.

  “There’s a firestorm on the horizon,” she announced. “If anybody wants to scurry home, you better make a run for it now. That smoke front isn’t waiting for anyone.”

  Chapter Two

  Alex’s announcement of an impending firestorm brought a round of cheers from the crowd of Woebegone inside the bar. Not the sort of reaction one might expect for a storm that dropped flaming brimstone and slag hot enough to melt your face off.

  A firestorm was the dark side’s way of keeping things fresh in The Nine. By fresh, I mean killing two thirds of the Woebegone unlucky enough to be caught out in the open without shelter.

  “You wanna help me with these doors?”

  I glanced over to see Dan carrying a heavy, steel beam. I shuffled forward and grabbed an end before I realized what the huge chunk of metal was for.

  “Drop your end into the hooks and then help me with the other one.”

  We dropped the beam across the reinforced automobile doors he had fashioned into his entry, and it dawned on me that Dan was locking out any Woebegone left outside the bar.

  “Hurry up.” Dan struggled with a second bar, this one even larger than the first. “As soon as those Woebegone see that firestorm, they will overrun this place like ants.”

  I looked around the bar as I helped him secure the last brace and then lock a shutter over the window. The place was busy but by no means full. A pang of guilt punched me in the gut. Dan had one of the few reinforced structures in The Nine. The cars stacked on top of one another formed a shelter about as bombproof as anything above ground. It had endured many firestorms, protecting those inside, unlike the ramshackle shanties that stood beyond. I had a similar luxury at my shop. It, too, was reinforced with angle iron and steel, and I, too, locked the place up tight every time a firestorm blew into town.

  “What are you doing? Woebegone are going to die out there.” Alex glared at the two of us standing next to the door. She wore her usual outfit. T-shirt, vest, jeans, and boots, all riddled with holes to display her ivory, tattooed skin. She had her blue hair tied into a ponytail, keeping it all out of her face and making it impossible for me to avoid her scowl.

  “The second he opens that door, it would be a free for all in here,” I said. “Don’t forget where we are and what sort of Woebegone inhabit most of the landscape outside. This isn’t Heaven, and those are not the pearly gates. Give them a reason, and there would be an all-out turf war to command ownership of this shelter.”

  Alex’s eyes went back to the door again. She knew I was right but didn’t like it any more than I did. The current patrons all mingled together to form one big group. It reminded me of the hurricane parties I had seen on the East Coast. Gatherings to witness the incoming doom, only this time, they would be the only safe ones while everyone outside died. Their cheery disposition made me want to throw them all outside too.

  “Come on.” Alex grabbed my arm and led me over to a couple of empty stools at the bar. “Let’s grab a drink and wait this thing out. I have some news that might cheer you up.”

  I did my best to sit/lean on one of the stools. Dan had hand made every anti-ergonomic monstrosity himself. They were misshapen, chrome monoliths that had no business holding the human form. I had never worked out whether he was a horrible craftsman or a master at practical jokes. Maybe it was both. Either way, the stools were about the most uncomfortable things anyone could ever sit on.

  “What happened in here anyway?” Alex tried to lower herself onto a stool a couple of different ways then gave up and just stood next to the bar. “Looks like a firestorm swept through before I got here.”

  “Bunch of college kids on a bender. You know how it is.”

  “A bar fight?” Alex’s mouth dropped open. “And I missed it?” Alex was by far the best hand to hand fighter I had ever seen. If she had been here, I could have sat back on my anti-stool and watched the show without lifting a finger.

  “Should’ve been here ten minutes earlier. They would have been all yours.”

  Alex huffed. “I’ll bet you used your Knuckle Stunner.”

  I stammered. “There were like, twelve of them. I had to help out Dan. Look at him.” I motioned toward the frail looking man at the other end of the bar. Alex quirked a half smile and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’m sorry if we aren’t all quadruple-black-belt-super-ninjas like you. Didn’t you say something about news?” I turned toward the bar and sulked. Alex let me sit there a moment then let out a laugh.

  “I’m sure all twelve of them are wishing they had picked another bar to cut up in about now.” She jabbed my arm, giving me a little shove when I didn’t respond.

  “Are we pouting? I bet a throat punch would turn that frown upside down.” She said it as if she were cooing to a baby, grinning like a mad woman as she drew her hand back and balled up a fist.

  I covered my throat with both hands and pinned my chin down at the same time. “I am not pouting. And why would you even think of something like that?”

  Alex giggled again. “Well, you’re not pouting anymore.”

  I relaxed ever so slowly, keeping my eye on her hands. “Are you going to tell me your news or what?”

  Alex grinned and bounced on her toes, brimming with excitement—an action so unlike her, it felt a little disturbing.

  “I just came from The Agency, and it looks like we are off assignment for a while. We have no official business to attend to.”

  I tilted my head. “So, what does that mean? We’re on vacation?”

  “Better.” Alex’s smile grew even bigger. “We get to freelance.”

  I blinked. “I still don’t follow.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. “When we have free time like this, it’s a chance for us to make a real name for ourselves at The Agency.”

  Suddenly, I didn’t like where this was goin
g.

  “So, what do you have in mind? I hope it is nothing big. I am pretty busy helping Dan around here.”

  Typically, a comment like that would wipe the smile right off of Alex’s face, but today it didn’t even make a dent. I definitely didn’t like where this was going.

  “We can’t sit around drinking Coke all day if we want to keep our jobs. We’re expected to get creative and come up with a project on our own. I did some research and found the perfect thing for us to work on. It’s quick, destructive, and doesn’t require a lot of manpower.”

  I raised an eyebrow, inviting the inevitable answer.

  She grinned. “You and I are going to derail a train.”

  Chapter Three

  “Are you crazy?” My voice raised about three octaves and got loud enough to hush a few of the closer conversations. I cleared my throat and started again, trying not to shout in Alex’s face.

  “There is no way I’m going to go up and murder a bunch of people traveling on a train just so we can make headlines in the company newsletter.” I scowled and shook my head at her. “Frankly, I can’t believe you’re willing to do something like that either.”

  Alex groaned. “Don’t get your Boy Scout sash all wrinkled. I’m not talking about a passenger train. I want to hit a freight train. No one on board but an engineer and a conductor.”