Cheetahs Never Win

by RJ Blain

  My eyes widened. “Cooperative how?”

  “They’re suggesting questions for us. You know how angels get, Aaron. They’re almost as obnoxious when it comes to the cases involving kids as you are. Children are sacred to them, and these fuckers are responsible for the deaths of many innocents. They’re invested.”

  My eyes widened. Angels had their own laws to follow when it came to interactions with humans, not that it did human law enforcement any good; angels came and went as they felt like, and the only reason most of the laws worked was because the angels followed them of their own volition. When they opted to break human laws, they paid the fines as needed and reminded humanity they obeyed a higher power.

  “How many angels?”

  “We’ve had five helping us with the questioning sessions.”

  Five? I whistled. “That’s something else.”

  “We’ve had some demons show up asking if they could be of use, too. You know something’s bad news when those sides join forces. This case is going to move fast. Angelic verification will help make sure we can get a case rolling, but we need more than what we have. How legal can you make this haunting, Mr. Clinton? You’ve been a pest from the moment you started your investigation business, and we’ve lost too many bodies to dick around on this. How many lines can you toe?”

  “I won’t be toeing any lines, sir. It’d all be fully legal.”

  “Testify before an angel legal?”

  I smiled. “That’s what I do, sir. I always have. The way Rob tried to sink me? I had to do everything by the book.”

  “It’s exceptionally frustrating, and I never thought I’d see the day where I’d be encouraging him,” the DA said.

  “I just don’t have enough to sink these bastards yet. None of the leads we have give us a direct link to the top of the chain. We’ve only knocked down a small facet of this group, and we don’t have the person tying law enforcement to the power players in this case. We know who they are, we just don’t have the damned link.”

  “We’re missing someone?”

  “Or we’re just not asking the right questions, and while the angels are helping us, they can only nudge us when the person we’re questioning makes a mistake from the questions we do ask. That’s where we’re running into problems. We’ve gotten enough on them to make sure they stay in prison until trial without bail, and we have enough to convict them all, but we don’t have enough to get them all right now.”

  Shit. “How high do we go?”

  “The judges. That’s where the trail runs cold. The people working with the judges have done so in anonymous fashions; directions on how to manipulate the courts and laws have been issued through anonymous mailings, letters, and so on. All we have are some post marks showing where the communications came from.”

  “We have a list of names. Let’s see who lives or works near there, and we’ll start investigating in that general area. We’ll talk to the postal workers there. How many communications?”

  “Enough of them that we were about to take the investigation to the post office already,” Chief Braneni replied.

  “It’s like you know how to do investigations work.” I rolled my shoulders, closed my laptop lid, and set it aside. “Are any of those angels accepting private contracts for work, Chief Braneni?”

  “One will do private work if the price is right, but he doesn’t come cheap.”

  “He?” Most angels didn’t really have a gender, sounding neutral when they spoke. How they spoke without a head still baffled me, but I figured they had a reason for leaving their heads at home.

  “He’s an archangel.”

  I choked on my own spit. “You have an archangel?”

  “We do, and he’s the one who has been nudging us with certain questions.”

  My mouth dropped open. While I certainly thought the case important enough to pay high prices to see those behind the murders fall, I’d never dreamed it would attract the interest of an archangel. “Is there a chance I can speak with him?”

  Chief Braneni pointed at the backyard. “I see no reason why not. He’s helping with the grills right now.”

  “Please excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I have a few questions for the archangel.” I refused to question why a being without a head would have interest in grilling, but I’d take it. I hopped to my feet and strode for the backyard.

  Every time I met an angel, something about them put me on edge, and the sensation rippled over me. Deep inside, the awareness the winged being could wipe us all from the Earth with a snap of his perfect hand shivered through me. From behind, he resembled an ancient statue carved of alabaster with wings of silver, white, and gold.

  “Hello, Aaron,” the archangel said without turning. “I was wondering when you’d seek me out.”

  Exposure to angels had taught me they enjoyed a certain amount of human humor spicing their lives, and I decided I’d treat the archangel no differently from his brethren. “Didn’t check into the future to find out when?”

  “Some things in life are best left as a surprise even to those such as I. You have questions.”

  “What human doesn’t?”

  The archangel’s laughter chimed. “Perceptive. Tell me what you wish to know, and I will tell you if it can be done.”

  Since when did angels make it easy? I frowned. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

  “I’m easily offended, and I’ve found my delicate sensibilities quite offended of late. Some say angels do not meddle in the affairs of humans, but we do when He says we may.”

  The last thing I needed was being involved with a divine of any stripe. “That sounds terrifying to me, truth be told, although my mother is rather devout and would just love to hear more about that.”

  “And you are not so devout, despite the evidence of your eyes.”

  “I’m a freshly minted lycanthrope. Do you know what they do to freshly minted lycanthropes in churches dedicated to the devout? I’ve no interest in experiencing crucifixion personally. I think I’ll stick to non-devout. I get the bonus of watching my mother question how she’d managed to produce two non-devout sons after trying too hard to make sure we walked the path she wanted.”

  “Free will. It’s humanity’s most obnoxious trait.”

  “I never thought I’d be asking an archangel this, but do you believe in ghosts?”

  The archangel’s chuckles touched something deep within, and a tension I hadn’t known plagued me washed away. “When it suits me. Ghosts are interesting things, Mr. Clinton.”

  “Are they? How so?”

  “They exist when needed the most, fade at the most unexpected moments, and return when necessary. Hauntings, as humans often think of them, don’t happen in the way humans believe. No, souls don’t usually get lost on the way. They can be bound, chained, and forced to remain, but that is a deliberate act. The human mind so often works in mysterious ways. Tell me. Why do you need a ghost?”

  “Ghosts,” I corrected. “I figured if we couldn’t find enough hard evidence to implicate those responsible for the recent murders, we’d find another way to make the mountain fall. And it only takes one to make the mountain fall.”

  “Ah, yes. I know of who you mean. Please understand I will not reach into your mind and take what you want me to know. I’ve seen the marks where you’ve endured this already. While I will never understand what it means to be human, I find no joy in inflicting pain upon those… undeserving.”

  “And those who are deserving?”

  “He rather enjoys when those who have wronged many get their just desserts, and he finds the idea of chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and fire ants rather amusing. Perhaps, as the woman close to your heart desires, bullet ants. Miracles do happen, you know.”

  “Can the chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and ants come with a side dish of angry ghosts?”

  “Those who have lost their lives have moved on and rest easy until their seeds of life are reborn into this world.” The archangel
turned to face me, clicking his grilling tongs together. “The dead won’t rise. I can’t offer you that.”

  “Wasn’t asking for that. I’m working for the one thing I can give them.”

  “There’s a fine line between justice and revenge, and at times, they can blur together where it’s possible to have justice, along with revenge without crossing over. That’s what your heart desires, is it not?”

  Why did the truth hurt so often? “Only because it’s so fresh. Justice will have to be enough, as long as it can be secured. I’ll toe as many lines as needed to give them that. I won’t let Maxwell’s death be for nothing.”

  “It’s rare for humans to be so truthful about the state of their heart. You learned that quickly. How curious.”

  “If I could curse them to hear the voices of those they’d killed, if I could entice every damned fire ant in the state to converge on the guilty, I would. If I could make it rain chocolate syrup and whipped cream on them whenever they stepped outside, I would. If I could have the fires of hell scald their feet with every step they took that led them towards killing innocent women and children, I would. If I could have them hear the voices of those they’ve killed whenever they closed their eyes, I would. If I could have them see the blood, feel the pain, experience what it was like to die, I would. If I could have them stand in the shoes of those they’d killed in their final moments, I would.” I drew in a deep breath, shrugged, and shook my head. “But I can’t. Tomorrow, I probably wouldn’t even if I could. Maybe the day after, or the day after the funeral. However long it takes. But even if I could right this moment, I probably wouldn’t. It won’t bring any of them back.”

  “Nothing will. I can’t take that pain away from you. But you don’t have to carry the burden of the faces and names of those you didn’t even know. Their deaths are not your fault.”

  “Someone has to care what happened to them. That person is me.”

  “Because you decided it is you.”

  “I guess. I’m not a nice man sometimes. Wanting to drown the bastards in chocolate syrup and whipped cream and set hordes of fire ants on them? That’s the anger talking. I get that. I’m human. But it won’t do any good unless they fall and can’t repeat history. I can’t even say I wouldn’t drown the bastards right now. If I met them in a dark alley with a sufficiently deep puddle, I’d probably try. But it’s a good thing I’m not devout or an angel. I don’t have to forgive them for what they’ve done. I just have to seek the truth and make sure that they never have another opportunity to do what they’ve done again. That’s what I want.”

  “Trails of sugar water and eviction of fire ants, while amusing, would not be effective.”

  I sighed. “I figured as much.”

  “What if chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and fire ants could rain down from the sky?”

  “I’d probably ask if we could use bullet ants instead,” I replied. “Then I’d ask how much it would cost to add ghosts.”

  “Do they have to be real ghosts?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Magic works in mysterious ways, and you never know when He is listening. But I would advise you of one thing: be careful what you wish for. You might get it.”

  “A cherry on top seems appropriate, if I’m going all in with a rain of chocolate syrup, the whipped cream, and bullet ants with a few fire ants tossed in for good measure. If I had to be careful about what I wish for, it’s very simple. I’d wish for justice. That’s it. The chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and fire ants aren’t necessary. Texas doesn’t really consider the death penalty anymore, so I’ll have to get whatever justice the courts allow and hope for the best. Frankly, I’m angry enough over this I’d probably crack open a beer should the rain of chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and fire ants turn lethal for those who’d desired the death of fucking kids to cover their political ambitions. No matter what I do, those who are behind this might walk anyway. That’s an unfortunate reality. The best I can do is my best, and that pisses me off.”

  “Tell me this, Mr. Clinton. If you could offer those mothers and their children and your friend a second life, would you?”

  I held my hands up in surrender. “Hell no. No offense there, but I’ve been told it’s a life for a life. They preach that seriously. The whole crucifixion thing. One life in sacrifice for many, except life’s not that tidy. There’s a reason the dead can’t be brought back to life.”

  “Ah, I didn’t mean it quite like that. You humans jump to interesting conclusions. No, this would not require you to crucify yourself, or anyone else for that matter, but it would result in a lot of daughters who’d one day have children of their own. They won’t be the same people, but it’s possible to shepherd their seeds of life for a second chance on this Earth. That is something I can offer you. You said it yourself. Every season has a purpose under Heaven.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you forget an important truth, Mr. Clinton.”

  I frowned. “What truth?”

  “Life is a prayer, and He is always listening even when you don’t choose to believe in him. The other divines are listening as well, however much it annoys me that I must acknowledge their existence. That’s an inconvenient truth. That’s both the beauty and darkness of free will. It doesn’t matter if you believe or not. Your life is a prayer, and that is the prayer He listens to above all.”

  “That sounds like the behavior of a stalker.”

  The archangel laughed. “You’re a bold human. Calling Him a stalker?”

  “I can’t help if it’s true.”

  “What an impetuous human. Do you have any more questions for me?”

  “If I asked for that rain of chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and the Earth’s most painful ants with a cherry on top along with pseudo-ghosts, what would happen?”

  “Ask and find out, Mr. Clinton.”

  I glanced towards the house and wondered what Maxwell would do. Technically, asking an angel for a miracle wasn’t illegal, and ultimately, the angel held responsibility for listening to any prayer. Divine intervention could happen. I wasn’t breaking any law asking.

  It didn’t make me a nice man, though.

  “Those who killed those mothers, those children, and Maxwell. Those behind the killings, the ones truly responsible for those deaths. Could they please be subjected to a rain of chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and the world’s most painful ants, pretty please with a cherry on top? And should they want mercy for what they’ve done, well, they’ll just have to show up in court, confess their sins, and leave nothing of their crimes out and get the justice they deserve. That seems fair to me.”

  “And should they perish in such a rain, Mr. Clinton?”

  “That might be a mercy,” I admitted. “I can’t imagine life for them would be very good in prison once the other inmates found out what they’ve done for the sake of their politics.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Clinton. Which would you choose? Mercy or justice?”

  I hated that question, and I sighed. “Why can’t it ever be both?”

  “Life rarely works out that way.”

  I could think of one answer that might annoy the archangel, but fit better than the alternatives. “Mercy as long as justice is still served.”

  Something about the archangel’s posture changed, and I got the odd feeling he smiled. “Humans. You’re so interesting.”

  He handed me the barbecue tongs, and with a flash of golden light, he disappeared.

  As grilling beat an interrogation, I took the archangel’s place and worked to help feed the insane number of people taking over the Chetty house. I supposed Sassy must’ve warned the cops away as no one bothered me while I flipped meat, prodded the offensive vegetables hogging space on two entire grills, and otherwise ignored everyone I could. The normality helped me relax, but I worried I’d managed to haunt myself even thinking about indulging Sassy’s desire for some Grade A just desserts.

  Only an idiot would waste that m
uch chocolate syrup and whipped cream.

  “Talk with the archangel go poorly?” Sassy’s father asked, taking a sip from his beer. “I’d offer you one, but I figured you’d just have to find some polite way to tell me no, so I figured we’d skip the dancing.”

  “I vented some of my temper out.”

  “On an archangel? You’re nuts, boy.”

  “Yeah. Not one of my better moments.”

  “You’re still standing, so you must not have offended him any. I see he left you to do his grill work, though.”

  “He probably had better things to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Summoning rains of chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and ants on a bunch of assholes?”

  “I trust you didn’t actually suggest such a thing to an archangel.”

  I shrugged. “It just popped out. It’s been a hard few days.”

  “Well, shit. I would’ve been asking for death by something far more embarrassing.”

  “I didn’t say anything about them dying.”

  “A man can hope.” Sassy’s father shook his head. “What did you actually talk about?”

  “Ghosts, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, a cherry on top, and something about mercy versus justice. Honestly, the whole conversation disturbs me. He also had some commentary about the devout and non-devout when I informed him I didn’t even follow his specific religion.”

  “Hey, Joe! Get out here,” Sassy’s father yowled.

  Joe emerged from the kitchen armed with an apron and a pair of tongs. “What is it? I was about to get the corn off the grill.”

  “Aaron mouthed off to an archangel. He might still be suffering from blood loss.”

  “He doesn’t look dead. If he’d actually mouthed off to an archangel, he’d be dead, Dad. Only an idiot mouths off to an angel. Aaron, you should probably get your ass inside. Sassy’s getting anxious because you’re not around.”

  I arched a brow. “Seriously?”