Goodbye Lucifer
Page 22
* * *
Harris stood at the door watching Amanda walk across the floor toward the soda fountain. As she rounded the counter, she looked at Jack, waving him over.
“Jack, come over here and tell me what you want in your coffee.” She busied herself with cups and saucers under the counter. Harris crossed to the counter, leaned against it.
“Cream?” she asked, looking down and fiddling around with the cups and saucers a little more than Jack thought necessary. He glanced over his shoulder to where the others sat talking.
“There’s cream on the table,” he said.
“I know,” she said quietly, not looking up. “Sit down, Jack. You take sugar?”
He edged onto one of the stools. “There’s sugar there, too,” he said, puzzled.
“I know.” Then she was silent for a moment, still messing around with the cups and saucers under the counter almost as if she was ignoring him, using up time.
Then, in almost a whisper, “Where’ve you been, Jack?”
“We were outside with—” he started.
She looked up at him, suddenly intent. “No, Jack. I mean, where’ve you been?” She said it quietly so the others wouldn’t hear. “When Dennis died, and I needed you.”
Jack was stunned. “I…there was Janice and—” His words trailed off
“And after Janice? Where were you then, Jack?” She seemed almost angry.
Harris didn’t know how to answer. “You’ve never said anything…”
“When could I have said anything? Out for a walk as you drove by, or stopped for a pleasant chat? In the aisle at the grocery store? How about right now, Jack? I’m asking you now. Where’ve you been?” Her eyes were getting moist. She glanced at the others to see if anyone had noticed the way they were talking. No one had.
She looked back at Harris and sighed. “I’m sorry, Jack. Really. This is a dumb time for this.” She shook her head, clearing her embarrassment. “It’s just that…” She relaxed a little and grinned at him. “You’re not good at secrets, Jack. Everybody knew how you felt about me, and I guess, when I lost Dennis I thought you’d be there for me. Even later, through the years, I’d think… Well, the cop’s gonna make his move any day now. You never did, Jack. I waited and waited…and you never did.”
Harris felt sick, like someone who’d lost something terribly valuable, or wasted precious time on nothing worthwhile. He couldn’t think of anything to say. All he could do was stare at her. “Amanda, I…”
She reached out, put her hand on his and looked him in the eyes. “I’m still waiting, Jack,” she said.
From the table came, “Mannn-dy, can you bring the whole pot?” Melanie never called her Mandy unless she was being sarcastic, with a little singsong in the word, “Mandy.”
Amanda peeked around Harris with an acid frown at Melanie. “Coming up,” she answered with the same sarcastic singsong.
The mood broken, Amanda set a cup and saucer on the counter and poured Jack’s coffee. She grinned at him. “There’s cream and sugar on the table.”
He looked at her warmly, “I know,” he said.
Jack Harris was seeing Amanda Clark now. But this time he didn’t feel like shit at all.
NINETEEN
HARRY HADN’T BEEN QUITE HONEST about things. Then again, he was the Prince of Lies, so that was to be expected.
True, mankind not Harry was the cause of the world’s evils. And true again, Harry was merely a focal point, a sponge that soaked up most of man’s evil thoughts before they got acted upon. A few other things were also true. Harry really was tired of being the devil. And he really was sure he’d found a way to quit. But still, Harry hadn’t been quite honest about things.
He hadn’t actually lied, but he had based a lot on speculation. He wasn’t worried about the normal everyday functions of Hell. He was sure Quackrak was quite capable of administration, soul sorting and filing—that kind of thing. And although the maintenance and cleaning demons were a slovenly bunch, Quackrak was pretty good at keeping them in order. Yep, Hell would be just fine.
The speculation part was his hopes that in the last several millennia, mankind had matured enough to deal with their inherent evil rationally and without Harry having to suck it all up for them. He knew it would be a little iffy at first, but he figured it would settle down pretty quick once people realized they were on their own. That iffy first part was what he hadn’t been quite honest about, or rather, had neglected to mention.
So far everything seemed normal. Then again, it was kind of hard to notice anything out of the ordinary since, during Spring Break in Ft. Lauderdale, everything was out of the ordinary. Some people were abnormally rude, some were abnormally happy; most were just busy getting drunk and trying to get laid. Nothing to do but wait and see.
It was almost closing time; only three customers were left. The two business types in suits and ties pushed away from the bar and drained the last of their drinks. They turned to leave, one waving a “Thanks, buddy. See ya next time,” at Harry as they walked out.
Harry picked up their empty glasses, set them in the sink and wiped down the bar. Nothing to do now but wait for the young woman at the other end of the bar to finish the drink she’d been nursing for the last hour, and he could go home. Well, maybe not go home, but he could get out of there, anyway.
Par-ty time, he thought.
He finished washing the glasses then glanced at the young woman. She looked to be in her late teens—probably with a fake ID—one of those kinky Goth-dressing types with a cute face and a god-awful-amazing body which she hadn’t seemed willing to share with any of the steady stream of guys that had been hitting on her for the last few hours. She’d just sat there at the bar fiddling around with her drinks, not talking to anyone, and it seemed to Harry, watching him.
Harry went down to the end of the bar and said to the girl, “Sorry, Miss, but I have to close up now.”
She looked up at Harry but didn’t make any move to leave. Her glass was empty except for a few pieces of ice in the bottom. She sat there idly stirring the ice with her straw, just looking at him
“Miss?” he tried again.
For a moment she didn’t react, then, “I know who you are,” she said. He figured she’d heard someone say his name at the bar.
“I’m Tamara,” the girl offered.
“Well, nice to meet you, Tamara. But really, I have to close up now.” She still made no move to leave, just sat there, her eyes glued to Harry.
“Tamara, really, I have to…”
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.
“Waiting?” Harry was puzzled.
“Waiting to serve you.” Her eyes looked a little glazed.
“Serve me?” Harry was getting nervous.
“Yes, master. Anything you command.” She started moaning, her eyes rolling back in her head. Harry thought she was about to faint.
“Anything you—”
“Miss,” Harry interrupted, “I don’t know who you think I am but, really, I have to close now and—”
Suddenly she lunged halfway across the bar, grabbed both his arms and pulled herself closer to him till her face was inches from his.
She moaned again, her voice pleading, “Take me, master,” her breath hot on Harry’s astonished face. “Take me now!” She collapsed against him, holding onto him tightly.
Harry Deville stood behind the bar of the Crystal Sands Resort Inn with a cute, though somewhat demented, kinky Goth-dressed young woman with a god-awful amazing body sprawled across the bar and clinging adoringly around his neck. She obviously liked him.
All Harry could think of to say was, “Uh, hey, what do you say we go somewhere and have another drink
TWENTY
JACK HARRIS WAS SAYING to John Simmons, “I know families down around Sharpton. Having that river stabilized and the bottomland made farmable would be a godsend to many of them. Whatdya think, five…six hundred acres, maybe?”
Simm
ons answered, “At least five. Enough to make the expenditure well worthwhile. Everybody benefits: the farmers, the local economy, and so on. We’re looking at other areas downriver with the same problem.”
“’Bout time,” said Louis. “Don’t know why they’ve waited so long. People up in Charleston worry so much about their big deals they forget about us little valley people.”
Simmons laughed. “Well, Louis, I don’t think they have to worry too much about Brandell Valley. You people have a little paradise here.” He looked around at the others who were smiling agreement.
“Yeah, that’s true, I guess,” Louis conceded. “But we’re lucky here, I mean economically. Brandell doesn’t depend on farming, or dairy, or much of anything, really. It’s not a place to work, just a nice place to live.” He chuckled. “I guess we’re just another pretty face.”
The others laughed, except for Jack Harris who said, frowning, “Well, your little ‘pretty face’ town hasn’t been so pretty, today. Seems like half your pretty people decided to see how ugly they could get all at once.” He dropped the frown and grinned. “I think Louis poured one of his nasty prescriptions bottles in the town water supply this morning.”
“Tweren’t me!” Louis pleaded innocent. He pointed to Claudia. “Old lady Meljac over there probably put a hex on everybody.”
Claudia guffawed, “Oh, Louis, you old fart. If it wasn’t for—”
The radio on Harris’ belt beeped twice and crackled, “Unit 2, are you 10-8?”
Harris keyed the mic clipped to his lapel. “Yeah, Janice, I’m still in Brandell, but I’m available. Go ahead.” He didn’t notice Amanda bristle when he said Janice’s name.
The radio hissed. “Jack, I’ve got more calls from Brandell, but they’re not too serious; they can wait. You need to get back over here. There’s a bad accident on the off ramp of the interstate, and other calls are coming in. Every unit is tied up. You need to get back, okay?”
Harris keyed the mic again. “Right. I’m on my way.”
He stood up. “Well, looks like the Brandell town folks aren’t the center of attention anymore. Gotta go. Uh, Louis, you know you’re gonna have to do something real secure with that window tonight, what with all the drugs in here. Looks like quite a job, too.”
“No problem, Jack,” said Louis. “I have a few 4x8 sheets of plywood out back. That should do it.”
“Of course, I’ll help,” offered Simmons.
“Good. You got it covered then.” Harris, turning to leave, nodded at the women, “Claudia, nice to see you again…Melanie, Amanda.” His eyes lingered on Amanda for a few seconds, then he walked towards the door.
Jilly and Patty were sitting at the soda fountain. As he passed them he stopped for a moment, smiling. “I can’t believe you two. You’re all grown up already and as pretty as your moms.”
Both girls blushed. Jilly said, “Thanks, Mr. Harris.” Patty, still amazed that the policeman had a crush on her mother in high school, echoed Jilly’s thanks.
Harris continued towards the front door. “Y’all have a nice evening, what’s left of it,” he said over his shoulder as he left.
TWENTY-ONE
THE ROCK WAS AIMED at the black plastic “T”—the first letter in Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Since the thrower, having just turned eighty-five the previous week, wasn’t quite the Stillman High School star pitcher he’d once been, it fell short of its mark and bounced harmlessly off the bottom edge of the marquee.
“Where’d ya get that rock?” came an angry voice from the crowd gathered ’round the front of the Brandell Theater.
“Somebody get another rock.” The owner of the voice, another gentleman of advanced age, was easy to spot since it took no more than six people or so to constitute a crowd in Brandell. The group in front of the theater barely fit the description.
Except for the would-be plastic “T” destroyer, who’d hobbled out into the rain just long enough for the feeble rock toss—a pebble, really—all were huddled under the marquee in front of the ticket booth.
“What happened to The Sound of Music?” shouted another oldster.
“Yeah! That ain’t Julie Andrews,” protested another.
Inside the ticket booth, Jim Crowley, the owner of the theater, leaned close to the glass and yelled through the round hole, “Read the damn marquee. Take it or leave it!”
The rock-thrower had made his way to the front of the crowd and was pounding on the glass with his fist.
“Crowley, you son-of-a-bitch,” he yelled, “We came to see The Sound of Music, and if you don’t—”
In Walker’s Drug Store, just down the block from the theater, Melanie held up her hand. “Wait…shhh. Listen.”
Everyone got quiet, cocking their ears, listening. A few seconds went by.
“What?” Amanda asked.
“I thought I heard someone shouting.”
“All I hear is rain,” said Louis.
At the counter, Jilly’s ears perked. “Hey, mom, I hear it.”
“Me too,” said Patty.
Melanie straightened in her chair. “There. Hear it?”
“Mom,” said Jilly. “That’s like screaming…somebody screaming, or something.”
From Louis, came, “Oh, hell. You’re right,” as he jumped up and ran towards the door; Simmons and Claudia right on his heels.
Amanda pointed a finger at Jilly and Patty. “You two stay right there and don’t move.”
Melanie made for the office to check on David.
Louis reached the door and rushed out onto the sidewalk, his attention immediately drawn to the lights from the theater marquee down the block. Through the drizzle of the fading rain he could see a small group milling around under the marquee. They weren’t screaming or shouting now but there seemed to be an air of agitation about them, maybe even fear; he couldn’t be sure. He set off towards the theater at a trot.
“Louis!” he heard one of the group shout as he approached. He could see that he knew everyone there.
The man who shouted was frantic. “Monsters, Louis! No shit, Louis, I mean, no shit! They were all over the place.” The man looked genuinely shaken. An elderly lady was sobbing; all were, obviously, shook up. Louis glanced, quickly, up and down the street. It was empty.
From inside the ticket booth, Joe Crowley spotted Louis. He stuck his mouth up to the hole in the glass. “They’re all crazy as Hell, Lou. There ain’t nothing out there.”
The man who’d thrown the rock at the marquee shouted, “Shut your hole, Jim Crowley. You were in there all safe and sound. How would you know anything?”
Jim Crowley shouted back through the hole in the glass. “You crazy old coot. You’re half-blind, anyway. You didn’t see no monsters, you idiot!”
“Whoa…hold on now, for crying’ out loud!” Louis held his hands up to calm them down. He turned to Fred Dicks, the man he’d encountered first.
“Just tell me what you saw, Fred.”
Fred Dicks shivered with disgust. “One of ’em came out of the bushes across the street over there, then another one…ugly lookin’ things, ’bout this high.” He held his hand level with his chest. “Then a bunch of ’em came out…just stood there in the street for a minute till Ginny here screamed. Then they kind of went crazy…jumpin’ up and down, and quackin’…”
“Quacking?”
“Yeah,” the man went on, “…like a raspy quackin’. Then they ran off in all directions. Hoppin’ and quackin’.”
From behind him, Louis heard Claudia’s, “Oh jeez!” He shot a suspicious look over his shoulder at her. Amanda was standing beside her grimacing, guiltily.
“…scare the pants right off of ya,” Fred Dicks finished.
Louis said, “Might have been kids, Fred…d’ya think? Just playing around? Or an animal of some kind?”
“Christ, Louis, I know what a kid looks like. They weren’t kids, and there ain’t no animals look like that. Least not around these parts, anyway.”
Th
e rock thrower shouted, “Not kids. Long fangs and big claws!”
Fred Dicks turned to the man, and said, “Now, Harv, come on.” he looked back at Louis. “I don’t know about fangs and claws, but they damn sure weren’t human, Louis, and god-awful ugly.”
“God-awful bunch of crazies, the bunch of ya.” Jim Crowley’s voice was muffled by the ticket booth glass.
John Simmons was standing with Claudia and Amanda behind Louis.
He said, “Why don’t I walk across the street and have a look around. If there’s anything…”
Suddenly the woman who was sobbing screamed.
Across the street, a demon had come out of the bushes. At the woman’s scream, it ran a little ways down the street, then disappeared back into the bushes.
“Good God!” Louis’ mouth dropped open. He stood staring at where the demon had been.
Fred Dicks grabbed Louis’ arm. “See, I told ya. Didn’t I tell ya?” The little crowd looked close to panic
Louis yelled at Jim Crowley, “Open the door, Jim, quick. Let these people inside.”
From inside the ticket booth, Crowley snarled back, “Let ’em buy a ticket. That’s what I’m here for, to sell tickets. As a matter of fact, ya know what? I ain’t even gonna show no damn movie for a lousy six people. How d’ya like that? Go on home, the bunch of ya.”
Claudia elbowed her way past Louis and the others to the front of the ticket booth, and shouted through the hole in the glass.
“Jim Crowley, I’m gonna be in there twisting your pointy little ears in a minute if you don’t open the damn door. I did it when you were a snot nosed boy, and I’ll do it again. Now open the damn door.”
Jim Crowley shrunk a little bit. “Aw, Miss Claudia, I—”
“Open it!” demanded Claudia.
Crowley frowned, pouting for a few seconds, then disappeared through the back of the booth. A moment later the double doors of the theater swung open.
“Come on in,” scowled Crowley.”
Louis ordered, “Everyone inside. Hurry up.” He herded the elderly group through the theater entrance, and shut the double doors behind them, then whirled around to face Claudia and Amanda on the sidewalk. “Okay, you two, what’s going on here? What was that thing?”
“Well gosh there, Mr. Walker,” Amanda grinned, feigning childish innocence. “How would we know?”
Louis wasn’t amused. “Come on, Amanda. You guys weren’t even surprised when whatever that was came out of the bushes. This isn’t funny. Those people were scared to death. So let’s have it?”
Claudia put her hand on Louis’ arm. “It’s okay, Lou. They’re not dangerous, just a little startling when you first see one.”
Louis sneered. “Ha! I knew it! I knew it had to have something to do with you guys.”
John Simmons stood on the sidewalk trying to figure out what was going on. He’d been a little rattled by the thing that came out of the bushes but now, from the way Louis was reacting, he wondered if it was just some exotic animal, maybe a pet that got loose? Claudia’s or Amanda’s?
He looked at the women. “Is that thing yours?”
Amanda laughed. “Oh lord, no!” She cocked her head as if rethinking, “that is…well, in a manner of speaking, you might say…”
Louis wasn’t laughing. He said, “Claudia, you know I never get into your business, but this time—” He looked frustrated. “I mean, Jesus, Claudia, we can’t have…things…running around town scaring the hell out of people—dangerous or not.”
Claudia patted his arm. “Now, Louis, don’t get all worked up. We’re gonna take care of it.”
Louis shook his head, exasperated, then turned to Simmons, and said, “Welcome to Brandell, John. How do you like it so far?”
After checking on David, Melanie went to the front door of the drug store and looked outside. Not knowing what the shouting had been about, she didn’t want to leave David and the girls alone, especially with the big side window broken out. She was dying to know what was going on. She could see the others up by the theater walking back her way. They were talking to each other, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
As they reached her, Louis said, “Well, baby girl, you, and your cohorts here,” pointing to Amanda and Claudia, “are going to have to come clean, this time.”
Melanie looked at Amanda, quizzically. Amanda just shrugged, still trying to play innocent. Everybody filed past Melanie and into the drug store.
Claudia whispered to Melanie as she passed, “Guess who’s back?”
TWENTY-TWO
EMMA HAD BEEN SITTING IN THE RAIN on the back steps by the kitchen door with the shotgun across her lap waiting for Joe to come home. She’d seen something moving around in the darkness behind the shed and by this time, after stewing about Joe all day, she was about ready to shoot at anything.
She got up from the steps, walked through the downpour out to the lean-to over Joe’s Yamaha Super Snowmobile, and fired off a round into the trees behind the shed. The kick from the big black 12-gauge sent her sprawling back against the snowmobile’s handlebars. At least she hadn’t dropped the shotgun this time
Emma untangled herself from the snowmobile’s handlebars, straightened up and peered into the darkness beyond the shed
“Quack,” came from off to her right.
Emma spun towards the sound, braced herself, and emptied the other barrel in that general direction, blowing a big chunk of wood off the edge of the shed in the process. The muzzle flash from the blast strobed an instant of brilliant white on the scene around her. She gasped at the sight.
Now that’s an infernal demon from Hell if I ever saw one, she thought, not realizing what she was shooting at was in fact, a demon from Hell, although not all that infernal.
With that last shot, she’d barely flinched at the gun’s kick. She fumbled in her apron pocket for some more shells.
At the rustle of wet leaves behind her, she whirled around towards the house. In the dim light from the bare bulb over the kitchen door, she made out two terrified demons streaking around the side of the house toward the road. She flicked the lever at the gun’s breach. The barrels dropped open, ejecting the empty shells. Emma had it down pat now. She deftly inserted two live rounds, snapped the barrels shut and took off after the demons.
Emma rounded the house and into the front yard. The rain had eased, and in the shadowy glow of the streetlights she spotted Quackrak and two other demons racing down Stillman Road towards town. She ran out into the street, pointed the shotgun down the road, and let fly with two more thunderous blasts, then broke open the breach and rammed in two more shells.
“God, I love this thing!” she yelled, and trotted off towards town after the demons. She figured she could kill Joe later.