The Judas Line

by Mark Everett Stone

  Stephan turned without a word and closed the door behind him.

  “Cain, good to see you. Want a brandy?” The blond man turned a slightly battered sideboard to fetch a decanter, showing us a long golden braid that hung to his waist.

  “As much as I enjoy your fine liquor, Heimdall, my companion and I are here for reasons that are not social.”

  Heimdall? “You’re Haime?” I asked.

  “That I am, as well as Heimdall. I have so many names.” He tossed me an inquiring look, his irises winking with gold.

  I took in his hair, his height and the slight gold hue to his skin that didn’t come from the faux fireplace. The pieces clicked together. “You’re an angel.”

  Heimdall/Haime nodded with a rueful twist to his lips. “Fallen, but one of those who decided not to rule in Hell.”

  “Let me guess: you and your brothers and sisters were worshipped as gods in your own right.”

  Heimdall smiled, showing over large teeth. “Of course. Hell is so dreary and mankind is so accommodating to me and mine. We were still mighty then.” A faint look of sorrow flitted across his face. “Earth provides so many comforts, but we still remember Heaven and curse the day we heeded Lucifer’s silver-tongued arguments.” He shook his head. “And who might you be?”

  “Me? I go by Morgan Heart.”

  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Would you like a cigar? They’re Dominican.”

  To me, most cigars smell like burning turds. “No, thank you.” While it was surprising to find the fallen in NYC, it only made sense. They had to go somewhere and why not the City That Never Sleeps? “So, if you’re the mythical Heimdall …”

  “I am,” he interrupted smoothly, his teeth shining with enough wattage to rival Cain’s. “Trust me.”

  “Quite. Then what is this warehouse? Asgard? Valhalla? If I remember, Heimdall guarded the Bifrost, The Rainbow Bridge, the only entrance to Asgard. I take it that ugly shag outside represents the Bridge?”

  The fallen angel turned to Cain. “Look who’s the bright penny. Where did you find this one?”

  “This intrepid lad located me. I merely tolerate his company because we have formed an unlikely but mutually beneficial alliance.”

  Those golden brows shot up. “Since when do you ally yourself with anyone?”

  “Since now.” All the humor had left Cain’s face. “I do hate to be a bother, but we have urgent need of the fair Maggie. Please produce her.”

  “I can’t do that, old friend.”

  No smile, no humor, remained on Cain’s face. Instead, his expression was so neutral that it scared me more than a show of anger. “And why, pray tell, can you not?”

  Heimdall stuck a cigar between his teeth and the end flared to life. “Because she broke the rules in a fight. She used magic, the stupid twit.”

  “Are you not a lord of Asgard? Can you not, with a snap of your perfect fingers, set her free?”

  “I’m just a broken-down old angel, a Potentate who’s had his wings burned off. No one really believes in Asgard anymore.” He waved his snifter around the room. “All this is window dressing. If I let her go, the League will lose faith in the Council have to shut the place down.”

  I raised a hand like a third grader in class. “And the League is what exactly?”

  It was Cain who answered. “The League is comprised of mortals disenchanted with today’s hustle and bustle world. They wished to be a part of an atavistic society unburdened by the confines of technology and, unfortunately, good hygiene. The Asgardians wished for worshippers and these disaffected souls proved most malleable to persuasion, forming the League of Valhalla.”

  “Right now they’re partying,” Heimdall sighed. “Drinking, screwing, eating and fighting. They go at it hammer and tong with authentic weaponry and Eir, the goddess of healing, tries to keep the damage to a minimum.”

  I was thunderstruck. “They’re trying to kill each other?”

  Heimdall nodded. “Controlled bouts in full armor. I’m proud to say we haven’t had a death in over five years.”

  “That is the stupidest damn thing I’ve heard in … hell, forever!”

  The faux-god growled and pointed a finger the size of one of his cigars at my head. “Listen, asshole-” he began.

  “He is entitled to his opinion,” Cain said smoothly. “But for now I must beseech the rest of the Council of Asgardians, perhaps they can see to it that Maggie is temporarily released into my custody. I will return her forthwith.”

  “Personally, big guy, I don’t care if you return her fivewith. It ain’t my call.” Gone was the cultured speech, revealing coarser influences. I guess he’d been in New York long enough to become acclimated.

  Cain remained unperturbed. “Then let us repair to the council chambers, where I could sway the Council to view circumstances more favorably.”

  “What do need her for, anyway?”

  “Careful, Haime,” I smiled. “Your Hicksville is showing.”

  He tossed me a golden glare. “Wise guys. Always wise guys. Okay, Cain and you-Mr. Smartypants-let’s go see the Council.” Consciously reverting to his more cultured speech, “But I can tell you, it will do you no good.”

  I whispered to Cain as Heimdall led us back into the hallway, “What made him lose his cosmopolitan veneer?”

  “That happens when angels grow weary, they become a little more … human,” Cain replied quietly.

  “I heard that,” the angel said, “it’s not nice.”

  “Although his hearing does remain unparalleled.”

  Shortly, after that eye-watering hallway turned several times, we came to another door, this one also plain, whitewashed wood. Heimdall ushered us through.

  Big room. Big enough to play football in and have enough space for fans. Lengthwise down one wall was a television as big as a movie screen. Showing on the enormous plasma was a movie, a classic, playing at a decibel level that would have had The Who screaming for mercy. Bridge over the River Kwai. And there, bigger than life, was Alec Guinness, much younger than his Obi-Wan days in a much better movie.

  Arranged in a semi-circle in front of the screen were dozens of Lazy Boy type recliners, most of them occupied by people drinking champagne or eating what looked like cucumber sandwiches.

  All of them angels.

  This just kept getting better and better.

  Most of the avid watchers were true to type, although not dressed for their roles: a huge, burly man whose beer gut strained against the buttons of his blue flannel shirt and whose huge bushy red beard stretched to his belt had to be Thor. A lean gent with white hair and beard sporting an eye patch and Saville Row suit had to be Odin. The rest, Freyr, Freya, Sif and others reclined in indolent luxury, although the only one who seemed to be genuinely enjoying the movie was Thor, who grinned at every gunshot and laughed at every explosion.

  “Is this what mythological beings do when they retire? Watch television and go to seed?” I ran my eyes over the lavish rugs on the teak floor and the full bar a few short steps away. The other side of the room held a kitchenette where, if I wasn’t mistaken, Balder the Beautiful was prepping a BLT.

  Heimdall muttered, “Oh, bugger me,” as one of the faux deities paused the movie.

  Cain closed his eyes. “Now you’ve done it, you’ve hurt their feelings.”

  Perhaps I should have remained silent, but the sight of all those angels, those sad, pathetic creatures, lounging in idleness and sloth drove a spike of anger into my brain They had Heaven, they had God, and instead of trying to get back into His good graces they did nothing. “What? Sensitive Cherubim and Seraphim?” A dull heat throbbed behind my eyes, the frustration of the past few days, my worry for Mike and the sheer ridiculousness of it all finally snapped the tether of my sanity and self control.

  “What is the meaning of this, Loki?” thundered Odin as he shot to his feet, giving Cain the old stink-eye, which was impressive considering he only had the one. “You dare bring an insolent human
to a gathering of the gods!” A low rumble of righteous anger came from the assembled angels as they rose to their feet and, as one, strode toward us.

  “Loki?” I whispered.

  “It was a long time ago,” retorted Cain, composure shot as he held up his hands toward the advancing Asgardians. “I am vilified everywhere.”

  I should’ve known, was my only thought before I decided to add gas to the fire. “Am I to understand that Maggie is illegally incarcerated here for the use of magic in an unlawful fight?” I bellowed.

  The question stopped the angels in their tracks. “She broke the rules and she has to pay the price!” thundered Thor. A belch followed his shout of outrage. He reminded me of a rough-hewn lumberjack straight out of Ken Kesey’s Sometimes a Great Notion.

  “So you are detaining her against her will. Illegal imprisonment, or did you fail to realize you were in the United States and that’s not considered kosher?”

  Thor and the others just stood and stared, looking confused while Odin strode purposely toward me. “Human laws have no validity here,” he said.

  I set off a wide, nasty smile that showed plenty of teeth. “What I have, fallen, is a hidden microphone that, when I give the command, will have plenty of humans with plenty of guns waltzing in here to ruin the party I hear coming through these walls. Somehow I don’t think losing your worshippers is in your game plan. Also, something tells me you aren’t bulletproof.” A that time I was praying fervently for the fallen not to call my bluff.

  “You’re lying,” Odin accused, narrowing his eye dangerously.

  I laughed, a harsh, evil sound. “No, man, I’m Sicarii.”

  Odin, the supposed father of the “gods” and the rest of his angelic crew drew back, naked fear on their golden faces. For the first time in my life I really understood the fear my Family generated.

  “Loki,” Odin hissed at Cain. “You brought one of them here?”

  Cain snorted, with disgust or resignation, I wasn’t sure. “Oh please stop the histrionics, Jophiel, it is unbecoming in a being your age,” he admonished, using the fallen’s true name. “I find myself concerned only with the return of my lovely apprentice. And the name is Cain. I shed the Loki persona centuries ago along with those temperamental Vikings who disgraced Norway with their rapacious ways.”

  “But-”

  “Heed this advice, Jophiel, and acquiesce to this formidable young man’s demands. If he can summon the strength to coerce my assistance, then you must believe in his ability to carry out his diabolical threats. Besides, you have long ago squandered what little power you had and can no long be labeled ‘mighty.’ No doubt it is by sheer numbers alone that you and yours forcibly persuaded the formidable Maggie to remain as an unwilling guest.”

  “Do you really have to talk like that, man?” I asked quietly, keeping an eye on Odin who signaled to Freya.

  “I’m afraid so,” came the whispered reply.

  The Father of the Norse Gods stared at me with pointed hatred for a brief moment before nodding to Freya, who left through the only other door, located next to the kitchenette. Thor and the others, weary and defeated, walked back to the recliners, doing their level best to ignore us now that their impotence had been proven. Soon WWII continued on the giant screen. Moments later they were joined by Odin, the tattered rags of his dignity wrapped around him like a shroud.

  Minutes passed as Heimdall shot dirty glances our way and pouted, biting a thumbnail. When Freya returned he left in a huff, face closed and stormy.

  The former goddess of fertility brought with her a woman big enough to double as the statue of liberty, a buxom lady with muscles on her muscles and long blonde hair twirled in a braid. She was dressed in chainmail and leather leggings, a double bitted axe in one hand and a wooden round shield in the other.

  “Holy crap,” I breathed.

  Cain shot the approaching woman a grin. “Did I not mention that she is more woman than any one sane man can handle?”

  “She’s a one woman big brass band. A blonde mountain with tits.”

  “Don’t be vulgar.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Well … no.”

  When the larger-than-life Maggie saw Cain, she lumbered forward like an out of control locomotive and slammed him in a hug that would’ve flattened a lesser man. He tried to give back as good as he got, but I could tell it was a losing battle.

  “Woman,” he gasped into neck. “You are damaging me irreparably.”

  Maggie let him go and planted a wet one on his lips. “Thanks, boss.”

  I kept my hand in front of my mouth to hide a smile while fielding covert dirty looks from the disgruntled Asgardians.

  “Well, well, who’s this?” Maggie’s voice came dangerously close to my ear. A large, shapely hand landed on my back with enough force to stun the average water buffalo. I gulped.

  “This young man is responsible for your deliverance from Valhallan hospitality, my dear.” Cain’s voice was smug. “His convincing and erudite arguments swayed the so-called gods to remand you into our custody. He is the one who should fully enjoy your appreciation.”

  Next thing I knew a warm mouth and chainmail-covered pillowy breasts were pressed firm against my chest while soft lips devoured mine. Part of me, the unthinking beast, had no problem with the estrogen assault and I instinctively wrapped my arms around her strong shoulders.

  Finally the kiss ended, but my mind still traveled on paths more lusty than lucid. I did notice that when she smiled, her face dimpled prettily and there was small cleft on her chin that gave her a somewhat raffish look.

  “Oooo,” she breathed into my mouth. “I like him, Cain. Can I keep him?”

  “Wha-?” Not my most intelligent question.

  Cain winked at me over her shoulder. “My dear, I am afraid that if you were to retain possession of this gentleman you might break him.”

  Long fingers ruffled through my hair and I fought the urge to purr. “We’ll talk later, tall dark and sexy,” she laughed throatily. To Cain, “What’s the job, boss?’

  “Let us repair to a more amenable locale and discuss the task at hand. Safe to say the current endeavor will help you garner your fifth and final Word.”

  Abruptly, Cain and I found ourselves in the hallway, pulled along by Maggie whose long strides and strong grip gave us no choice but to exit the warehouse forcefully. Even the monolithic Ralphie gave way without a word to the storm of feminine purpose bearing down on him.

  Once outside, Cain extricated himself from Maggie’s iron hard grip and rounded on me, his face stormy. “What was that about?” he roared, all pretensions gone the way of the Dodo. “You humiliated them, emasculated them! And for what?”

  Despite the desire to scream right back at him, I kept my cool. Instead, I stared into his mirrored glaciers and said, “They weren’t going to let her go.”

  “You don’t-”

  “Yes I do. You do, too.” I rubbed my eyes. “The only person I’ve ever called a friend is being held by my sadistic bastard of a father and those role-playing dickheads were standing in the way.” Breathing hard, I puked forth all the rage and frustration I’d been feeling at the one man I was sure could kill me without breaking a sweat. Didn’t give a damn, though. “A bunch of angels scrabbling for tidbits of power by throwing a rager Norse-style party and lording over a lot of disillusioned misanthropes like Roman emperors desperate to ignore the fact that the barbarians are at the bloody gates.

  “Those idiots would have wasted our time just like they’ve squandered whatever miniscule portion of their divinity they retained after the fall. No, I won’t suffer morons who don’t even try to act like the angels they once were.”

  Cain did some serious looming while Maggie bit her lip, afraid we were about to throw down the gauntlet.

  The oldest man in the world poked an iron-hard finger in my chest. Poke, poke, poke … “You, my friend, have lost all reason … and I love that about you!” His face split nearly in hal
f with the force of his grin. “Twice in two days you have managed to surprise me. Me! And I thought the world had naught else to offer to shake my equilibrium.” Cain leaned close, both hands on my shoulder. “You are dangerous, unpredictable and that is why I reason that we may yet live through this madness!” With that he strode away, hands in pockets, whistling a happy tune.

  Maggie and I shared a look. “Is he always like this?” I asked.

  She shook her head and hooked her armored arm in mine. “I’ve never seen him this happy, handsome.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mike

  It wasn’t Boris who opened the door to my closet. Instead a statuesque brunette with a chip the size of the Chrysler building on her shoulder stood in the doorway skewering me with her eyes. The line of her sleek black body suit was spoiled by all the weapons Velcro-ed in strategic locations and suspicious bulges that indicated she had still more pocketed away.

  Great … Annabeth.

  “Get up, priest,” she huffed.

  “Where’s the Russian?”

  Apparently she didn’t care for my attitude because the next thing I knew there was a strange, bulky looking knife pointed between my eyes. It had to be one of Burke’s repeating ballistic knives.

  Intrigued, I rose unsteadily to my feet, wincing and hesitant as my muscles protested every movement, while my ribs, bruised, sent lancets of pain to the back of my skull. Stretching didn’t help, but I did it anyway, playing for time as I studied the woman. Annabeth, beautiful yet opaque, like the space between the stars. Black hair cut to a page-boy bob, broad shouldered, well-stacked, but standing with an air of languid grace that told me her body, while lush, had been honed to perfection like a straight razor. Steel covered in cream.

  “Lay on, McDuff,” I said, teeth clenched in torment. At that moment I would have begged Julian for a Healing.

  A contemptuous snort, a wave of one slender but strong hand and we were off down the corridors of … wherever the heck we were, the thick pile carpeting and tastefully rich yet understated wallpaper testifying to the magnitude of the Sicarii fortune.