That picture, of her smoking a cigar in front of Nick, almost made me laugh, but I contained myself. “Go on."
She stood and seemed to be trying to do a Nick imitation. “May I help you?” she said, sort of like Nick. She plopped herself on my lap. “Then I told him ‘I'm horny, Nick.'” She again stood and started talking with a deeper voice. “So? What concern is this of mine?” And she again sat on my lap. “I want someone sweet, Nick.” She stood, placed the cigar in her mouth, then dropped it to the floor, standing there open mouthed.
"Madam, I again ask you, what concern this is of mine?” Mabel returned to my lap, but this time curled up a little, like she might stay a while. “So, I said I want to go see Miles."
I sat there, with her on my lap, quite content, for a moment. Then my curiosity got the better of me. “Well, then what did he say?"
"Give him my regards.” She kissed me, really passionately. “And, here I am. Let's see if they have clean sheets on the bed."
"Yes, ma'am."
Mabel is so beautiful, so soft to touch; I was in a state of intoxicated delirium for the rest of the night. And, the next day, I awoke to find she was still snuggled up with me. I was a very happy fellow.
That never lasts for long.
"Miles, there's something you should know,” she whispered.
"What's that?"
"Well, there's some Indian woman climbing up the rain gutter, outside."
That jolted me back to reality. “What?"
"You heard me,” she said. Mabel jumped out of bed and went over to the window, still quite naked. She opened the window, tore the drainpipe away from the wall, then let it go. I heard a horrible crash a second later.
"It's only three stories, she's not seriously hurt. Too bad.” Mabel closed the window. “It's lunch time, Miles. Let's get dressed. They must have something good to eat here."
I had to protest. “Lunch time! That woman's trying to kill me, and you're worried about lunch?"
"I won't let her hurt you, Miles.” She paused to admire herself in a mirror, then went over to her trunk. She picked out a white and green dress with matching parasol. In no time at all, she was radiant and ready to go. She took me downstairs and out onto the bustling Montgomery Street.
"Where are we going?” I asked.
"Just down here,” she said. Mabel could take me by the hand and lead me anywhere and I would happily go along. We strolled along for four blocks. Every person who passed by us gave me that same what does she see in him look. Mabel and Buffy had both told me the same story, they'd forget her very quickly. That seemed hard to believe, somehow.
I was suspicious of our destination. We were greeted by a Chinese fellow. This was what is known as a hole-in-the wall. At first, I was skeptical. I did not know anything about the dishes Mabel ordered, but I soon discovered they were absolutely delicious. My plate was quite empty. I had not known the food in China was so tasty.
She paid the fellow with counterfeit money, and we departed. After we'd walked a block or so, she asked, “Did you enjoy that?"
"Absolutely."
"Good. Let's get back to the hotel and go back to bed."
"I'm not the least bit tired,” I replied.
"Good,” she said.
At around dusk, Mabel was brushing her hair as she decided what to wear for our evening out. Then she slammed down her brush and stood. “Damn, that dreadful woman is starting to get on my nerves."
"The Indian woman?"
"She's across the street with a rifle.” Mabel let out a sigh. “I have a good mind to treat her to an eternity in hell.” She thought for a moment. “I'd probably keep running into her.” Then she smiled. “I know.” She snapped her fingers and vanished in a shower of gold and silver sparks.
A few minutes later, she opened the door and came back inside, dressed in a stunning red and gold dress. “Have you ever been to the opera, Miles?"
"No.” I looked out the window, but I couldn't see anybody across the street. “What'd you do with her?"
"I thought you lived in Virginia City?” Mabel asked. “They have some of the best opera singers in America."
"I never went. I wasn't there very long. What did you do with her?"
Mabel declared, “She won't be bothering us tonight, Miles."
I repeated, “What did you do with her?"
"She's on a ship, bound for Hawaii. Ready Miles?"
I kind of liked her solution. “I'm ready."
"Yes, Lame Elk won't bother us tonight,” Mabel predicted.
"Lame Elk?"
"Well, I guess that's her name. She seems a little confused about that.
She wants to be Lame Elk, but her people named her Green Flower, at least in her language that's what it means. Let's go."
"How do you know this?” I asked.
Mabel sort of bit down on her lip. “Miles, I'm an angel. We know these things."
"Sure wish I knew why she wants to kill me,” I blurted out.
Mabel shrugged. “I'm an angel, Miles. I'm not God.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Don't worry about it. I'll protect you from her."
I didn't really understand why so many people would get dressed up to sit in a theater to listen to people screech like strangled cats in some foreign language for three hours. Mabel told me it was an acquired taste. Well, I doubt that I will ever acquire it. I was surprised they didn't have opera in hell. Of course, they might. I never really asked. Mercifully, it was finally over. Then I realized we were not headed in the direction of the hotel.
We went inside a large saloon. “I don't think you had a very good time tonight, Miles."
I ordered a beer. Mabel ordered one, too. A piano player was hammering out a contemporary melody on a poorly tuned upright. “It wasn't that bad,” I declared.
"You're sweet, Miles.” She slammed down an entire mug of beer, then ordered another one.
"Do they have beer in ... where you come from?” I asked.
"No.” She took a sip, then put down her mug. “It's nice to get away for a few days."
"I'm glad you could,” I said.
"Of course you are, Miles. I'm wonderful.” She finished the beer. “Let's go.” She tipped the bartender generously with counterfeit money and we started back for the hotel.
As we strolled along, I asked her, “Is there really no such thing as an otel?"
She laughed. “An otel? Miles, you ask the silliest questions. No, there's no such thing."
"I've stayed in them,” I pointed out.
"Just dumps, with missing letters on the sign, Miles. Wouldn't you rather stay in a nice suite like we have tonight?” Mabel asked.
"Well, I suppose so."
"Give me your money, lad,” some fellow demanded from behind me. I couldn't really see him very well, and he was making it a point to stay right behind me.
"Damn, first that Indian woman, now this,” Mabel snapped. “I'm starting to wonder about this town.” She turned around and grabbed a knife out of the tough-looking bloke's hand. Then she smacked him on the side of the head and knocked him out cold. “I swear, Miles, this town is really going downhill. It'll never be another Paris, not with ruffians on every street. This would never happen in Paris."
"I'll say.” I agreed, not that I'd ever been there. We returned to our suite. I sat on a splendid leather chair and tried to get my boots off.
Mabel came over and grabbed my boots. She had them off in seconds.
"Do you want to take a bath with me?"
"Oh, yes."
An attendant brought in towels and bath water. Then we both climbed into the tub.
"Miles, are you enjoying yourself?"
"Oh, yes."
"Good."
I suppose that most guys would wonder why this incredible angel was soaking in a bathtub with them. I didn't. She was here, and I figured I'd enjoy her until she left. And, I know Mabel and Janus might be regarded as fallen angels, but they'd both been absolutely wonderful to me. And, they were so bea
utiful, few mortal men could resist them, anyway—so I reasoned it was pointless to try.
There was one thing that kept coming up with Mabel, though. We'd soaked for about a half hour, when she asked me, “Am I prettier than Buffy?"
"Absolutely,” I answered, hoping Buffy would forgive me. I'm not sure if it was true, but that was the direction our conversation was going. “You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen."
She smiled. “You think I'm prettier than Janus?"
I was afraid this one might get around. Buffy and Mabel were unlikely to compare notes. Janus and Mabel were another matter. I tried to diffuse the situation. “I think you're about the prettiest angel I've ever seen. Of course, I've only seen three."
"That is not true,” she stated.
"How so?"
"You've met Death and Ralph, as I recall.” She splashed me with a handful of bath water.
"And, as I recall, you are much prettier than Ralph or Death."
She threw some more water in my face, then climbed out of the tub. “Did you ever finish that French novel?"
"No."
"Pity.” She took my hand in hers. “I think you're ready for some lessons."
"What sort of lessons?"
"Advanced lessons,” she whispered as she dragged me off to the bedroom. I never did find out what they call what she did to me, but I sure did like it.
I was so happy. And I was so comfortable. That's why it was such a start to wake to the sound of a sherry decanter lid being opened. And, having Death standing by my bed, that's something one does not get used to.
After my heart rate returned to normal, I asked, “Where's Mabel?"
"She had to leave,” Death told me. “She said to kiss you goodbye. If it's all the same to you, I'll pass."
"Quite all right,” I agreed.
"This is some place you got here,” Death said. “They've got four different types of liquor in your bar, so far."
"It was Mabel's idea,” I said. “I'm used to staying in otels, not these fancy hotels."
Death laughed. “Miles, you really amaze me sometimes."
"Where'd she go?"
"Back to hell.” He slugged down a substantial quantity of brandy.
"Some demon gave me a note to deliver.” He sort of gazed off. “Mmm ... Mabel.” He started for the window. “Thanks for the liquor, Miles.” With that, he was gone.
I decided to find less extravagant lodgings, so I checked out of the hotel, and paid them with Mabel's counterfeit coins, which they were more than happy to accept. She'd left me a pile of them. They really liked the twenty dollar ones. Still, the place was incredibly expensive. I had little left over. I came up with a rooming house on the Pacific Ocean side of town. They had a small barn for Paul, so it seemed like a good deal for us.
On the next day, I secured employment at a local barbershop. The fellow running it was a retired sea captain. He was of average stature, with graying hair, bushy sideburns and a handlebar moustache. Everybody called him Captain. Fortunately, I managed to get by my first week without drawing blood or getting any complaints of any kind.
My second week was not as fortunate. It started out all right, but fairly early on Thursday morning a wagon stopped outside. I'd had one customer and was sweeping up the shop so I hadn't paid much attention to the wagon. My boss was more concerned. “What are they after you for, lad?” he asked.
"What?” was all I could say as two men in suits entered.
Each wore a silver badge that read “bailiff.” The taller of the two announced “I am looking for Miles Edward O'Malley.” He held up a paper in his right hand.
"That would be me,” I admitted.
"Mr. O'Malley, I am a deputy bailiff. Judge Hastings has issued a bench warrant for your arrest. You will have to come with us."
"What am I charged with?” I asked.
"Contempt of court, failure to obey a court order."
I looked over a very official document. It was printed on very fine paper, and my name had been filled into a blank spot. It bore a signature and an official seal. “I don't know what this is about, but let's get it over with."
"Very good, sir,” the deputy said. He pointed toward the wagon.
I followed meekly along. They took me downtown to the courthouse.
We entered through a side door. I was placed on a rather uncomfortable wooden bench and told to wait.
After about a half hour, a man came out and told me he was Judge Hastings’ clerk and told me to come with him. I was taken inside the judge's chambers and told to wait.
A few more minutes went by, then a balding, portly man with a graying beard came in.
"Mr. O'Malley.” He sat himself behind a shiny, well-polished redwood desk. “So good of you to come."
"Didn't have much choice,” I pointed out.
He grinned. “True.” He fished around in his desk, then produced a file. He opened it and showed me a drawing. It was an odd drawing of a man in strange robes, who had the head of an owl.
It was incredible. “What the...?"
"You've heard of the Mayan? We don't really know a lot about them, I am afraid. They're supposed to be an extinct Indian civilization from Mexico,” the judge explained.
"I kind of recall reading the name. As I remember, nobody can read their language or something,” I said. “What has this to do with me? I'm a barber, your honor."
"Mr. O'Malley, this is most difficult for me. I ... I owe someone certain favors. That certain someone suggested I contact you. I don't precisely know the nature of your arrangement with him, but he speaks very highly of you,” the judge explained. “At least his representative does."
"Someone?” I asked. “You can't do better than someone?"
"Mr. O'Malley, I owe certain favors to a man who goes by many names. I know him as—” he hesitated as if it would hurt him to actually say it “—Mr. Mephistopheles.” He seemed to relax after saying it. “That is one of the nicer names he has."
I shrugged. “What of it? You know Nick and you've got a drawing of some bird man? What has this to do with me?"
"His representative said to contact you. So, I did,” Hastings explained.
"Was his representative a woman?” I asked.
He nodded. “You know, I can't remember. I can't remember anything about this person. Isn't that odd?"
"Indeed,” I agreed.
"Well, this bird man is going around recruiting native people to kill political leaders,” the judge said. “Another judge was murdered last week."
"Native people?"
"Indians,” he said. “The bird man is somehow getting Indians to come and kill political leaders here in California."
"How did Nick get involved in this?"
"I asked for protection. They recommended you, Mr. O'Malley."
Judge Hastings tapped nervously on his desk. “I don't know what to do. There are twelve officials killed in California in the past two months. All the assassins are dead. All of them killed some official first. Yesterday, it was the mayor of Oakland. Whomever is training them is doing a good job."
"How can I do anything?” I asked. “I'm a barber."
"I am told that, amongst all of these officials, you are also targeted,” the judge said. “Some Indian from Arizona stalks you as we speak."
Until that moment, I had not connected the woman from the cave with the judge's story. “Yes, that's true. Her name is Lame Elk. She failed in her last attempt."
"Where is she now?” the judge asked.
"I don't know.” I was starting to wish I knew more about Mabel's claim of shipping her to Hawaii. I also knew that clipper ships ran weekly from San Francisco to Hawaii—both ways.
"Mr. O'Malley ... uh ... you are not exactly a public figure?"
"I know that."
The judge put his file away. “I am invited to dine at the Officer's Club at the Presidio tonight. I hope I am not assassinated. That would really cut my career short."
"Am I supposed
to come along?” I asked. “Linger around outside?"
"Well, you were recommended,” the judge said.
So, instead of hiring a detective from Pinkerton's who might have some training in this sort of thing, the judge got some barber he didn't know to go with him that evening.
I drove his wagon with Paul tied to the back. I liked the idea of having Paul around, if I had to wait outside.
There were a few other drivers mulling about the club, which was a large two-story yellow house. No one seemed very talkative. So, I just occupied myself by wandering around the grounds.
At some point, I glanced inside. My so-called client was still alive, sitting by the fireplace and talking to some people in Army uniforms. But, it was someone he was not talking to that caught my eye. A familiar major sat at a small table in the corner, reading the Examiner. I found this both comforting and alarming, at the same time. I was so distracted I almost didn't catch a shadow creeping along near the delivery entrance—almost. A man in buckskin was trying to sneak inside.
I ran around to the window that was just outside where the major was sitting. I started tapping on the glass. He seemed annoyed, but the major came over. “Major, there's an Indian fellow who's just gone inside the back door."
The major nodded. He quickly ran off to the back of the house. One of the waiters took off running, as well. There was some yelling, then I heard two gunshots. Moments later, the Indian man came staggering out of the building. I stood directly in his path. I pointed my revolver at him.
"Halt!"
He pointed a badly shaking finger at me. “Ah Puch will rule over you this evening.” Another shot ripped through the night. It also ripped through the Indian. I noticed the waiter was standing behind him, holding a revolver. The major then ran up to the scene.
"Mr. O'Malley, you keep turning up every time General Creed is up to something. Are you sure you're not on our payroll?” the major asked.
Until that moment, I had not made any connection between the bony man and his little horse-stealing army with this so-called bird man. I just holstered my gun and shrugged.
No one seemed to have any further use for me, so I got on Paul and headed for home. It was some distance to my rooming house, and I think we may have made a few wrong turns along the way. When we finally arrived on our street, Paul started acting funny.
The Two Devils Page 13