Requiem for the Devil

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “Very little makes me flinch.”

  “Anyway, it’s important to Gianna that I like the men she dates. Especially after her last boyfriend.”

  “You mean Adam?”

  “Adam, the nine-year virus. We used to be good buddies until Gianna told him I was gay. After that, he never looked me in the eye again. My very expensive and time-consuming psychology degree told me that it was his issue, not mine, but I decided to hate him anyway. I tormented the poor bastard almost to seizures—a skill acquired from being the oldest of four children.”

  “He’s been calling her at home,” I said.

  “Sigh through the nose?”

  “Exactly.”

  Marc peeked over his shoulder towards the ladies room, then turned back to me. “Gianna would kill me if she knew I told you, but please watch out for this guy. She thinks I’m overreacting, but the situation is more serious than she realizes. Did you know he’s been sending her flowers?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “Flowers, cards, little gifts. At least he was as of a month or so ago. He may have stopped, or maybe she just stopped telling me so I wouldn’t worry.”

  “She never mentioned it to me.”

  “She makes out like it’s no big deal, but this is turning into a textbook stalking case. As far as I know, he hasn’t been threatening, just pathetic, but that can change.”

  “Here she comes.”

  “I just wanted you to be aware.”

  “Thanks.”

  Gianna reached the table along with the waitress, who set a large tray of steamed crabs in front of us. We dug in, and I imagined Adam’s head under my mallet, cracking with the same gratifying brittleness of the dead crab’s shell.

  19

  Sanctus Michael

  “Morning.”

  “Hey. Sorry I’m late.” Beelzebub set a bag of bagels and two cups of coffee on my office’s conference table. “I go to the coffee shop, and they don’t have any french roast. ‘That’s not one of our specials today,’ the girl says. So I tweaked a few of her brain cells to change her mind. It wasn’t easy, since there wasn’t a lot to work with, if you know what I mean.”

  “So while you were in her head, did you—”

  “Yeah, we’re goin’ out tonight. Her name’s Betty or Betsy or something like that, I forget. No, wait. Ruth.” He handed me my coffee and bagel.

  “Ah yes, Ruth. The one with the nose ring, right?”

  “Right.” He picked up the snow globe and eyed it like a museum artifact. “Something tells me that’s not all she has pierced.” He shook the globe, shrugged, and placed it back on my desk. I moved it away from the edge.

  “So what have you got for me this week?”

  “Good news, bro.” Beelzebub opened his briefcase and pulled out a red presentation folder. “Third quarter financial statement. Read it and weep with joy.”

  I perused the document. If these numbers were real, Beelzebub was still a financial wizard. For all his excesses in his personal life, on the job he was as parsimonious as Ebenezer Scrooge. I couldn’t have asked for a better CFO.

  “Nice work,” I said.

  “Thanks.” He shifted in his chair. “But with profit margins like this, it’s getting harder to explain why we won’t sell shares.”

  “We are not going public,” I said. “I won’t kowtow to a bunch of whiny stockholders. Before we know it, we’ll have a board of directors who’ll want us to write a mission statement and adopt Total Quality Management.”

  “It means we’re getting noticed, though.” He took a sip of coffee and cleared his throat. “Maybe it’s time we move on.”

  “Leave Washington? And go where?”

  “I was thinkin’ Tahiti. We could take a little vacation, thirty or forty years, me and you and Mephistopheles. All we’d need is a mobile phone and a laptop with a modem, and we could still control all our minions around the world.” He leaned forward. “Think about it, Lou—sippin’ piña coladas with our toes in the sand, surrounded by a smorgasbord of scrumptious humans.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Send me a postcard.”

  “But, Lou—”

  “Things are too good here right now. We’re gaining so much power and influence, and we’re doing it slowly, inconspicuously.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Beelzebub pulled a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket. “Daphne asked me to give you this phone message.” I reached for it, but he pulled it away and read from it. “It’s from Washingtonian magazine, calling about their ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ issue.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “They want to know when you’re available for a photo shoot for their COVER!”

  “It’s good publicity for the firm.”

  “This is not being inconspicuous!”

  “You’re just mad because they didn’t ask you.” I pulled the message out of his hand. “I’ve decided not to do it, anyway.”

  “Please say it’s not because you’re no longer eligible.”

  “What else do you have for me today?” I said.

  Beelzebub sighed. “Invoices. Need your signature.”

  He handed me a small stack of papers. I only needed to sign off on the projects for which the others wanted no responsibility.

  “Are we turning into farmers now?” I held up an invoice from a tractor supply company. “What do we need with three tons of fertilizer?”

  “Duh, dude.”

  “Oh, right, the . . . thing. Of course.” My pen lingered above the invoice for a few moments. “Hand me a napkin, would you?”

  “Sure.”

  While his back was turned, I placed the unsigned invoice back in the stack of bills, which I then handed to him. “Speaking of combustibles, how are things in Hell?”

  “It’s swingin’. Mammon just built a new sauna in the west wing of Pandemonium. Lou, you really should visit once in a while. The demons miss you. A lot of the new associates have never even met you.”

  “I like it here.”

  “Especially now, right?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Beelzebub didn’t reply, but pulled an accordion folder from his briefcase. “We need to talk famines. Now luckily we’re going to get some help from El Niño this year, but Mother Nature always leaves lots of room for improvement. So I’m planning to ship a boatload of locusts to both Australia and South America to destroy the few crops that actually grow there this year.”

  “But—”

  “I know what you’re thinking: international aid to the rescue, right? But I’ve thought of that, too. I had Mephistopheles create a computer virus to infect the food banks’ inventory systems. By the time they get them up and running again, all the food and money will be diverted either to us or Saddam Hussein.”

  I put my bagel down. “You know . . . I think maybe we should wait to move on this.” I flipped a page on my legal pad. “Let’s table this discussion for our next meeting, shall we? What’s next on the agenda?”

  “Lou, we can’t table the famine item. Sure, we have some time on the Northern Hemisphere famines, but it’s already early summer in these places.” He held up the files. “We’ve got to get our agents in place soon, or—”

  “I said no, Bub.” I grabbed the folders from his hand. “No new famines.”

  “What’s the matter with you? Are you suddenly having a pang of conscience?”

  “Don’t use that word around me.” I placed the folders in my desk drawer. “I have my reasons.”

  “Yeah, you have one reason. A reason with a pretty little face and legs up to her eyeballs.”

  I slammed the drawer shut. “Don’t bring Gianna into this. This has nothing to do with her.”

  “Oh, really? Ever since you started ‘dating’ her, or whatever you call it, I hardly even recognize you.”

  “Why? I haven’t changed.”

  “You haven’t changed?!” He sprang to his feet and grabb
ed the snow globe. “What is this cheerful little piece of shit?”

  “It was a gift.” I snatched the globe out of his hand and held onto it. “So what? I’m still the Devil. Now I’m just the Devil with a snow globe.”

  “Lucifer—”

  “I thought this was a business meeting.”

  “Lucifer, you’re going to her mom’s house for Christmas!”

  I stood and loomed over him. “I told you that was an experiment. Why do you question me?”

  “Why do I question you? Because that’s the way you raised us, to doubt all authority, even you. To keep us strong, you said, there could be no blind faith, no mindless obedience like those idiots in Heaven.” He pointed at me. “You know who you’re starting to remind me of?”

  “Don’t say it!”

  We stared at each other for a long, tense moment, then Beelzebub smiled and looked away.

  “No, I take it back,” he said. “You’re a much better dresser.” He gathered up his papers and replaced them in his briefcase. “I’d better go now, if we’re finished here. Look, it’s okay about the famines. There’s always next year, and anyway, El Niño . . . whatever.”

  “Thanks for the financial report. You’ve done well. Looks nice, too.”

  “Yeah, we got a new color printer in our office. Too bad the reports will have to be vaporized.” He put on his coat. “We’re still on for tomorrow night, right?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “I was thinking . . . instead of going out, why don’t we just hang out at your place? I’ll bring a pizza, we’ll sit around and get drunk . . . you know, the usual.”

  I caught a faint whiff of innuendo. “The usual.”

  “Right.”

  I turned my attention back to the papers in front of me. “Right. See you at seven, then?”

  “Great.” When he was at the door, he turned and said, “I’ll also bring the entertainment.”

  After he was gone, I tried to compose a letter to the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee. Federal judicial appointments had been dragging lately due to political temper tantrums, and there were several judges I needed to have in place by early spring. Beelzebub’s hostility towards Gianna troubled me, though, and I needed to find a way to defuse it. To clear my head for deep thought, I played with my executive toy.

  My office door opened. Mesmerized by the swinging skulls, I didn’t look up, assuming it was Beelzebub. Daphne would have escorted anyone else.

  “Forget something?” I said.

  There was no reply. I looked up to see a man with translucent skin and iridescent hair towering over the center of my carpet.

  “You . . .”

  He curled a thin lip at me and seemed to grow a few inches taller. I flailed for my precious sarcasm.

  “You,” I said with a snarl, “do not have an appointment.”

  “I was just passing through and thought I’d—”

  “You’re never just passing through, Michael. What do you want?”

  The intercom buzzed, and Daphne’s voice squawked, “Mr. Lucifer, the Archangel Michael is here to see you.”

  I glanced at the speaker, then back at my guest. “Yes. Thank you, Daphne.”

  “Should I bring in coffee?” she said.

  “Is it fresh?”

  “I just made a new pot.”

  “Then never mind,” I said. Michael rolled his eyes. The intercom clicked off. “It’s the little extras that make a gracious host.”

  “And it’s the little insults that wither what’s left of your soul.”

  “Uh-huh. What do you want from me?”

  “You mean, what can I command of you that you can laugh at and do the opposite of?”

  “Am I that predictable?” I said. “Okay, this time I’ll wait until you leave to laugh. I promise. Please, have a seat.” I wanted to grill him about Belial’s alleged conversion, but decided to wait until he broached the subject.

  Michael moved as one who is not accustomed to gravity’s pull. He examined the seat of the chair before sitting in it, then picked several pieces of invisible lint off his immaculate platinum-colored suit. I rapped the end of my pen against my desk blotter.

  “Look, Mikey, I’m not getting any younger here. Shouldn’t you be out bringing good tidings of great joy or whatever it is you do this time of year? I know I’m a very busy little angel myself.”

  “That’s not what I hear, Satan.”

  I stood and tried to shatter his crystal gray eyes with my stare. “When you are in my office, you will not call me by that name.”

  He shrugged and examined his fingernails. “I don’t have to call you anything at all.” He spoke with a vague Oxbridge accent, as if he’d been watching Masterpiece Theatre to brush up on his humanity. “Do you think I enjoy visiting you, in your den of iniquity on this fetid little planet? I would not approach you if it were not God’s very specific command.”

  “It must really be important for him to make you slum like this.” I slithered to his side of the desk. His nose wrinkled. “How long has it been since you deigned to walk among the mortals? Five hundred, six hundred years? A lot’s changed since then.” I leaned against his chair. “I know this great little place on 14th Street where you can get your halo shined, if you know what I—”

  “It’s about Gianna,” he said.

  My sneer disappeared. I straightened up.

  “Who?”

  “You know who,” Michael said. “The woman you’ve been spending time with.”

  I picked up my Rolodex and flipped through it, trying not to let my hands shake. “Let’s see . . . Gianna, Gianna, Gianna—oh, yes, here she is. What about her?”

  “Stay away from her.”

  Beelzebub entered the office. “Hey, Lou, you forgot to sign this invoice for the fertilizer.” He spied Michael and stopped short. “Oops.”

  “Fertilizer?” Michael said. “Taking up farming, are we?”

  “Hey, if it isn’t Michael the Magnificent. How are you?” Beelzebub extended his hand. Michael didn’t take it. “Can’t fool you twice, can I? Ever since that time I gave you my own special brand of cooties.”

  “They don’t call you Lord of the Flies for nothing, Beelzebub,” Michael said.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been called Lord of anything.” Beelzebub glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “So, Michael, what brings you here? You’re not here to kick our asses again, are you?”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Michael said in my direction.

  “Right.” Beelzebub waited a moment for an explanation. “So why are you here?”

  “It’s a matter that doesn’t concern you,” Michael said. “It’s between me and your commander.”

  “Who? My command—oh, right.” Beelzebub stood at attention and shouted Marine-style, “Permission to speak freely, sir!”

  “Granted.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me Tinker Bell was coming?”

  “I didn’t know.” I guided him toward the door. “You should go now.”

  “And leave you alone with him? It’s not safe.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “What about this invoice?” Beelzebub said.

  “Sign it yourself.”

  “No way my name’s going on it,” he whispered. “You’re the only one who can stroke the FBI out of an investigation.”

  “Bring it tomorrow night, then.” I opened the door.

  “Fine.” Beelzebub waved at Michael. “Hey, Merry Christmas, Michael. See you at Armageddon.”

  I closed the door behind him.

  “It’s a shame,” Michael said. “He used to be such a delightful little cherub.”

  “He still is.”

  “What does he think of your girlfriend?”

  “What girlfriend?”

  “Don’t insult me,” Michael said. “We know everything. We see everything.”

  “You watch us?” For some reason, my mind flashed to the old woman o
n the Metro after our first date. “Why are you spying on me? You never cared about my personal life before. Why now?”

  “You never had a personal life before. What you had was a . . . a series of brief physical encounters.”

  “‘A series of brief physical encounters.’ You make it sound so clinical. But considering your paltry sexual experience, that’s not surprising.”

  “Every day I bask in the glory of the Lord. Nothing on earth can compare to that.”

  “You know what, brother?” I perched on the table. “I’ve experienced the rapture of Heaven and the rapture of fucking, and given the choice—”

  “This woman means more to you than the others. Don’t deny it.”

  “What makes you so sure?” I said. “Maybe I just like the way she tastes.”

  “Word is you’re spending Christmas with her family.”

  “So?”

  “With your allergies?”

  “It’s an experiment.”

  “Does she know you’re the Devil?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then you plan to tell her?”

  “Eventually,” I said. “Maybe.”

  “When?” He stood and approached me. “After it’s too late for her? After you possess her soul?”

  “No, that’s not what this is all about! You have no idea—”

  “Then what? Are you saying you actually have feelings for this woman?”

  “No! Well, yes, but—look . . .” I slid off the table and backed away from him towards the window. “I don’t see why it’s any of your business.”

  “I care about her, too, Lucifer,” he said. “He cares.”

  “Why? Why after centuries of silence, do you approach me now with this? I started wars, incubated plagues, crashed stock markets, and got no response from you or What’s-His-Face. Now you come to me in an uproar over one human being. Why? What makes her so special?”

  “You tell me.” His stony features softened, and he peered at me as if he were trying to see inside me. “I mean it. Tell me. What is it about her?”

  I studied his perfect face for an ulterior motive, but found only curiosity. “I don’t know, Michael, I—it’s just that I’ve never known such . . .”

  “Such what?” His voice dropped half an octave. “Such joy? Such . . . love?”