by Tim Marquitz
Dressed in black; jeans, T-shirt, calf-high boots, all topped off with a classic biker jacket with studded forearms and shoulders, he looked every bit the heavy metal badass. The hint of a smile etched his dark face. I could just see the points of his eyeteeth peeking out from under his top lip.
At his waist hung a short sword less than two feet long, its blade a deep crimson. Forged from the tip of the Spear of Longinus, the Holy Lance, which pierced the side of Jesus Christ, the sword was fearsome. It was said Christ’s blood stained the blade, and having met Longinus, I could vouch for that fact. I could feel the power emanating from it.
“And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral, or at least attempting to. I took another sip of coffee. He waved me through the door into the wide, Page 16 well-lighted corridor beyond. “I heard you had a runin with Baalth’s men.”
“News travels fast.”
Katon shrugged, his feral eyes peering at me.
“Any particular reason why?”
“They were looking for Scarlett. It seems she made a bit of a mess at the railyards. I’m sure you saw all that on the news.”
He nodded. “No other reason?”
I stopped and tossed my cup into a nearby trash can, its taste suddenly bitter, then turned to face him. “Why the twenty questions?” I didn’t like challenging the guy, but I didn’t appreciate the attitude.
He turned to me, his face cold, emotionless.
“There’s a lot of chatter about Asmoday ramping up to take a shot at Baalth. I was just wondering if his men brought it up.”
“Why would they?”
“You and Baalth have a history,” he stated bluntly, staring at me the whole time. “I thought he might be looking to cash in some old favors, what with him saving your life and all.”
I felt my anger boil up to color my cheeks. “He may have saved my life an eternity ago, but I sure as shit don’t owe him anything.” I took a step closer against my better judgment. “Are you questioning my loyalty?”
“You are part devil.”
He had me there“But to answer your question, no, I’m not. I’m just passing on a warning. Keep an eye out for a play by Asmoday. The info I have says he’s got a surprise in store that’ll shake up the status quo.” He took a step back and waved me down the hall. “The last thing we need is another major player on the block gunning to be the next Lucifer. At least with Baalth, it’s the devil we know, so to speak.”
I started walking, only slightly mollified. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Abraham will fill you in on the specifics, but the goal is always the same. Support the antiArmageddon factions against the pro and keep DRAC out of the spotlight as much as possible.”
I nodded, my anger still buzzed at the back of my mind. We walked the rest of the way to Abraham’s office in silence. At the door, Katon turned to me.
“I’ve got a lead to hunt down. If I find anything, I’ll make sure you hear about it.” He patted me on the shoulder. I flinched. “Don’t take it personally, Frank.”
With a wink and a sharp-toothed smile, he turned and left.
I took a moment to compose myself.
Despite having lived for almost five hundred years, surrounded by death, I never once gave it much thought. But having Katon escort me in got me to thinking. In the old days, when God and Lucifer were in their places, death only meant I’d be recalled to Hell. No big deal in the grand scheme of things. I’d spend some time puttering around the Circles before getting back in line to be returned to Earth. Nowadays though, death was the end, even for me. There’d be no recall. No second, fifth, or tenth chance. I felt a cold chill run down my spine at the thought. I didn’t like the feeling.
I derailed my morbid train of thought before it could run off the tracks and entered Abraham’s office. The subtle scent of aged books hit me as I opened the door. I drew it in with a deep breath. I’d always loved the smell, so I took a few seconds to savor it. A devoted collector of the written word, Abraham had more than his fair share of great books. The entire back wall of the large room was covered with shelves of rare books, magical tomes, and various dictionaries and encyclopedias, in a multitude of languages. Even more impressive was they were all hardcover, not a paperback to be seen. Unlike the bookshelves, neatly ordered and pristine, the rest of the office was homey and cluttered. The oversized chairs and couch were upholstered in soft leather, dyed a deep burgundy. They were covered in a mismatched array of small pillows. Abraham’s oak desk was a disaster zone of epic proportions. Its face was buried under a mountain of files and papers, which encircled his computer monitor.
Abraham looked up from his desk and saw me standing at the door. He waved me over with a subdued smile.
While old in human years, Abraham had a vitality about him, which defied his age. His bright green eyes flashed with intelligence through his glasses, his balding scalp just flashed. He gestured for me to sit.
“Have a seat, Frank. How are you?” He peered at me over the mounds of paperwork as he gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk. I moved a multicolored pillow that only a grandmother would think attractive, and tossed it onto the couch before I dropped down. It was a day for leather, it seemed.
“Other than a mild heart attack at being greeted by your assassin, I guess I’m doing all right.”
Abraham chuckled. “You should know by now, Frank, if we wanted you dead, we wouldn’t dance around the issue. It would just be so.”
He had a point, frightening as it might be. I took what little comfort in it I could and let it go. “So, what’s the deal with Asmoday?”
He pulled off his glasses, setting them on the desk as he leaned back. “Word has it he’s looking to take out Baalth and has figured out a way to do so.”
Baalth was one of Lucifer’s chief lieutenants until the powers that be went splitsville. Rather than Page 20 giving in to the chaos caused by Lucifer’s departure, Baalth took advantage. It’s what demons do best. He left the Circles behind to set up his own little Hell on Earth. Entrenched in the mortal world, answerable to no one but himself, Baalth was in no great hurry to usher in the end of existence. As such, he often worked behind the scenes to thwart the proArmageddon forces while openly working against the Angelic Choir. That earned him enemies on both sides. Most recently, it had been Asmoday he’d pissed off.
“Any idea how?”
Abraham shook his head. “Not so far. We have Katon hunting down information, but Asmoday has been careful not to let anything useful slip.” He raised a finger as if suddenly remembering something. “We also have Rachelle out testing the integrity of the gates. She’ll be able to determine if anything big has come through recently.”
Rachelle Knight was the third of the triumvirate who made up the High Council of DRAC. Though human, Rachelle could only be described as otherworldly. Her tall, thin frame moved without effort. She seemed to glide, her head somewhere in the clouds. She always seemed disconnected from reality. Her powers as a mystic though, rivaled those of the angels. She was not a woman to be trifled with.
“What do you need me to do?”
“For starters, we need to do something about Scarlett.” His look made it clear that by “we” he meant “me”.
“It’s not like she’s gonna listen to me. She’s a grown angel who does what she wants.”
“I’m not asking you to put a leash on her. I’m asking you to give her another focus.” His words set my mind off on a tangent. I reined it in.
“Like an angelic hand grenade, you want me to pull the pin and toss her at Asmoday?”
“Crudely put, but yes. We do not need Baalth distracted by her misguided holy crusade while Asmoday waits in the wings. It also wouldn’t hurt for her to cause Asmoday a little grief.”
“Fair enough. What else?”
“I want you to pass this on to Baalth.” He slid a folder across the desk. “This is all the intelligence we have regarding Asmoday’s attemp
ted coup. Make sure Baalth understands the precariousness of his situation.”
I picked up the folder and shook my head as I flipped through it. “I’m all for leveling the playing field a bit, but don’t you think we’re going a bit too far by providing him with firsthand information?” I met Abraham’s eyes. “We’re playing with fire just by tolerating Baalth. We sure don’t need to be hopping in bed with him.”
“Our options are limited, Frank.” I could see the frustration on his lined face. “We don’t stand much of a chance against Asmoday as things are now. If he manages to usurp Baalth’s place, there’ll be no stopping him. Our best bet is to play the factions against each other in the hopes they weaken themselves, giving us an opportunity to take advantage. As it stands, Baalth is our safest bet.”
I hated when the old man was right. It happened a lot.
“I guess I’m playing errand boy.”
Abraham gave a crooked smile, celebrating his victory behind a mask of professional composure. “Be sure you’re fully equipped. If Asmoday realizes you’re playing Baalth against him, you could be in for some trouble.”
And the Understatement of the Year Award goes to…
I stood up, the leather of the seat peeling away from my skin with a perverse sound. I couldn’t help but grin. “I’m already in trouble. You’ve got little old me walking into the wolf’s lair to let him know the jackals are outside.” I threw my hands in the air. “This sheep is screwed.”
“Always the optimist,” Abraham chided.
“I don’t need to be psychic to see my future.” I rubbed my ass as I headed toward the door.
“One more thing, Frank,” Abraham called out before I left. “There’s a rumor Veronica is back in town.”
His statement hit me like a brick. I looked back at Abraham hoping to see a sparkle in his eyes, some indication he was joking. There was none. I hung my head and left the office, my skin clammy and cold, hands shaking.
As I headed off to face certain doom, caught between the two most powerful demons ever to walk the earth, all I could think about was that my ex-wife was in town.
Death couldn’t come soon enough.
Keep Your Enemies Close
A couple of phone calls later and I had a meeting with Baalth set up. Lucky me.
He agreed to meet at a rundown strip mall in Old Town, at the edge of downtown El Paseo. Even in this one horse town with a bum hoof, Old Town stood out, though not in a good way. The entire neighborhood was one short step from being condemned. The only thing keeping it from being leveled were the healthy bribes that flowed from Baalth’s coffers to the City Council. These under the table transactions also bought Baalth a healthy dose of freedom when it came to law enforcement in Old Town. The only time the police showed up was when Baalth requested their presence or the national news got whiff of something big and it couldn’t be swept under the rug. Even then, the residents of Old Town understood in the end, no matter what, Baalth was pulling the strings behind the scene. He was the law: judge, jury, and willing executioner. To paraphrase the Vegas commercial, what goes on in Old Town, stays in Old Town, usually in a shallow grave or hastily converted BBQ pit.
Full of rat-infested tenements, immigrant clothing shops, low-end car dealerships, and bustling pawn shops, Old Town was a haven for criminal activity.
Those who frequented the area were either crooks or victims, all too poor to escape.
I parked at a seedy pay-by-the-hour lot downtown and walked the rest of the way to Old Town, grumbling about the price. While the car belonged to DRAC and I really didn’t care whether some lowlife snatched it or not, I didn’t want to hear the endless diatribe about my carelessness. I’d heard it way too often.
Once on the strip, I pulled the hood of my dirty sweat jacket over my head and tried to appear inconspicuous, stuffing the folder Abraham had given me into my back pocket. Face toward the sidewalk, I peeked out of the corner of my eyes as I strolled down the walk. Harangued by the scads of shopkeepers trying to sell me everything from velvet Elvis paintings to generic prescription drugs, I pushed my way past them. I could smell the stinging aroma of green chili peppers being roasted nearby. It did nothing to hide the biting stench of the trash cans, which overflowed with rotting meat and decayed vegetables. Worse than either of those, I could smell the desperation of the Old Town residents, thick in the air. The cloying scent, like a losing high school locker room after a big game, stuck with me as I walked. Combined, it all smelled like Hell. I felt a little homesick.
As I neared the dilapidated electronics store where our meet had been set, the tinny sound of Black
Metal being blasted from an inferior car stereo drew my attention. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a beat up gray Chevy van driving slowly down the street, its windows down. I caught the gaze of the passenger as the van approached, his long black hair bouncing up and down as he mouthed the words to Emperor’s “Inno A Satana.”
He stopped singing when he saw me. His eyes turned cold and locked on mine. As the van rolled by, his gaze shifted to the mirror, watching me in the reflection until they rounded the corner. You gotta love the bravery of today’s wannabe Satanists. They still think they’re going to Hell.
“Forever will I bleed for thee, forever will I praise thy dreaded name,” I muttered, catching the rhythm of the vocal line as it faded away. I laughed as I wondered what those kids would think if they knew Satan had made up with God and moved on, leaving them behind. That’d ruin their whole world view.
At the shop, I put on my serious face. I had work to do. I pulled the door to the electronics store open and the sound of ringing bells cleared the song from my head. That was fine with me, I much prefer Venom anyway.
I glanced about and spotted a handful of tables and wobbly shelves covered with ragtag blenders and low-watt microwaves. There were a few old TVs and FM radios scattered about the shop, along with a couple of turntables, but nothing I could see was worth a damn. To top it off, a thick layer of gray dust covered everything. For a front, this one was real obvious. I guessed they didn’t have to try all that hard with Baalth’s money lining the local constabulary’s pockets. Corruption breeds apathy.
I looked to the counter and a short, fat guy wearing coveralls glared back at me. The sweat on his bald head reflected the sickly glimmer of the fluorescent lights. His hands were out of sight behind the counter, his arms wiggling. I was hoping it was a gun he was fiddling with down there and nothing else. Deep inside my head, I heard banjos playing. It brought a smile to my lips.
I stood there a minute before I realized he didn’t intend to say anything. “I’m here to see Ba-” I caught myself. “I’m here to see Mr. Smith.” That was the name they’d given me, seriously.
The fat guy gestured with a meaty thumb toward a curtained alcove at the back of the store. I gestured back. I don’t think he appreciated it. Without waiting for the limbed bowling ball to decide whether he was offended enough to get up, I slipped past the curtain. Beyond it stretched a narrow hallway that led to a closed door. I knocked and heard a muffled, “Come in.” I turned the handle and stepped through.
Inside the cramped room full of battered merchandise set on rickety shelves, a round wooden table sat in an opening near the back. Behind it sat Baalth. His flunkies D’anatello and Poe stood on either side of the door. I winced as Marcus pressed the barrel of his 9mm Browning against my temple.
“Make a move, I dare you,” Marcus growled. His attitude hadn’t improved any since the last time I’d seen him.
I could see his trigger finger quivering. “No, I think I’m good. Thanks.” I stood as rigidly as I could. Even though Marcus’s shot wouldn’t kill me, it sure as hell would hurt more than just my feelings. Disappointed, he pressed harder.
“You’ll have to forgive our rudeness, one can never be sure these days,” Baalth commented, sounding almost sincere.
The grin on his tanned face told a different story, however. Dressed in a high-dollar suit with
a fancy tie, Baalth looked every bit the Wall Street financier. Most demons did.
You see, contrary to popular perception, demons and devils don’t have horns and tails and run around wielding pitchforks. Well, maybe farmer demons have pitchforks, but it’s not the norm. We look like humans, as do angels. We were all made in His image, after all. Some of us just pull it off better than others. Take Baalth for instance. His sculptured hair and perfectly trimmed goatee lent him a look of professionalism.
His manicured hands and perfectly shined shoes just screamed out confidence. His eyes, on the other hand, said volumes about the cruelty that lurked beneath his innocuous appearance.
I kept quiet, letting things play out. Poe patted me down, starting at my legs and working his way up to my crotch.
“Easy there, Crocodile Dundee, that gun’s attached.”
The mentalist snickered in a way that made me think he was unimpressed as he went about his business. He slipped my. 45 out of the small of my back and snatched the extra ammo strap I had picked up at DRAC headquarters. Done with the search, he set my gear on Baalth’s desk and posted up beside his boss. Marcus just stood there pressing his gun to my head. He looked fit to blow a gasket, as usual. Baalth coughed and D’anatello reluctantly stepped back to the desk. He didn’t lower his gun, though.
“You said you had some information for me,”
Baalth said, getting straight to the point. I passed the folder to Poe, who handed it to Baalth. After a minute of reviewing its contents, he set it on the desk and raised his eyes to meet mine.
“What exactly do you stand to gain by giving me this?” Baalth gestured to the folder.
“Me personally? Not a damn thing.” I saw Marcus tense up, just waiting for an excuse to shoot Page 30 me. “But, as sick as it makes me to admit it, the world is better off with you than it is with Asmoday.”
Baalth smiled so wide I could count his teeth. I stopped at five. I get bored easy.
“So, what do I get out of taking on Asmoday?”
I stood there shellshocked. “What do you mean?”