by JJ Zep
Buster was now standing up in the boat, looking like the world’s largest trapeze artist. He started to turn towards me and it was then that I heard a distinct “psst!”
“Who said that?”
“Wasn’t me boss, must have been…”
“Psst!”
“There it is again. Is that you, Black? Quit lollygagging, it ain’t going to do you no…”
“Pssstttt!”
I looked down and saw a tiny red face peeking out from my breast pocket. Now, I’ve since learned that imps are shape-shifters, that they can alter their size and form and color in order to blend in with their surroundings. I didn’t know this then, but nonetheless I couldn’t have been happier to see Jitterbug.
The little imp hoisted himself out of my pocket and landed in the boat, instantly springing back to his normal size as he did.
“Evenin’ fellers,” he said, “Catch anything?”
The reaction in the rowing boat could not have been more pronounced if someone has tossed a stick of dynamite into it. “It’s Satan!” Freddie shrieked, “Come to drag me back to hell!”
“Holy mother of God!” Shep whispered and crossed himself.
“Mama!” Buster screamed and threw his hands to his face, as the boat rocked first one way, and then the other, and then overturned throwing all five of its occupants into the drink.
twenty nine
Earlier in the story I mentioned a bit of information that Doppelganger told me to keep to myself. Now is the right time for me to let you in on that little secret.
You will recall that as part of my training, I had to capture a sea monkey in a jar. Well, here’s why. In water, souls become liquid, and they show up as a bright spot of light, much like a firefly.
This is why I’d been trying so hard to convince Freddie to go out on the lake. The idea was that if I could get him into the water, I could scoop him up in my special SPAA Apprehension jar. The only problem was that my jar was back at the Paladin Hotel and I had my feet in concrete and was sinking rapidly to the bottom of the lake. I struggled to free myself from Johnny Black but it felt like he was clinging on (or maybe I was, the prospect of leaving Chicago and heading back to Hades was not a pleasant one).
It was dark under the water, and very cold. For a moment I was totally disorientated and then I saw Fingers, a bright spot of light in the distance, racing away from me to freedom. It seemed that my mission was going to fail after all.
Just then I saw a flash of luminous red and spotted Jitterbug, torpedoing through the darkness like a water sprite. He did a wide loop and cut Fingers off, sending him racing back in my direction. As I floated gently downwards, Fingers came hurtling directly towards me. At the last moment he spotted me and tried to apply the brakes but he was traveling too fast. All I had to do was open my mouth and he zoomed right in. He rattled my epiglottis and went rattling down my throat like a coin in a slot machine. I felt him buzzing around in my stomach punching and kicking and shoving. It tickled like heck and I swallowed a few mouthfuls of Lake Michigan before Freddie finally piped down and realized he wasn’t getting out of there.
By this time I’d come to rest on the lake floor, and I finally felt myself drifting away from the body of Johnny Black. I looked back and saw him much as he’d been the first time we’d met, his blond hair streaming in the underwater currents of the lake.
Up ahead I saw Jitterbug indicating for me to follow and I swam after him. We entered a cavern that narrowed to a tunnel and I had the same weird sensation I’d had earlier of falling upward. I felt myself rising rapidly and I could see lights above and in the next moment I broke the surface of the pool back on level U14 in hell.
Jitterbug had already crawled out of the pool and lie spluttering on his back, “You’re going to owe me for this, Blackwell,” he grumbled, “You’re going to owe me big time.”
Someone else was in the cavern too, and now Special Agent Doppelganger offered me his hand and pulled me from the pool.
“Did you get him?” Doppelganger asked, “Did you jar him?”
“We got him,” Jitterbug said, “Wait here.” He rushed off and came back holding an SPAA Apprehension jar. “Make your deposit in here, Blackwell,” he grinned.
“Right here? Don’t you have anywhere more private?”
“Don’t get all bashful on me now. Remember, I had front row seats to your performance with that hotsy-totsy broad.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I said, looking for a spot that might at least give me some privacy. I found a dark corner and filled the jar then handed it to Doppelganger.
“Not exactly in the training manual,” he said, inspecting it, “But effective nonetheless.”
thirty
If you thought that my success in my first mission as an SPAA agent would earn me a re-assignment, you’d be wrong. No sooner had Freddie ‘Fingers’ Finnegan been returned to his cell than I was back in the Accounts Receivable Department collecting unpaid bills from Elysium Realty and Pearly Gates Properties and Heavenly Shades.
I did however manage to break Leonard Pettigrew’s twenty-six-month hold on the employee of the month trophy, when I received the award for May. It seems Mr. Belial was delighted with my performance in capturing Fingers. It won him a wager with Mr. Abaddon.
“The way I understand it,” Doppelganger explained to me. “Belial bet Abbadon that even his least competent employee could do the work of an SPAA agent in tracking down and apprehending a runaway soul. The rest, as they say, is history.”
So there you have it. My entire mission was a ruse to settle a bet struck between two demons over a couple of drinks at Dante’s Tavern. Not that I minded, I’d always have Chicago and, of course, the people I met there.
Speaking of which, you may be wondering what happened to some of them. Well, Alice proved to be quite an astute businesswoman. With the twenty thousand dollar reward money she bought an old brewery that had closed down due to prohibition.
She started producing non-alcoholic beer as allowed by law. By the time the Volstead Act was repealed in 1933, she was well positioned to take advantage. Her Dodgson's Red Imp Lager and Dodgson's Blackboots Ale became popular throughout the Midwest and in 1937 she sold out to a major American brewer for five million dollars.
Mae, of course, went on to become a huge Hollywood star. You may wonder why you've never heard of her, but I can assure you, that you have. As was common in those days, the studio insisted that she adopt a stage name. I've been sworn to secrecy on what that name is, but if I were to tell it to you, you'd recognize it instantly.
Frank never did get to win Velma's heart. In fact, Velma never remarried and carried a flame for Johnny Black until her dying day. She even made him the hero of a series of best-selling gangster novels she wrote.
After Frank masterminded the arrest of Al Capone on tax evasion charges, his career in law enforcement really took off. He went on to become head of the Secret Service. Many of the procedures that agency still uses today, came from Frank's ideas.
Busy though he was, Frank still found the time to court and marry a Miss Beverly Milner of Hartford, Connecticut. They had six children, four of whom became peace officers themselves.
As for Johnny Black, well, I used my access to the Hades computer system to try and find out what became of him. I knew that we didn't have him at Hades Correctional, and I didn't find him at Underworld either, nor at Netherworld or even at Purgatory Palisades. As a last resort, as a joke really, I decided to check out Elysium Reality, and lo and behold, I found my old soul mate living it up beyond the blue.
Rumor has it he's been dating Rita Hayworth, although I have it on good authority that he's been seeing Lana Turner on the side.
Find out more about JJ. Zep, his books and upcoming projects at http://www.jjzep.com
Johnny Black, Gladiator
(Book Two of the Johnny Black,
Soul Chaser Series)
by
J.J. Zep
PUBLISHED BY:
/> JJ Zep
Copyright © 2012
www.jjzep.com
I
October is the performance assessment season in Hell, a time that all in the Accounts Receivable department, other than Leonard Pettigrew and myself, look forward to with dread.
Leonard, of course, is our boss Mr. Belial’s favorite, serial winner of the employee of the month award and undisputed suck-up champion of Hades Correctional. Me? I couldn’t be bothered either way. Belial doesn’t like me so I know that each of my performance metrics will be rated some variation of ‘crap’.
I’d been back in the Accounts department for six months now since my brief career as an SPAA agent had come to an end. My trip to Chicago 1927 was a distant memory and any initial hope I may have had of getting another soul chaser gig had long since evaporated. Instead it was back to the mundane daily slog of chasing down unpaid bills from Elysium Realty, Pearly Gates, Purgatory Palisades and the other providers of blissful permanent vacations.
“Blackwell!” I heard Mr. Belial yell, and I looked up to see him standing in the doorway of his office, tapping his hoof as he always did when he was impatient. At least his horns weren’t glowing, which would have been a sure sign that he was annoyed.
I logged off from my computer, grabbed my personnel file and headed for Mr. Belial’s office, passing Leonard Pettigrew on the way. Leonard’s somewhat angelic smile seemed inappropriate for hell, but I could see that his appraisal had gone well. This was only to be expected of course, Lenny had long since mastered the art of massaging Mr. Belial’s flimsy ego, and in Belial’s book that counted for much more than work performance. For example, all of us in the department knew that Belial has a complex about his short, stubby horns, and it was common knowledge in the company that the other demons, especially Mr. Abaddon, liked to tease him about them. Leonard, of course, had jumped all over this and Mr. Belial only had to walk into the office before Lenny would say something like, “Have you done something with your horns, Mr. Belial? They look magnificent today.”
By the time I reached Belial’s office, he was still bathing in the afterglow of having his ego massaged by Lenny for the past two hours. This was a good thing, perhaps he’d go easy on me today.
“Step into my lair, Blackwell,” he lisped in a voice that was almost civil.
I entered Belial’s cave-like office and heard the heavy oak door close behind me and Belial trip across the floor in mincing little steps. He slid behind his desk made of skulls that all came from the Battle of Nineveh (or so he had once told us over a few jars at the company Hogmanay party).
Belial shuffled a few papers on his desk. “Blackwell,” he hissed without looking at me, “My own personal Armageddon. Another year, another deeply inadequate performance, hey.”
“Sir?”
“I said, another year, another…”
“I heard that part, I just don’t understand.”
“Oh, you don’t, do you? Well, I‘ve been looking over your quarterly figures and…”
“I think you’ll find they’re among the best in the department, sir. If you look…”
“Shut your festering yap, bungalow boy! That’s not my point.”
“Well, what is your point, sir, if you don’t mind my asking? I think you’ll find that my figures…”
“Do you want to do my job, Blackwell?”
“No, sir, I’m just…”
“Then don’t presume to lecture me on how to do it!”
I took a deep breath and shut my yap. It was pointless arguing with Belial when he was in this mood. Already I could see his horns taking on a faint glow and his eyes flashing like hot coals in the dim light of the cavern.
“Your figures are not the issue here, I still haven’t forgiven you for the Fergie Vinegar affair.”
“But sir…”
“Shut up!” Belial screamed.
“Releasing a soul from hell just to get some vacation time in Chicago. Did you really think I would let that slide, Blackwell?”
“But, I didn’t…”
“You deny it?”
“Of course I do!”
“Do I have to bring in Leonard to testify as to the veracity of my declaration?”
“No,” I said, “I guess not.” Doing that would have been pointless. Leonard would just agree with everything Belial said, even though it was common knowledge that Belial himself had released Freddie Finnegan, or Fergie Vinegar as he called him, in order to win a bet with Mr. Abaddon.
There was a knock on the door. “What is it now?” Belial screeched. “How am I supposed to get any work done with these constant interruptions?” The knocking persisted. “Oh, come in, come in whoever you are! Just stop that infernal hammering!”
The door slid open and in stepped Special Agent ‘Dope’ Doppelganger of the Soul Pursuit and Apprehension Agency, or the SPAA, as they are known in these parts.
“Mr. Belial,” Doppelganger said. “I need to speak to you on a matter of some urgency.”
“I’m a little busy right now!” Belial shouted. “Can’t it wait?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Oh, very well. Blackwell, we’ll continue your inquisition later.“
“Oh no,” Doppelganger said, “Blackwell needs to stay. This concerns him.”
II
“I’m afraid that is quite out of the question,” Belial said, “Blackwell is a valued member of my team. I can’t just go releasing my staff willy-nilly, every time the SPAA holds up a hoop. I simply won’t do it.”
“I thought you might take that position,” Doppelganger said. “Which is why I brought this.” He produced a note from his pocket, written on the pink notepaper that Abaddon was known to favor.
Belial didn’t even bother reaching for the note. “Pulling rank are we?” he sneered.
“Not at all, it’s just…”
“Tell you what I’m going to do,” Belial interrupted, “I have a young fellow here, tremendous potential, tremendous. Leonard Pettigrew, is his name and I…”
“I’m afraid that won’t work, Mr. Belial. You see Blackwell here already has some experience, and…”
“Experience! The way I hear it, it was the imp, Jitterbug, who did all the legwork capturing Vinegar. Blackwell was merely a bystander by all accounts.”
“Even if that were so,” Doppelganger said, “Blackwell has put in some hours in the field. With the strikes at the moment we are seriously short-handed and I simply don’t have the time, nor the manpower, to train a rookie. Besides, this assignment calls for someone with experience in fencing.”
“Fencing? I don’t see how…”
“Blackwell was on the fencing team at school.”
This of course was untrue, but when I looked towards Doppelganger he was staring unflinchingly at Belial.
“Nonsense,” Belial said, “According to my records, Blackwell’s only extracurricular activities at school were the Chess Club and the swim team. Fencing? He has all the poise of an inebriated Cyclops.”
“I assure you that Blackwell is an accomplished fencer.”
Belial turned to me, eyes flashing, horns glowing, a scowl on his hellish features, “Have you actually done any fencing, Blackwell?” he glowered. “And don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“Oh yes, sir,” I said without missing a beat. “I can honestly say that I have done quite a bit of fencing. “
Belial seemed to concentrate very hard for a moment as he tried to detect any hint of a lie in what I’d just said. “Oh, very well,” he blurted out eventually. “You have me over the proverbial barrel, Agent Doppelganger. I’ll release Blackwell to your jurisdiction. But I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.”
“Thank you for your co-operation, Mr. Belial,” Doppelganger said, “I’ll be sure Mr. Abaddon hears of it. If you’re done with Blackwell, can he…?”
“Oh, just go!” Belial shouted. “Get out of my sight.” Then to me he said, “I hope you realize, Blackwell, that
I’ll now have to rate your performance down from ‘crap’ to ‘extremely crap’.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said and left with Doppelganger.
“That was pretty sharp, back there,” Doppelganger said as we headed for the Seventh Circle of Hell, where the SPAA had their offices. “How did you manage to outwit Belial like that? These demons are normally pretty sharp picking up on lies and untruths.”
“I wasn’t lying,” I said. “I really have done quite a bit of fencing.”
“You have?”
“Sure, I worked in my Uncle Jerry’s chain-link fencing business two summer’s running.”
“Good one!”
“Why exactly is fencing important anyway?” I asked.
“Because you’re going back to Rome, 44 minus.”
“Minus?”
“I believe they call it B.C. upstairs.”
III
We took the subway to Abraxas Junction, which was a station short of the regular stop. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to leg it from here,” Doppelganger said. “There may be some bother up ahead.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Just a bit of industrial action, not usual around here, come performance appraisal time.”
“What are they protesting about?”
“Oh, the usual stuff, more money, more vacation time, longer lunch breaks, better expense accounts.”
We turned a corner and could now see the impressive façade of the SPAA offices, a white marble building that seemed somehow to blend into the mountain-face behind it. The frosted glass front depicted a huge sandblasted rendition of the agency’s symbol, a firefly in a jar. There was a large crowd picketing out front with placards and banners. They were chanting something and as we approached I could make out some of the words, “One, two, three, four, we don’t work here anymore,” or something along those lines. I could also read some of the placards, one read, ‘We may be dead, but we ain’t dumb’ another, ‘Abandoned by Abaddon’, yet another carried the message, ‘To Hell With The Devil’.