Giving Him Hell_A Saturn's Daughter Novel

by Jamie Quaid

  I fell asleep after midnight and had nightmares of virgin space alien babies and blue blobs wearing diapers and Andre’s smirk.

  In the morning, I dressed in boots and leather and stalked over to my office, ready for bear. The place was considerably quieter than it had been the day before. Katerina must have given up her petition in the face of Andre’s threat to sell out. I missed the hectic office bustle. Sarah had said she was taking up residence with Ernesto. Jane had her kid watching a DVD of cartoons while she typed busily on her laptop. She glanced up and eyed me warily, but I had bigger things on my mind than arguing over her choice of jobs.

  “We’re about to be inundated by some very strange characters,” I warned. “You might want to take Junior to the park. Or over to my rooms.” I dangled my key. “I left Milo over there but he’s likely to escape if you open the door.”

  She handed me some press releases from the printer and began gathering her kid’s stuff without question. I really liked Jane. Had we lived in the same worlds, we could have lunched together. Maybe we would if I survived today.

  “The MSI project manager maintains he’s continuing with plans to build on Edgewater despite yesterday’s earth tremors.” Jane summarized the top release as I scanned it. “He says earthquakes happen everywhere, and the new building will be protected by the safest earthquake-prevention techniques available.”

  “He doesn’t mention their CEO checking into a mental ward?” I asked meanly, wishing I’d been around when the green-haired, lipsticked fascist turd had been brought in.

  “That’s not the sort of thing one puts in a press release,” she said, shutting down her laptop and hiding a grin. “I traded that snippet to a guy in the business news at the Sun. In return, he’s helping me find names of people who protest eminent domain and will start raising a stink.”

  I looked at the next printout. Not a press release, just a portion of the morning’s business page with the news that Graham Young, CEO of MSI had checked into a psychiatric unit after an inexplicable episode on the site of the company’s new medical clinic. “Inexplicable episode, nice. Wonder if rich sheiks grant funds to men who are off their rockers? I probably should have put him in a dress.”

  “Not PC, Tina,” she scolded. “You have no reason to believe all sheiks are bigots. Keep your argument to the evil you know.”

  I eyed her with interest. “Very good, Mama Jane. You’ll bring your kid up right. I’m heading into the cellar. If I’m never seen again, tell Ned to send my friends to exorcise Acme.”

  She didn’t look too alarmed. Jane didn’t know my propensity for recklessness. She thought I was just a lawyer with a strange sense of humor.

  “Better leave Ned a note if I’m moving over to your place for the day,” she said imperturbably. “Call me if the devil materializes on Acme’s roof.”

  Leaving a note was next on my list. As Jane moved her gear across the street and out of insanity central, I scribbled messages all over Ned’s desk. Give Schwartz the addresses of your divorced goon friends and have them arrested for shooting me and Andre yesterday, was just one of the many epistles landing in his in-box.

  Now, all I had to do was reach my objective without getting my head shot off. Or blown up, or whatever the Zone had planned for me today.

  I didn’t think it would do much good, but I shoved ear plugs into my ears to protect them from unearthly shrieks. I wished for a hard hat as I headed down my cellar stairs. Not that a hard hat would be of much use if a few tons of street descended on me.

  After yesterday’s earthquakes, I ought to rethink this little adventure. But a whole troop of goons with guns was on the loose and probably after my hide. I had no other way to explore underground without sliding through sinkholes and knocking myself silly. So the tunnel looked like my best alternative. I donned my motorcycle helmet and pretended I was going for a ride.

  I’d felt braver when Sarah had been with me, but since she’d taken up toting weapons, I figured I was safer without her.

  The cellar door was easier to open now that I didn’t have to fight the lock. Shouldering the tote bag I’d brought for just this purpose, I pulled out a weapons-grade flashlight and kept the beam on the ground. The timbers above me had been there for centuries. If they chose me to fall on, it was for a purpose. I could believe in Fate or karma easier than heaven or hell.

  It was winter outside but it was a nice spring down here. No bats flew out, thankfully. Maybe they’d all left by the holes down by the harbor. No Force shrieked. I was preparing a visualization just in case terror actually worked as well as fury for my weirdo abilities. If I could only visualize once, for a temporary length of time, it had to be effective and not release any more damnation-proof villains into the world.

  The tunnel sloped downward in the direction of the water as I’d expected. Yesterday, in the harbor, I’d had concrete under me when I hit bottom. I figured that had to be an abandoned sewer or bunker, but I couldn’t count on reaching it from here. I had to reconnoiter.

  Humming naughty ditties to keep up my courage, I flashed the light back and forth. I’d worn my biker boots, so I wasn’t particularly afraid of rats. I just didn’t like surprises. I bypassed a couple of rock falls where the timbers had given away. Yesterday’s tremors had probably de-stabilized half the territory.

  “If I sacrifice myself for nothing, do I get to go to heaven, O Great Saturn?” I asked as my compass showed I was walking northeast—toward the harbor hazard zone.

  Saturn, naturally, didn’t answer.

  The Civil War tunnel eventually ran smack into a sewer line. The odor wasn’t as strong today as it had been the last time I’d ventured into my basement. I flashed my light around the barrier and located a grate in the top of the pipe. I scrambled up and peered inside.

  The giant concrete culvert I was sitting on was filthy but not running water—probably because we’d cracked half the lines by now and it had been abandoned long ago. Deteriorating infrastructure didn’t even half explain our problems.

  I didn’t know what was supposed to be connected to the grate but once I removed the rusted iron bars, the opening was large enough for me to lower myself through. So I did. I’d have to buy new boots if I survived.

  Crouching, glad I wasn’t large, I checked my compass and took the direction that should lead me closer to Acme. As I walked, the slope leveled off and the spring-like heat got warmer, so I assumed I was walking under the business end of Edgewater.

  I heard a loud growl, sighed, and turned around to see Milo racing to catch up with me. “You can’t leave well enough alone, can you?” I asked in exasperation.

  He gave me a look that I interpreted as neither can you, then stalked ahead.

  Idiotically, I felt better for his company. The walls here were dripping and nasty. I had no real idea what I was doing other than looking for an escape hatch and avoiding spies. Maybe I could clean the place up and make this a permanent shortcut to Chesty’s.

  “You can see the blue blob, can’t you?” I asked Milo, just to fight my jitters.

  He threw a look over his shoulder, then raced ahead.

  “I need someone evil to damn,” I told my kitty as we trudged through the muck. My back was starting to hurt from the stooped position. “If I damned someone, I could make a wish, and I could save the blob and push the meteorite into hell.”

  He snorted in kitty language.

  “Okay, yeah, the meteorite could cure cancer. War machine versus miracle cures. Which do you vote for?”

  He ignored me and waited patiently beneath a hole leading upward. Had I traveled far enough to be past Chesty’s yet? I flashed my light on the ceiling and could see a ladder. So this was where the utility guys went when they dug into the streets. I swung my light forward, but the culvert narrowed and started going up. I really didn’t want to end up inside Acme or any of the other industries on this end of the Zone.

  I added my heavy cat to my tote and caught the lowest rung—above my head.
I needed to find a gym and work out more. I nearly pulled my arms from my sockets attempting to walk up the side of the tunnel so I could reach the next rung.

  With an oomph and a few kitty complaints, I finally got my feet on the rusty metal and climbed my way up. A manhole blocked the exit. Most people don’t approach a sewer from underneath. Oh well.

  I hadn’t been able to lift one of the blasted iron doors when I’d been on the street. I took off my glove and tested this one now. Hot, as if it had been sitting in the sun, but not scorching. Hanging onto a rung, I tried shoving the metal open with my shoulder and one hand. As before, it resisted my puny efforts. I was dripping sweat inside my leather but that was the least of my worries.

  I could hear voices above me. I didn’t know exactly where I was. I could be coming up on a mob wanting to play whack-a-mole with my head, should I manage to pry the door off.

  Milo growled and I gave him an evil eye. “Yeah, I know I don’t know what I’m doing. No rule book, remember?”

  But I had planned ahead enough to hope I’d loaded the street out there with friends and not foes. I’m insane, not stupid.

  I removed the earplugs, pulled my smart toy out of my tote, and hit a number. It actually rang. Maybe the utility guys had fixed our crossed wires.

  “Tina?” Schwartz asked on the other end.

  I tried not to let him know how relieved I was to hear a human voice. “The one and only,” I agreed. “Where are you?”

  “Where do you think I am?” he demanded. “Edgewater is filled with kooks, so I’m covering Kooksville. Andre just arrived, looking seriously pissed. Where are you?”

  “Did you arrest the gunmen who shot us yet?” I asked, resting against the ladder, probably not far from his feet if he only knew. Edgewater is short.

  “The boys are bringing them in now. We’ll need statements from you and Andre. Tell me that’s not a voodoo priest building a fire over the sauna we pulled you out of yesterday.”

  “That’s not a voodoo priest building a fire,” I repeated obediently. “Are the witches there yet? And my biker friends?” I’d had a really busy evening.

  His sigh of exasperation was deep and heartfelt. “I’m asking for a transfer.”

  “You may get it if this fails. Start tapping manhole covers until you find mine, please. I can’t hang onto these rungs and my cat and push at the same time.”

  “Manhole—” He cut himself off, realizing it was a stupid question. Schwartz was one very smart mundane. And he might not be a mundane much longer if he stayed in the Zone. I’d have to think about that.

  He rattled my lid about the same time I heard the fireworks shooting off.

  Thirty

  I saw daylight as Schwartz lifted the heavy manhole cover. I warily peered over the edge to be certain the popping sounds weren’t guns.

  Reassured that there were no guns in sight, I took the good lieutenant’s hand so he could haul me into the street. I’d come out on the far north end of Edgewater, past Bill’s bar and practically at Acme’s gates. Nice. I was still alive but had learned nothing of what we were sitting on. Andre’s deadline was making me a little frantic.

  “Your doing?” Schwartz growled, gesturing at the bonfire on the shoreline.

  Up here near the industrial park north of the Zone, only a large dirt lot separated the street from the water and the industrial park. The town began at the intersection to the south of us. My crazies were benignly occupying an empty lot.

  “Shouldn’t they wait until night?” he asked.

  “The boys like a little excitement while they wait,” I said with a shrug, studying the situation. The line of shiny Harleys along the curb easily explained the noise that resembled a Gatling gun. Firecrackers were the bikers’ toys of choice, the louder, the better. “They didn’t get enough fun in the war. Thanks for helping me out.”

  “What would you have done if I hadn’t?” he growled, marching steadfastly toward the bonfire.

  “I’d have had one of the witches curse you,” I said cheerfully, following him. “When Senator Dane arrives, play nicey-nice and you may be promoted to personal bodyguard. Those bikers are his guys out there.”

  Schwartz rightfully shot me a look of disbelief. I get that a lot.

  “Do you have any clue as to what you’re doing here?” he asked with insulting dubiousness.

  “I’m tired of fighting with Acme from the civil side, where they have all the power,” I said with a shrug. “So I’m trying another route.”

  “Sic’ing Hell’s Angels on them? That almost makes sense.”

  It did, in a warped sort of way. Except Lance and friends weren’t Hell’s Angels. Maybe I was, since I intended to give a few people hell before this day ended.

  As we traipsed across the field, I checked over my shoulder and verified that no kids were streaming out of the DGs’ homeless shelter to watch. Cora had warned them to clear out. Excellent.

  It was too early for Bill’s or Chesty’s to be open. No lines waited at the remaining saunas. Yesterday’s earthquakes had apparently scared off the tourists for the duration. Whatever in heck we did today should only hurt those responsible for the problem, knock wood. Of course, so far, it looked like only my people out there.

  I hadn’t invited the nuns this time. Those nice ladies didn’t deserve glimpses of the devil or whatever we were about to raise. Father Morrison, however, met us at the remains of the chain link fencing near the contamination zone. I introduced him to Schwartz.

  “I don’t think it is impossible for evil to inhabit the ground,” the good priest said solemnly as we progressed toward the hole Andre had created with his bulldozer yesterday, before he got shot.

  “I have reason to believe that the same chemicals causing the hell hole in the Vanderventer mansion have also eaten through the ground here,” I explained, looking for terms that a priest might believe. String theory wouldn’t work on him. “When we closed up the hole in the mansion, another exploded on the harbor. Hot geysers have been the only result, until yesterday.”

  Hands behind his back, the priest listened gravely. “But you’ve seen no actual demons?”

  “I’m not the demon expert,” I pointed out. “I have no way of recognizing evil other than behavior, and that’s a tough call, as you know yourself.”

  He nodded. “Well, I suppose exorcising a hell hole would be a trifle different than attempting to drive a demon from someone’s soul. Couldn’t you just close up the hole with explosives?”

  Here’s where I had to play verbal dodgeball. I couldn’t talk about blue blobs or space aliens or even meteorites. My credibility was on the line. Where was a good courtroom when I needed one?

  “We have excellent reason to believe that whatever is down there also holds miracle cures,” I said, choosing the easiest route. “That’s why I’ve called you in. If there is some way of exorcising the evil and leaving the good . . .” I let him extrapolate.

  He lit up like a Christmas candle. “Heaven and hell, right here on earth,” he exclaimed. “Is it possible?”

  Milo leaped out of my tote and raced ahead, obviously bored with our chatter. Maybe he communicated with space aliens and could warn Blue Boy to hide.

  Lance saw us approaching and nudged one of his buddies and before long they were all cheering and raising mugs of frothing . . . beer? Who knew? It steamed in the cold December air. Not absolutely necessary given the ground heat, but it looked good.

  “Excellent Irish coffee,” the priest explained in satisfaction. “Senator Vanderventer has been very thoughtful.”

  I was betting the boys were drinking something a little less fancy than whiskey and coffee, but I wouldn’t disillusion the good father if he was getting along with bikers in ragged leathers and even more ragged beards.

  Agatha’s coven gathered around the bonfire, warming their fingers on hot mugs. Behind them, their cauldron bubbled in a battery-operated crockpot. Nice touch. The older witches eyed the bikers with wariness, but the
younger ones seemed oblivious to a bunch of old guys. They were ogling Andre.

  Damn, I’d hoped he’d keep his long nose out. Stupid of me.

  I left the priest behind and crossed the rough turf to punch the smug expression off his handsome face. He wore a hat to hide the bandage on his head. He held up a cashmere-coated arm and blocked my blow.

  “Have you sold us down the river yet, punk?” I demanded.

  “What, and miss the floor show?” he asked, laughing at my puny attempt to hit him. “I have a meeting with MacNeill at ten. I can put it off until later if the spectacle takes longer.”

  I kicked his shin with my sewage-laden boot. The gabardine looked better muddy. “Make me do all the work and you come out smelling like roses and richer than ever. You’re a skunk, Legrande.” He may have saved my life, but we did that for each other.

  It was the morality issues where we clashed. If money was the root of all evil, he risked his soul by selling out. I expected better of people I knew and respected.

  Not wanting to damn Andre, I turned my back on him and went over to greet Doctor Voodoo. He was at least wearing clothes out here in the cold wind off the water, although they were little more than skanky rags covered in layers of herbal wreaths. He’d apparently brought a few of his students with him. They hadn’t got into the naked, headless chicken shtick yet, but their jeans and hoodies were well decorated with pretty colors and weeds, and they carried an assortment of jungle-type instruments.

  “You saw what happened last time we messed with a hell hole,” I warned him. “You really want your students at risk?”