Jee was the only one of us who cared. Worried me for a minute. I saw her take in the pitying glances and eyerolls of the Greed boys, and she got a grim smile, and that was it. She kept her eye on the ball. Good girl. My teammates won the “focus” award on that round.
In fact we just plain won it. Greed was all show and no game. Cricket held back her “tall girl” tricks on Reg’s instructions, which I could see was killing her, but I think the suppressed excitement actually sharpened her game. Jee and Pog played like one person, and Beth stayed tight and focused to the death. We crushed Greed 103 to 8.
Then we spent the next three hours watching our real competition burn through the first heats.
We took copious notes. In Klingon.
That was Reg’s idea. Reg had asked me from the start if we were going to be spied on, and I had told him, “Of course. This is the Regional Office. Big Brother is watching you.”
We went over half a dozen ways we could conceivably compare notes and do our pregame and postgame meetings in private, before he came up with speaking and writing in Klingon. Thanks to the extreme geekiness of that community, it turned out that we could identify by name, in advance, every single Klingon-speaker in the RO, because of course they all belonged to the international Klingon forums and were well-known to Reg by their handles. That meant that, by the time the RO figured out what we were doing and managed to dig one their Klingon speakers out of his hellish cubicle slash mother’s basement to spy on us, the tournament would be over.
Meanwhile we were all talking wrinkle-head babytalk, because our joint vocabulary consisted of seventy-five basketball-related words and some curses. Between the third and fourth rounds, we ate our massive picnic lunch, which was ninety-nine percent of our luggage. Greed may have had the best shoes, but we had the best food. The whole gym sent us envious looks, and Team Gluttony, who had just lost to Treachery, was literally in tears.
“Report,” I said in my pidgin Klingon, once we had each bolted the first two thousand calories. “Best team so far?”
“Anger,” Reg said positively.
“Anger,” Beth said.
Jee nodded. Pog nodded. Cricket just looked round-eyed.
Reg was the one who noticed that the tourney was a team short. No one had showed up representing Limbo. It wasn’t until Ish Qbybbl turned up that we learned why.
Ish sat on the bleachers beside Pog, dipping into the picnic cooler and looking sweaty and narrow-shouldered, as if to downplay his association with us. Yet he seemed to be enjoying himself in a gloomy way. I was pretty sure he publicly acknowledged us only because he wanted to share our lunch. Ish was an office apparatchik through and through. All he wanted was a quiet life.
When Reg asked about Limbo, Ish shushed him. “They didn’t send nobody,” he said in Klingon. Ish is a charter member of the oldest running online Klingon-language game, qahoh!
“Seriously?” I said, breaking into English. “I would have thought Limbo would have great recruiting potential. Those people are barely dead. Some of them have to remember playing sports for real.”
Ish leaned close to my ear. “Apathy ain’t a circle of the Regional Office but it ought to be.”
“Nobody cares?” Pog said incredulously.
Ish said, “Limbo is for if you don’t know if you belong in hell or not. Maybe you didn’t break the rules, but you didn’t follow ’em either. Or if you’re not baptized,” he added for Jee’s benefit.
Jee looked at Reg and shrugged. She was brought up Muslim-slash-tribal-whatever.
“Who got stats?” I interrupted in Klingon.
Reg and Beth handed over their clipboards. I flipped through Reg’s while he flipped through mine, and then we put our heads together over Beth’s. Beth was uncannily good at stats. It turned out later she had done stats for her kids’ soccer and lacrosse teams for years.
The stats didn’t lie. We’d eliminated Greed. Treachery, our upcoming opponent, had trounced Gluttony. We all agreed that Treachery had the most tricks we wanted to steal and adapt. They tended to bend the rules a lot and seek forgiveness afterward. This was toughest on their first opponent, because it took the refs that long to figure out all the ways Treachery was cheating. By the time we got to them, Treachery would have shot its bolt and the refs would be watching. We hoped.
Beth and I chewed lunch and revisited Anger’s stats. Anger was clearly the team to beat. We wouldn’t face Anger until the second day, because the clowns who scheduled this thing had figured that Lust would either be the worst or the best team, and had laid the tourney out accordingly. Apparently everyone knew that we had called for the tourney. Hm, political, indeed.
Anger’s men were big and tall, like elongated football players, and they had tricked themselves out with tusks and tails and dunnowhatall manly frills. Anger also liked to add inches during play. There was no rule against that. Treachery did it, too, and they’d gotten away with it.
We just smiled. Of course we’d anticipated this trick already, thanks to Cricket, and had practiced all kinds of maneuvers to deal with it.
The thing that made Anger a challenge was that they had clearly practiced more than any of the other teams. They were the most competitive in spirit. They set up their own table across the gym. Their coaches also kept stats and murmured to each other when someone pulled off a nifty on the court. They’d run rings around Violence, who led with penalties and nothing else.
“You having fun?” Cricket said at my elbow. I caught my breath. Her eyes sparkled, and she had her succubus mojo dialed up to eleven, like the rest of us. On her it was overwhelming, maybe because I was used to being around the others with their war vibe on.
“Pig in shit,” I said.
“You look solemn.”
“I’m smiling on the inside.”
I reflected on this. I supposed it was because I was used to keeping a poker face for Daddy’s sake. A sudden gut-clenching fear spiked me. Daddy won’t like it that I’m out in front. I’m being noticed. I’m visible. I’m happy. And then Cricket’s thousand-watt grin warmed me, and I didn’t care.
I interrupted the argument about whether the freshly-dead from Limbo could have had a viable team if they’d bothered. “Guys. Heresy is up against Fraud,” I said.
Beth said, “Gamespeak only from now on.” Meaning, speak Klingon or shut up.
Ish sat around for ten minutes of Team Slut talking basketball in Klingon and then left. Besides, the picnic cooler was empty.
Fraud sucked, but Heresy sucked even more. Fraud had two moves, both of which we knew how to counter one-handed. Heresy took themselves way too seriously.
We realized that the Regional Office was so obsessed with its own internal politics that they had seeded these teams fourth and second, respectively. Their game was a comedy of endless posturing and shots flubbed off the rim.
This raised questions about what was going on in Regional Office politics. Was there another pogrom underway in the lower echelons of the Infernal City? Were the lower Circles just that afraid to win? Who cared?
We were pretty terrible, considered against the standards of say the Chicago Bulls or a college team. All these guys were worse.
We watched bad basketball, took notes, and starved for two more hours. Then we went home.
At the end of the day, we were in the playoffs. That was what mattered.
CRICKET
When they emerged, wheezing a little, from the Regional Office’s elevator into relatively fresh air on Chicago’s biggest financial district parking ramp, Cricket took a moment to be amazed and grateful that her legs felt stiff, but no worse than after a day of tottering around the Loriston Home. She helped the girls toss the gear bags into the van.
“I could eat a horse,” Cricket announced.
“This is Amanda’s day.” Pog said. “Where do you want to eat?”
Cricket thought she had never seen Amanda so happy. She noticed their teammates sending Amanda glances and smiles. Whether it was from b
eing nearly silent all day, or out of courtesy to Amanda, they didn’t talk. They just watched Amanda and waited.
Amanda set the mammoth lunch cooler, now empty, teetering on top of the pile of gear, slammed the van’s back door, and stood at the ramp’s outer wall, looking down at late night traffic on LaSalle Street and sniffing the evening air as if it were pure Rocky Mountain ozone instead of Chicago smog. She glowed.
Cricket herself shivered with glee, remembering the astonishment on the audience’s faces at day’s end, when the playoff ranks and schedule were announced. She had gotten used to the tusks and horns and bulging eyes of the demons who sat in the stands. By the end of the day, she could read them. She’d also noticed that their fancy demon bodies seemed to grow more ordinary, more human as the day wore on, as if hell’s denizens forgot to keep up appearances the more they lost themselves in watching the game. Oddly, they’d seemed to be exclusively male demons. And their thingies were...kind of small. They gave the team from Lust a lot of room on the bleachers, too, as if the girls had cooties. Huh.
Cricket was about to bring this up when Amanda turned and spoke.
“Let’s have a real picnic.”
“Yes!” Cricket exclaimed.
Reg showed his first sign of life after their long series of mindnumbing elevator rides. “Where?”
“What’ll we pick up?” Pog had her phone out. “I’ll call the order in now.”
“Someplace near water. I wanna go skinny dipping,” Jee said.
“You want to work out after all that?” Beth said incredulously.
“I want a bath,” Jee said.
Reg brightened. “I’ll rub your back.”
“Montrose Harbor, out by the breakwater,” Amanda stated.
Reg nodded. “It’s dark, it’s quiet, and nobody’ll try to bust Jee for swimming naked.”
“But what do we eat?” Pog said, her phone still in her hand. “Focus, people.”
“Cajun,” Amanda said. “Heaven on Seven.” She wasn’t smiling, but she gave off a joyful heat that Cricket, for one, could see shivering the air around her.
Cricket didn’t care who knew she was happy. She grinned until she felt like her lower jaw was coming loose.
“It’s Friday. It’ll be full of tourists,” Pog said. “I hate waiting around with those slobs.”
“Do they deliver?” Cricket said. “The one in Naperville delivers.” She had fond memories of the Heaven on Seven on Wabash.
“And what do we snack on in the meantime? I’m about to gnaw my arm off here,” Pog complained.
“We pick up some booze and drive out to the Harbor and get started relaxing,” Reg said. “Jee can get her bath outa the way.”
“And you can drag me off into the bushes afterward,” Jee said drily.
“Aren’t they cute?” Cricket said, elbowing Beth.
“Fine,” Pog said. “I could drink my weight in Southern Comfort.”
“Ew,” Beth said with more sympathy than censure. “You do have it bad.”
“Did anyone think to bring weed?” Amanda said.
“What do you take me for?” Pog said. She marched to the driver’s door of the van. “Get in. We’ll hit the Binny’s on Grand.”
Five of them raided the liquor store while Pog remained in the van, ordering dinner.
Cricket tried to grow herself some more strength so she could handle the case of Genesee Cream Ale in bottles. Every muscle had begun to hurt. “Wow,” she said to Amanda as they restacked their load in the back of the van. “I didn’t think this fancy demon body could get tired.”
“It can. If you don’t eat,” Amanda said. “Or if you work out like crazy. Or if you tire out your concentration.” She sent Cricket a nod. “You did good, roomie.”
Cricket swelled with pride. “Thanks to a great team captain.”
Amanda grinned.
Cricket hugged herself in the darkness of the van. She stank, she was starving, and she was surprised at how hard the marijuana hit her as the cabin rapidly filled with smoke. Her friends surrounded her. They passed Pog’s phone around, commenting on the dinner order. Everyone else stank just as bad. Cricket smiled, realizing she could pick out each person by smell. She hadn’t been this happy since a family party after her youngest step-granddaughter graduated college, twenty-six years ago. She mentioned this to Beth.
“Of course, back then, we didn’t eat carryout,” Cricket said. “A family deal where I didn’t cook? The scandal it would have been! I made my kishke for Barbara. She’s the one who graduated.”
“If anyone talks about food,” Pog announced from the driver’s seat, “I will expire.”
“Sheesh,” Jee said. “There’s a Popeye’s at Irving Park Road and Ashland Avenue. Five minutes. Keep your pants on.”
“And spoil our dinner?” Cricket said, shocked.
All heads turned toward Cricket.
“New girl,” Beth said.
“New girl,” Jee said.
Reg patted her arm. “You run out of room, I’ll eat your leftovers.”
“Never mind that,” Jee said. “What about the margarita question? Do we try to put salt on them out there on the beach?”
“Stop, you’re killing me!” Pog whined.
“Mix some up now,” Reg suggested.
Pog laid down the law. “We can’t drink in the car. Wait until we get to the park. Now that they have those bodycams, it’s not just a question of fucking the cop until he passes out.”
“I can make him come by touching him,” Beth bragged. “Four or five times. Whatever it takes.”
“I can make him come out his ears by looking at him,” Jee said scornfully. “And it won’t show on the bodycam.”
“What if the cop’s a lady?” Reg said. “Can I try out my demon chops?”
“Only if you want a broken leg,” Jee said.
“Yes, mistress,” Reg languished at her.
Cricket looked at Amanda, silent beside her. Amanda was smiling. Cricket settled back in the van seat, imitating Amanda’s long-limbed, boneless posture, and let the chatter wash over her.
Montrose Harbor was a big curl of landfill extending far into the lake on Chicago’s north side. At Amanda’s direction, Pog drove way out onto the curl to the farthest docks. There they parked and opened the back door toward the water. Pog mixed margaritas.
“What about cops here?” Cricket said. Her margarita was sour and tangy. She could feel her body joyfully soaking up the sugar.
Jee gulped her margarita and held out her plastic cup for more. “Number one, it’s after nine o’clock, so the curfew check has come and gone. Number two, we’re rich.”
“This is yacht country,” Beth said. “Nobody bothers people who drink here after hours.”
“That reminds me,” Jee said, and dug in her purse. “Take a pair. In case.” She handed around diamond earrings.
“You carried diamonds with you into the Regional Office?” Pog said.
“Everywhere,” Jee said. “Girl’s best friend.”
“I have proof,” Beth said.
“I went to a wedding here once,” Cricket said. “It was beautiful. Right on the water.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Beth said suddenly. “We could have had your Celebration of Life out here. Would you like that better? We can still cancel and move it. The Yacht Club here has an excellent caterer.”
“Ugh,” Cricket said, feeling a cold lump in her tummy that had nothing to do with ice or tequila. “The cancellation fee—”
“Pooh. We’re rich,” Beth reminded her again. “You like nature.”
Cricket sighed. “You had to remind me.” Ugh. She shook her head, then shuddered more strongly. The booze and marijuana had loosened her up until she could enjoy a really super-strong shudder. She tried that again, just to wallow in how good it felt. Get the buzz back.
Beth looked confused. “Remind you about nature?”
“I don’t think Cricket is looking forward to this party,” Aman
da explained in a neutral voice.
“Oh,” Beth said. She looked hurt.
Cricket patted Beth’s hand, “I appreciate all the effort you’re putting into it. But, ugh, honey.”
“Something has to provide closure,” Beth said. “Have you checked your phone lately? It’s filling up with messages.”
“I left it in the kitchen,” Cricket admitted guiltily.
“Especially from Sharon. That woman!” Beth clicked her tongue. “You have to have this reception. She’ll never let you alone to live your life—”
“I know, I know,” Cricket said, miserable. Real life, feh. Even after you were dead, it wouldn’t go away.
“How about,” Amanda said slowly, “we plan something for after the reception? Something fun?”
Cricket sent her an agonized look, feeling like a dog waiting for the chloroform.
Amanda turned those kind eyes on her. “What would you like?”
“Think about it later,” Pog said. She set her plastic cup on the tailgate, hopped down, and took a wad of folded bills out of the pocket of her basketball shorts, as a car with a delivery sign on the roof pulled up beside the van. “Dinner’s here.”
When the delivery driver had gone, they hauled their load of goodies off into the darkness on the northeast edge of the harbor’s curl. A maze of paths wandered through woods, letting out at last by the lake, where the shore was lined with a cement breakwater wide enough for their picnic. Pog took charge. Within minutes they were sitting on the cool concrete, hoovering up jambalaya, corn muffins, crawfish etouffee, hoppin’ john, crab cakes, chili, pulled pork, gumbo, fried oysters, fried chicken, fried catfish, fried onion rings, and some rather limp fried green tomatoes. Jee took a break and dove into the black water, and when she came out, dripping and glinting like a seal woman in the distant lights of the downtown skyscrapers, Reg wrapped a towel around her and led her away through the trees.
Coed Demon Sluts: Omnibus: Coed Demon Sluts: books 1-5 Page 72