by Dick Wybrow
When I turned back to the Actor, held aloft by spindly legs, his head lolled to one side, and he got a strange expression on his face. Doomed to his unspeakable fate, he smiled.
Outside, I heard an old man yell.
Then there was a brief shadow as Uncle Jerry swooped in—swooped?—being carried by wings that weren't his own. He pulled back his arm and thrust it forward, driving it into the evil Roomba and, incredibly, splitting it down the center. He shouted, "Ginsu!" and raised his hand in the air, then disappeared out of sight.
The Actor lay on the ground, a foot away from where he'd been a moment ago. Slowly he got to his knees. Then, just behind where he was kneeling, his contract still clutched in his damp, bloodied fingers… I saw something.
In the reflection of some black paneling, Sally was fighting off charging robots, but something was also in the air, swooping and diving. Uncle Jerry was being carried by—Angel! He's alive!
Again, my old friend shouted, "Ginsu and Ginsu to you too!"
But I could see more of the robots entering the area, coming from all directions, red lights bobbing along as they marched toward us.
"Sally!" I shouted and saw her dark reflection turn to me. "Shoot the Actor!"
"Wha…?" my friend asked, his eyes drooping.
"What?" she shouted back.
No time to explain, I shouted again, "Shoot him! Do it now! We're out of time!"
He looked at me, slowly shook his head, and said softly, "Razzie…"
Then came the hail of bullets, Sally growling as she did, and the Actor was flung back, the bullets flying around him. Some passed through his body. The ones that didn't landed directly in the ring at the edge of room.
These ain't everyday bullets. Each has a wee bit of hellfire in 'em!
When those hellfire bullets hit the ring, it burst with light, flames jutting ten feet into the air. The Actor had collapsed next to it, bleeding and shaking, and he looked at me, shrinking away from the intense heat.
"Into the fire!" I shouted. "Throw the contract into the hellfire!"
He turned, lifted his small hand soaked with blood, and flipped his contract out of his fingers. The papers briefly rose in the updraft of intense heat, hit the flames, and turned to ash.
The room around me darkened, pitch-black. I looked up at the turrets, which hung slack, their ends drooping toward the ground.
The Actor stared at me as a pool of blood grew beneath him.
I ran out of the room and shouted, "Angel, quick! We need you. He's dying!" Kneeling by my friend, I put my hand on his. With the other, I pulled some of his moppy hair out of his face.
He weakly spit out some blood. "This is better."
"No, man—"
"It's okay," he said. "I've seen… trust me, this is better." He closed his eyes.
I screamed and again shouted, "Angel, we need you!"
The Actor stopped breathing.
Above me, the lights dimmed, and I heard the snapping of what sounded like a flag. Then I realized it was angel wings.
A figure ran up beside me, kneeled down, and placed its hand on the Actor's chest. It was Anza. "Stay with us," she whispered, her dark eyes clear and fierce. "Stay with us, my friend."
The Actor lay still, and she closed her eyes, her lips moving. I knew what she was doing and felt a small measure of shame. Of all the troubles I'd faced recently, there hadn't been one time—
The Actor sucked in a breath.
"Dude!" I shouted.
Then another. He opened his eyes slowly and smiled.
We pulled the Actor to the side of the tower and propped him up in a sitting position. He coughed a few times, spit out some blood, then he looked at me. "This was your idea?"
"Well," I said, trying not to cry. "We were desperate. We needed Sally's hell bullets to reignite the fire ring."
"So, why didn't you just tell her to shoot the ring?"
I looked up to see Sally and Uncle Jerry on the ledge, looking down at us. Both of them were laughing, smiling.
"Woulda taken too much to explain," I said. "But yeah, that probably would have been better. I was panicking—my best friend was in trouble."
He chuckled. "That's some fucked-up logic. Don't ever try to save me again," he said and cleared his throat.
My motorcycle rolled up to us, its engine giving us a quick growl. I nodded. We weren't safe anywhere near the building. Time to go. But before that…
I turned to Anza, who was again standing. Her wings, yes wings, had not yet retracted. She grinned like a madwoman, trying to look casual about what had just happened.
"So," I said. "You're an angel."
"Cool, huh?" she said. "But now I'm going to have to tailor all of my clothes!"
I laughed and gave her a quick hug. Then I loaded the Actor onto the back of Bucephalus and got on myself.
"Hold on," I said as I gunned the motorcycle, and he gripped my sides as Bucephalus went straight up the wall.
Even over the roar of the bike, I could hear him say softly, "Best friend."
Chapter Thirty-Five
Boo took me and the Actor down to where we'd originally parked then went back for Anza, Uncle Jerry, and Sally. Anza was all smiles holding onto the handlebars. Sally was riding behind her, and our pilot friend on the carrier, kicking his feet out like a little kid. When they stopped, they all got off slowly.
Anza smiled. "I never have been riding a motorcycle myself before!"
"Well, to be fair," I said and hugged her, "Boo does most of the driving."
Sally raised her pistols at me. "You ever call her that again, and I will shoot ya."
I put my hands up and smiled. I looked around, searching—then up.
Uncle Jerry came around the bike and looked at Anza. "So, spill it."
"What?" she asked with a big, beautiful smile. Then she said, "I don't know. Maybe it was something that Angel was passing onto me when he died," she said then frowned. "Or maybe it was something I had in me. I don't know any of the rules. A rule book would be good."
"Who needs it, lady? You've got wings!" Uncle Jerry said and looked at her back. "I wouldn't arm wrestle with her when they come out. She's got a hell of a wallop. She punched through three-inch iron like it was nuthin'."
"Right," I said, staring at her, shaking my head.
"Which reminds me," Uncle Jerry said, pulling out his knife. "I think the guys that make this knife need a new commercial. Cuts through tomatoes, tin cans, and—"
"Evil vacuuming robots!" the Actor finished for him.
"Right!" Uncle Jerry said and wrapped his arms around the other man, briefly lifting him off the ground.
* * *
It took a few trips back and forth, but we arrived at a ranch property about fifty miles away from the FriendBook headquarters. Sally said she had several of the properties up and down the state, which she used during her downtime.
While not exactly a friend, Sally no longer had any reason to pursue the Actor, so they shared a beer while they talked by the fire. When he was half-finished with his, she pointed at the hearth. At her insistence, he threw it, and it exploded on the hot stone, the remaining beer sizzling.
I brought him another and patted him on the shoulder.
He was planning on leaving Hollywood behind. It hadn't been a tough decision.
"They're assholes," he said, words slurring slightly. "That's not even where the industry is going anyhow." He burped. "China. They're the fastest-growing entertainment market. I'm headed there, get in on the ground floor."
Uncle Jerry said, "Well, you've got the advantage."
The Actor turned to him. "Really? Is that a short joke, Uncle Jerry?"
"Nah," the old man said. "I mean you're very talented, man."
The Actor spun from the fire and looked at him, lifted his beer in a toast, and turned back.
Uncle Jerry turned to me with a big, devilish grin.
"You know, I'm told it's all about status… in the land of the rising sun," t
he Actor said.
"That is Japan," Anza said, shaking her head.
"Whatever," the Actor said. "But when I'm over there, I'll need to do a lot of traveling. Having your own pilot, that's gotta be a thing, right?"
"Right," Uncle Jerry said, nursing his own beer. He shrugged. "What the hell? I got nothin' better to do right now."
Sally didn't do much talking but let us know she was between jobs, so would be happy to take a load off for a while and we were welcome to stay at the ranch, but that welcome would be short-lived. Very gracious of her despite Bucephalus having taken to me and there seeming to be no way to change its mind. If it had a mind.
I looked over at Dan's wife.
"What?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Did you know? I mean, did you know that, you know, you were an angel?"
She laughed. "Part-time, I suppose," she said. "And no, this I did not know. I think maybe Angel had been… helping me."
Uncle Jerry crossed his arms. "I think they call that grooming."
I winced. "No, I don't think they call it that, totally different thing," I said. "So, this is you now? That mean you can't hang out with us sinners anymore?"
"Pah," she said, waving a hand. "Angel was a drag queen most of the time. Only a little bit of time, I would say, was he doing the other thing. He had a real life but…" She stared out the window into the darkness. "When someone was in trouble, I think then he helped. I like that idea."
"So, you're going home?"
She nodded. "Yes. I am thinking I should have never left. But I got… you know… spooked."
Uncle Jerry laughed. "Didn't you say that Dan was all hell-affiliated now?"
"Just his job," she said, holding a finger up. "But he will be getting a new one, yes."
"For now, though," I said, "you've got a devil and an angel living under the same roof."
"Part-time," the old pilot corrected me and sipped his beer.
Anza smiled. "From the start," she said and shrugged, "it has always been a mixed marriage."
"Ha," I said. "I think you guys give a whole new meaning to that term."
"What about you, Razzie? Where do you go from here?"
I stood to look out the window. Such beautiful, peaceful country. I could use some time to rest. What I needed, in the end, was more than a hundred thousand dollars to pay off Enrique so I didn't wake up dead one day. "I dunno," I said. "Maybe I'll go back into Radio."
The Actor scoffed. "Radio's dead."
"Maybe I'll go to Hollywood, see if I can break in, then."
He turned to me. "You do that and you're dead to me."
Then, the joy in me faded as reality came crashing back. I said, “I’ve got to go back into hiding. I still owe Enrique $173,217. Plus whatever interest he’s tacked on. I don’t—”
“Ah, well,” my pilot friend said, tapping his lower lip with a thumb. “I may be able to help you on that point. When me and Angel ditched the plane, I decided I’d earned a little bit for, ah, services rendered.”
“What does that mean?” Anza asked.
“Back at your place, I stashed a green case I’d been given to take to some guy down in Nicaragua or Guatemala. Some -gua or -ala place. It’s stuffed full of dough, so it’ll be just like paying that prick back with their own money.”
I nodded. “Win-win?”
“Something like that, yeah,” Uncle Jerry said. “So, Razzie… whaddya gonna do?”
"What about…" Sally said, her words easing out in a long, whiskey-fueled drawl, "you help me with my motorcycle for a spell? I can pay you. I got plenty of dough."
I turned toward Sally and nearly bust out laughing. "What? You want me to be your driver?"
She spun in her armchair, throwing a leg over the armrest. Pushing the tip of her hat up with one finger, she smiled. "Yeah. I hear tell that having your own driver is a type of… status symbol," she said. "From what I heard."
Laughing, I shook my head at the thought of me being a chauffeur to a woman who was contracted by Satan to hunt people down and fill them full of bullets, hellfire bullets.
I said: "Sure."
THE END
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Hell inc.
Chapter One
The wind gust hit me like a drunk stepfather, and I fell forward.
On all fours and exhausted, I struggled to keep from collapsing into the pools of rain in the long, shallow trenches time had clawed out of the dirt road beneath me.
The hidden beasts beyond the clouds were still tossing their electric balls to one another like some threat. I knew somewhere in my head it was just lightning, however, they now seemed content to limit their play to the part of the sky behind the dark man.
Naturally I couldn’t see his face, which was probably the point. Asshole probably thought it made him look cool or something, all backlit and spooky.
And I dunno… it kinda did.
Craning my neck up to look at him, I tried to pull his face, an expression, out of the darkness but didn’t try too hard. His was a face you weren’t supposed to see unless everything went real bad. Thankfully, when the sky flashed, all I could make out was the brim of his hat.
He may have spoken by that point. I don’t remember.
“Either way,” I answered. “I don’t…” I collapsed into a coughing fit. He waited until I was done, mainly because it seemed like he enjoyed watching me experience this very basic discomfort.
Maybe it reminded him of old times or early days. The simple pleasures.
Because it doesn’t seem like the Devil on Day One was all about burning souls for all eternity and all that. First morning on the job, he probably drummed up a couple hay-fever attacks, maybe someone got popcorn stuck in their teeth with no floss handy, a couple of light bruisings.
I lifted myself back off the road.
The only things that moved were his hands as they slowly manipulated the top of his walking stick. Where the stick met the road, there was some meshing or a bumper that stopped it from digging too deep into the Mississippi mud.
Then, I tried again: “I don’t know how it… works.”
Pitiful as it was, this made him laugh—an awful sound that trailed off into the sky, folding itself into a roll of thunder. This made the damp, dead grass tremble, and for a brief moment individual blades shed fat drops of rain; the ground on either side of the road appeared to burst with starlight.
Then, dark again.
“Seriously, man—” I said.
“Of course, you know how it works,” he said. “That’s why you came.” Silent for a moment, I could feel his eyes on me, taking me in. “What’s your name, boy?”
“I dunno… I thought you’d know that.”
With a twitch of his hand, he lifted his walking stick, and through the torrent of rain, I felt a dull throb of pain where my neck met my skull. It rose like a fever and then washed over me.
“Don’t fuck with me,” he said flatly, as if he’d just ordered a cheese sandwich or something. “Me, I know your real name. The names you had before you were born to this shithole, that is. Hell, y’all don’t even know that much. What do they call you ’round here, is what I was asking. What is your name?”
“Raz,” I said. ”My mother called me Rasputin. Named after some—”
“Shut up. Don’t care.”
“Got it.”
“
Raz,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Ha! That is one fucked-up name you got. Goes well with your fucked-up life, I suppose. And your fucked-up wife.”
My fists turned to balls, and this time I looked up at him, caught his eyes. I wanted to hit him. But I knew better. At least, I knew now was not the time. Not when I needed something from the prick.
That aside, who throws a punch at the Devil?
That seemed like a lose-lose scenario to me, so I kept my knuckles buried deep into the Mississippi muck.
The dark man let out a big breath of air, like he’d been holding it for a long while. It stank like he’d been licking a dog’s ass half the day, then ate a corndog found in the back of a refrigerator three months past its sell-by date and washed it down with some warm Clamato.
Couldn’t hit the guy, but I could at least rag on him. If only in my mind.
“Okay, so, me I’m not an accountant or anything,” he said, his words tumbling down onto my head, “but… I don’t have to be. Got a fuckload of accountants. Christ, we’re up to our collective assholes in accountants, truth be told. And lawyers. And more recently, corporate ‘brand ambassadors.’”
By the way, no joke, the Dark Lord of the Underworld, Satan himself, actually used air quotes with his long fingers when he said that last bit.
“Whatever,” I said. “Like I care about your overcrowding issues. Just tell me: What do I have to do?”
The stick went up again, but he didn’t strike me. Instead he said: “If you’d just— Damn it, your kind does not listen! That’s your big problem. Everything’s about you, you, and you.”
My arms were weakening, so I locked them to prevent myself from collapsing, but I couldn’t hold my head up any longer. Dropping it, my chin hit my chest, and I closed my eyes and listened as the rain poured down my face.
“Gotta check what it’s worth,” he said. “What you’re puttin’ up here—barter, right? That’s the plan?”
He stood up to leave, and I snapped my head to where he’d been sitting earlier. He was gone from the stump.