Armageddon Bound

DRAC

Certain I wasn’t followed, I slipped into the alley behind the abandoned Plaza Theater, a cup of steaming, frothy goodness clutched in my mitts. I stayed close to the building to avoid being seen by anyone in the nearby low-rent apartments that faced the alley and made my way to the rear stage door. Once there, I grabbed the rusted handle and felt the familiar tingle of sensory wards, followed by the quiet click of the door unlocking. After another quick glance about, I whipped the door open and went inside. The instant it closed behind me I felt a gentle wave of mystical energy prickle the hair on my arms as the portal hummed to life. A gentle tickle danced along the nape of my neck as the humming intensified. A second later, the teleportation spell took hold, whisking me away. Less than a heartbeat later, I arrived in the receiving room at DRAC headquarters. DRAC, or Demonic Resistance and

Containment, was an organization that sprung up in response to the growing demonic threat after God’s disappearance. Though it was later realized the proArmageddon forces weren’t limited to demons, the name stuck. Founded by Abraham Solano, a psychic savant whose visions foretold of God’s disappearance, the group had since gathered to their cause the most Page 13 powerful wizards, psychics, and mystics the human race had to offer. Abraham would soon learn how big a mistake that was.

Only eighteen at the time of DRAC’s formation, Abraham had little practical leadership experience. Without thought to the consequences, he set about gathering the world’s magic and rallying its practitioners. For twenty years, he scoured the planet amassing the largest collection of magical resources and manpower ever compiled, in a single location. He would live to regret the last.

Not fully realizing the scope of what he’d envisioned, Abraham was caught off guard when the pro-Armageddon forces took note of DRAC’s existence. Drawn to the shining beacon of power, which was the organization’s mystical cache, demons raided the compound, laying waste to it. Few survived the attack. Most of the knowledge and artifacts gathered were stolen or destroyed. The organization shattered.

Wounded and ridden with guilt, Abraham would take another ten years to recover and muster the courage to reform DRAC. Nearing his seventies, he had learned the lesson of his past failure. The location I appeared at, just one of many secret facilities, was a testament to that.

Accessible only by teleportation, the receiving room was designed to contain intruders, Page 14 both supernatural and human, who might make it past the initial portal security. On the floor was inscribed a large silver pentagram, its five points surrounded by the empowered summoning circle in which I appeared. Set upon the walls were an array of defensive wards, each designed to handle a defined instance of magical threat. The specifics were lost on me. Alongside them were small jets that could fill the room with poisonous gas. Above me, the thirty-ton steel roof was held in place by highpressure hydraulics, which could be lowered to crush everything in the room. That part always made me nervous.

I stood there staring at the ceiling as I was assessed by DRAC security, my skin tingling from the scans. After what felt like forever, the circle powered down and a seamless door slid open in front of me. I waited for my escort, standard operating procedure, and looked to the door when a shadow blocked the light. My heart skipped a beat when I saw who it was. I took a sip of my coffee to hide my nervousness. Katon De Pena was DRAC’s muscle, their enforcer, their assassin. He didn’t do grunt work, so I knew something was up. I felt a chill run down my spine as I speculated the reasons for his appearance. None of what I imagined was good. I had to admit, I wasn’t looking forward to being killed. That would seriously ruin my day.

He could do it too. He was damn good at his job.

Though born human, Katon had long since become something else. Struck down by a vampire, he was rescued by Rahim Alakha, a powerful wizard on DRAC’s High Council. Unable to save Katon’s mortal life, Rahim evicted the vampire’s spirit and corralled Katon’s dying essence, installing it in place of the vampire’s. Grateful for the rescue, Katon pledged his services to Rahim and DRAC. He’d worked with them ever since.

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 attempted 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?”

My mind ran in circles, the hamsters trying their best to keep up.

“What’s in it for me?” he repeated.

“Your ass is what’s in it for you. Maybe you no speakie engrish, but I didn’t think it was all that hard a concept to grasp.”

Marcus growled and stepped forward. Baalth waved him back.

“Oh, I understand all right,” he countered. “I just don’t see anything in it for me. Asmoday is just one demon amongst thousands gunning for me.” He tapped the folder. “You haven’t given me anything I didn’t already know. So, why should I step up and fight Asmoday when I can step aside and let you do all the work then clean up the mess afterwards?”

I have to admit, he had me stumped. Despite all the time I’d spent around demons, it never ceased to amaze me just how low they’d stoop to come out on top. “I’ll keep Scarlett off your ass,” I blurted out, my brain finally engaging.

Baalth just laughed. “You plan to do that already. You can’t have her waging war on me because you need Page 31 me at full strength to fight Asmoday.”

I muttered a few unkind words under my breath. It only made Baalth smile wider and Marcus turn a deeper shade of red. “What’s it gonna take to get you onboard, you know, considering it’s your life on the line and all?”

“It’s all of our lives, Frank,” Baalth corrected.

“You keep forgetting I’m a demon. I have no problem with Armageddon coming to pass. It’s a minor inconvenience, all things considered.”

Even though I knew he was lying, it wasn’t in my best interest to call him on it. “Fine. So, what do you want?”

“I’m thinking a favor, to be collected at a later date.”

Damn demons. It’s always about the favors. Spend enough time around these guys and you’ll owe them your nuts, if you’re lucky. “I don’t think that’s gonna work. I guess we’re done.” I turned and stormed toward the door.

“Such theatrics. I’m sure we can work something out, Triggaltheron.”

I hated when demons used my given name. It made me feel all icky inside, like I had a bad case of worms. I turned back and glared at Baalth.

“Come now, it’ll be a minor favor. I won’t ask you to betray your comrades or anything of that nature,”

Baalth cooed. “Imagine how disappointed Abraham will be when you return to DRAC empty-handed.”

I could. “You’re a bastard.” I stuck my hand out for the contract.

As cliched as it seemed, contracts were what brought order to the chaos of the Demonarch, the demon world. Signed in blood, a contract between demons or devils was as binding as they came. Fail to meet the terms of the deal and your soul was forfeit, its energy devoured and added to that of the contract holder.

To a demon the level of Baalth, these little deals were more of a formality than a means to gaining true power. My soul to him was like a drop in a bucket when it came to magical energy. But for the little guys like me, these deals were like playing the lottery. While the offer was always stacked in the favor of the dealmaker, the contract worked both ways. If the contract holder defaulted, the signatory had every right to claim the holder’s soul and all the power that came with it. That was the hope that burgeoned every time I signed one of these damn things. With that kind of energy, I’d finally be able to cast magic just like the rest of the big boys. Baalth pulled a sheaf of papers from a desk drawer and passed them to Poe. He in turn handed them to me. I sighed as I looked them over, the text as obscure and legally confusing as any written by the most sadistic of human lawyers. Fortunately, I’d seen my fair share of demonic contracts. While far from ideal-they never were-the terms of the agreement were just what Baalth had laid out. I could live with them.

I growled, then bit the palm of my hand until it bled. Once I had a little pool going, I bent my wrist to let it run down across my fingers. I flipped my hand over and pressed it down on the contract, making sure I left a clear mark. Once I was done, Poe took the signed contract and handed me a small towel. I used it to clean off the remaining blood, the wound already closing.

“Then we are agreed,” Baalth said as he took possession of the contract.

I nodded. At least I got what I came for, no matter how much I’ll likely regret it later. “Pleasure gettin’ fucked by you.” Ready to go, I pointed to my gear. “Mind passing me my piece?”

Marcus laughed. I noticed he did that a lot when he had the upper hand. It was kind of petty. Baalth picked my gun up and examined it. “No, I think I’m going to hang onto it, just to be on the safe side.” He winked at me.

“You motherfu-” The word caught in my throat as Baalth pointed my gun at me.

I hadn’t wanted to get shot by Marcus because it’d hurt, plain and simple. But I’d survive it. That wouldn’t be the case if Baalth shot me. Unlike Marcus’s bullets, mine weren’t made by humans. Crafted by a lesser angel and demon pair in the employ of DRAC, each was empowered with a drop of holy and unholy blood. Blessed and cursed, this made the bullets anathematic to angels, demons, and devil alike. In layman’s terms, they’d blast a big hole in me that I couldn’t heal without magical assistance. As it stood, I was perfectly content with the holes I already had.

“No need for violence. You can keep it.” I raised my hands and took a step back. I did my best to smile and look gracious. I doubt I was very successful. I could picture myself looking like Johnny Depp in those pirate movies of his, only not quite so swishy. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing against effeminate men, but seriously, a pretty little fellow like that has got to be careful. One minute it’s Pirates of the Caribbean, the next it’s Sodomy on the Bounty, know what I mean? Besides, how are you gonna swing a sword effectively with wrists like that?

“How generous of you,” Marcus barked, snapping me back to reality as he pointed to the door.

“Time to go, Trigg.”

I looked to Baalth who just nodded. So, with no reason to hang around and risk making things worse, I headed for the exit. At the door, I pulled it open and started through. Baalth called to me as I did.

“Any word from your uncle?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Why? You worried I’m gonna tell on you?”

“Hardly. I’m just curious to know if he’s been in touch.”

“Have no doubt, if Lucifer were to return, you’d be one of the very first to know. I’d make sure of that.”

I left it at that and slammed the door behind me. I walked swiftly down the hall and slipped past the curtain. The fat shopkeeper glared at me as I made my way out the front door. I ignored him. Once outside, I let loose a whistling sigh. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath.

Wanting to put some distance between Baalth and myself, I crossed the street and headed a couple of blocks over. I wanted to avoid the shopkeepers as well. Alone on a deserted side street, I finally relaxed a bit as I headed toward downtown to retrieve my car. That’s when I heard the muffled sound of a vehicle coming up from behind, moving too slow to be passing traffic. I spun around to see a gray van idling a short distance down the street, a long-haired guy at the wheel. The side door had been pulled open and two more longhairs crouched inside and though the music had been turned down, I could still hear the muffled thunder of metal. It was Deicide this time. How ironic.

I met the gazes of the crouching Black Metallers as they neared. There was mischief in their gaunt faces. I shook my head and slowed my pace. If they were here to play, I was in the mood to oblige them.

Blast from the Past

I stopped as the van pulled up on my left side. I turned to face the longhairs with a smile.

“Something I can do for you boys?”

The two in the back hopped out as the driver put the van in park and stepped out, moving around the hood to join his friends. They all looked the same, with their black biker jackets covered in spikes and satanic patches. Each had on a different concert T-shirt proudly proclaiming their lack of Christian ethics, and each wore too tight black jeans with steel-toed stomper boots. They also wore the same slightly pointed goatee and narrow mustache. It was hard to tell them apart. Individualism gone astray.

“Eenie, Meenie, and Meinie.” I counted them out. “Where’s Moe?”

Their only response was to smile; a trinity of yellowed grins, which would have made any selfrespecting dentist cringe. Before I could say anything else, the driver pulled a boot knife out and took a step toward me, waving the blade. His friends retrieved their weapons from inside the back of the van. The first pulled out a short sword, the second a small spear. They joined the first in his advance.

It was my turn to laugh. “C’mon guys, you really want to do this? Trust me when I say Satan isn’t going to be impressed.”

Eenie, the driver, responded with violence. He lunged in and slashed at my chest. Instinct took over. I whipped my arm up to block the shot, catching the blade flush on my forearm as I prepared my counter. I felt the blade bite into my flesh. I had expected that. What I didn’t expect was how much it hurt. I heard a sizzle as the knife cut into me. A searing pain shot up the length of my arm, all the way to my shoulder. Flashes of light danced before my eyes. I stumbled back, clutching my arm as the driver stood there laughing. I hadn’t paid any mind to the weapon when he’d waved it in my face, but now all of my attention was focused on it. It was no ordinary knife. Carved down the length of the blade were runes, symbols of power. I looked at the other weapons and they too, had runes set into them. I realized this wasn’t just some random act of violence. It was a hit.

“Who sent you?” I asked, stalling for time. It sure would have been nice to have my gun. Fucking Baalth. Eenie took a step closer, ignoring the question. He waved Meenie and Meinie forward. “Kill him!”

Shit! I pushed away the pain and moved into the street toward the back of the van, hoping to put its bulk between us to slow their advance. I reached it just as Meinie thrust his spear at me. I sucked my stomach in and the point just missed hitting home, tearing a gash in my hoodie. In response, I pinned its shaft to the hood, then threw a right hook. Meinie turned his head just in time to avoid getting hit on the chin, but I caught him hard on the ear.

He fell into his buddies, blocking their approach, though he managed to pull his spear free. As it slid past, the blade caught my hand, slicing deep into the palm. I cried out as I felt its magic burning its way through my veins.

I fought back the urge to vomit and stumbled around the back of the van. Meinie sat in the street shaking his head to clear it while Eenie circled around the hood of the van to approach me from the driver’s side. Meanwhile, Meenie timed his advance so he and Eenie could come at me from both sides at the same time. Unarmed and wounded, things didn’t look good for me. I looked down the deserted business street, but there was no way I could make it around the corner before they were on me.

The two longhairs closed in as my mind scrambled to think of a way out. I stared straight at the van’s double doors as I watched the two in my peripheral vision. Just then, an idea sprang to mind. As they reached the back of the van, I leaned forward and grabbed the latch of the back door. Fortunately for me, it was unlocked. I popped it open and swung it to my left with all my might. The door slammed into Eenie with a resounding thud. He crumpled. One down. I spun to face Meenie, but he was faster. I heard the whistle of the short sword right before it struck me. I bit back my scream as the blade cut a quarter-inch deep groove down the length of my spine. I was lucky. Had Meenie been an experienced swordsman instead of just some Dungeons and Dragons wannabe, I’d have been dead.

Not interested in giving him another chance to get it right, I spun on him. I locked up his sword arm and used my weight to swing him around and slam him into the closed back door of the van. In tight, I managed to get one of my hands on his neck, my fingers locking around his throat. I kicked his feet out from underneath him and rode his skull into the bumper, putting all two hundred fifty pounds of my weight into it. It hit with a sickening thump. I saw his eyes roll back in his head as his body went limp.

Before I had a chance to grab the sword, Meinie charged at me. I stepped out of the way and matadored him past me, using his own momentum against him. He tumbled into a roll and got to his feet. I chose the better part of valor as I heard Eenie moaning behind me as he crept to his feet. I bolted around the open back door, past the slow-rising Eenie, and ran to the front of the van. Meinie realized what I intended and let out a string of creative curses as he raced after me. Not waiting for him to catch up, I slipped into the driver’s seat and let out a hysterical laugh when I found the keys still in the ignition. I turned it over and the van roared to life. I popped it into gear and stomped the gas. The wheels dug in with a squeal and the van shot down the road. It just wasn’t quick enough for a clean getaway.

Meinie caught the edge of the sliding door and managed to get his feet onto the small step below it, coming along for the ride. I could see his deranged grin in the passenger side mirror, his feral eyes locked on the reflection of mine.

I swerved the van back and forth, making him focus on hanging on rather than climbing inside. I kept my foot on the gas and hurtled down the street getting as far away from the other two as I could. Once I felt confident they couldn’t catch up, I swung the van around a corner as sharply as I dared. The wheels screeched in complaint and the van shuddered, but I’d accomplished what I wanted. The side door slid shut, catching Meinie’s hands in between it and the frame. He shrieked in agony as the door locked with a metallic click, crushing his fingers. His feet slipped from the step and bounced along the asphalt as I dragged him along. After a few spiteful seconds, I slowed the van and turned into an alley. I rode alongside a dumpster and turned the van into it, pressing Meinie into its metal side, wedging him between it and the van. I could hear his ribs snap inside his chest. He gurgled in complaint, Page 41 nearly unconscious. That’s when I stopped. Ignoring my own pain, my wounds still burning, I climbed out and walked around to have a chat with Meinie, his head angled toward the front of the van. I lifted his chin so we could see eye to eye. “Who sent you?”

His eyes rolled around in their sockets, not quite coherent. I growled and asked him again, digging my fingers into the soft spots under his chin. His eyes came into focus, but just barely. I could see him debating whether or not to tell me. Self-preservation won out.

“Veronica. It was Veronica,” he gasped, his voice giving out at the end.

Her name hit me like a gunshot to the gut. I stumbled back, the urge to vomit rearing up once again. I steadied myself against the hood. “Are you serious?”

He nodded as best he could.

I hadn’t expected that. I figured Baalth had set me up with his taking my gun and all. I would never have suspected Veronica, seeing how I hadn’t heard from her in twenty years. I know we’d split on some pretty acrimonious terms, but I certainly didn’t think she’d try to kill me. I guess you never truly know a person until they come gunning for you. This was really turning out to be a shitty day. Numb, I turned to leave.

“Wait,” Meinie choked. “You can’t leave me here.”

I didn’t even turn to look at him. “You made your bed…now wallow in the wet spot.” I stormed out of the alley, my thoughts whirling a million miles a minute. Around the corner, I looked to make sure Eenie and Meenie hadn’t found me before hurrying as fast as I could toward downtown. I made it there in decent time, despite my oozing, aching wounds. At the car, I dug my keys from my pocket and unlocked the door. I slipped, inside stifling a moan. Motivated by adrenaline and a good dose of pain, I started it up right away and rolled out of the lot, heading for home. I had a lot of thinking to do.