Sleeping Late on Judgement Day

fifteen: fun in america

WHEN MORNING came, I left the Amazons sleeping the sleep of the semi-innocent and wandered out of the apartment into the meticulous brick courtyard, trying to see how far I had to go to get a cell signal. Caz’s apartment was shielded against cell calls to prevent the location being traced, which was good for discretion but bad for communication, and I had no idea how trustworthy the landline was these days. Turned out I had to walk a couple of blocks before I got any bars, and the reception still wasn’t great, but considering the guy I was calling had once used my phone (with help from our bosses) to keep tabs on where I was, I wasn’t too unhappy.

“Clarence,” I said. “Are you alone?”

“Bobby?” He yawned. “I hope so.”

“You sure you don’t have a little Wendell or a Wendell-surrogate of some kind stashed away there under the counterpane?”

“What’s a counterpane? No, there’s no one here.”

“Ignorant youngster. We need to meet up, and I’m not driving all the way to your place. So get a cab or something and meet me in twenty minutes at the diner where you met the Sollyhulls—remember the ghost sisters? I thought so. And make sure nobody follows you.” I hung up before he could protest. I didn’t really care about driving that far, but I’d gone to all the trouble of painting my car to look different, so I wasn’t going to blow it by driving up to some known place and displaying it to anybody who might be watching.

I picked up some coffee at the local forked-mermaid franchise and a couple of vaguely healthy-looking muffins for the women. When I got back, Oxana and Halyna wandered out in t-shirts and underpants, so I adopted a stern, paternalistic air to disguise the fact that all this free-range femininity was starting to get to Yours Truly, who, except for a couple of stolen hours in Hell with Caz, had been living a monastic life for months.

“Okay, women-friends of complete equality, come and get some coffee into you, and then let’s make a shopping list.”

“Guns?” asked Oxana brightly.

“Bigger knives?” Halyna suggested. “I had a boovy knife, but I lost it on the bus.”

I figured out after a moment that she was talking about a Bowie knife. Those usually run about eight inches of blade or so, so it must have made quite a clunk falling out of her duffel bag. “No, not weapons. That comes later. Today I need you to find yourself some disguises. Nothing too ambitious, just a couple of wigs and some civilian clothes so you don’t look quite so much like an Estonian punk rock band.”

“You don’t like this clothings?” Oxana pulled up her sleeveless t-shirt, exposing way more of her underwear and flat, tan stomach than I really wanted to see. After all, I may not be human, but I’m still only human.

“Not for the kind of stuff we’re going to be doing,” I said, looking resolutely into her eyes instead, which were also kind of fetching. If I hadn’t seen all the weapons in their apartment or the way she stabbed that hairy little monster, I would have pegged her for a poli sci major who was also a cheerleader, which probably demonstrates which way my fantasy life is inclined. “Let’s make a list.”

When we were done, I gave them some cash and drew a map so they could find their way discreetly to the other side of the freeway. Ravenswood was a pretty small part of town, especially the shopping district, but I figured they could find what they wanted in thrift stores. Then I taught them the combination for the apartment and reminded them not to bring anything or anybody home or I’d have to kill them. Daddying done, I set them free like the fierce Ukrainian she-creatures they were, to romp among the used pantsuits and granny scarves.

I got to the diner early, checked it out, then parked the car and walked back from a block or so away. It wasn’t all that nice a place, but I hadn’t been there for months, not since the Sollyhull Sisters had given up haunting the place and moved somewhere else, so I figured it wouldn’t be on any list of my main hangouts. Plus, it had a back door. I like those.

While I waited for Clarence, I sifted through the latest information my porky source had sent me. There was some good stuff in this shipment, so even though George was almost certainly squatting naked in mud at that moment, aware of nothing more complicated than a strange aversion to applesauce and sauerkraut, I sent him a thank you he could read later. As I did, I noticed that he’d appended a little note to the information he’d sent me.

• • •

Hi, Mr. D! Guess what? I have worms! Ascarids, I think they’re called. They’re really bad for pigs but I don’t think I have that serious a case. The vet here is great and they really respect their patients’ privacy. I’m supposed to take something called Mibendazol (sp?) to kill the worms. And the food here is great!

• • •

I was so glad I hadn’t ordered anything to eat yet.

George and I had narrowed down the candidates for Anaita’s earthly avatar quite a bit, which meant it was more like studying actual people now and not just demographics. I had suggested several variables for George’s search, including 1) apparently Persian or Persian-American—obviously, or the whole search was pointless, 2) wealthy (because why wouldn’t she be?), 3) sporadic appearances (because I figured an important angel like Anaita wouldn’t be able to hang out on Earth all that often), and 4) involved in local life but not too involved. Because of this last, I could eliminate at least four of the people George had given me, each of them with big, complicated families.

That still left me nearly a dozen to consider, but I took a flyer and crossed off the male candidates, just as an exercise. Certainly if Anaita didn’t want to be found out it would have been smarter to pick a male persona, but I had a feeling she wasn’t the type. I mean, she used to be a goddess, and unlike angels (at least as far as I knew angels), goddesses were proud of being female. And she was the goddess of fertility, right? Wasn’t that what Gustibus had said?

Eliminating men quickly narrowed the field down to three. They were all interesting, but as I sat there staring I kept coming back to one particular name.

I was just about to email George again, to ask him to get me more information about that particular woman (as soon as he could get free from his roundworm treatments) when the door of the coffee shop went ding! and Clarence walked in. With Garcia Windhover.

G-Man saw me and trotted to my table, struggling as always to keep his pants from falling down. I don’t want to sound like a cranky old guy, but come on—even rappers have to run for their lives sometimes, don’t they? How do they do that with their pants around their ankles like a spanked toddler? Not that G-Man was a rapper or anything else but a white suburban kid from a nice, slightly hippie-ish family who had taken his interest in African-American culture way beyond the bounds of good taste. Actually, his outfit wasn’t that bad this time, except for the bandana knotted in the front and, banging against his skinny chest, a ridiculous gold medallion that I could swear he’d stolen out of some ninety-year-old lady’s jewelry box.

“A’ight, Bobby!” he said and tried to fist-bump me. I refused to produce my fist. I know, petty of me, but come on. “Don’t worry, I’ma let you two talk, but I just had to come in and show you my new ink.” He stuck out his arm, then turned it over to display a patch of baloney-colored skin that had presumably been nude until recently. Now it glowed with new black—the words “Mission From God” in complicated Gothic letters. “‘Cause you told me that time that you were the Lord’s avenging angel, and that’s cool, and since you’re my boy . . .”

I took a breath. If G-Man was really just dropping off Clarence, it would be easier and safer for everyone if I kept the conversation brief and light, so instead of telling him what an idiot he was, I just nodded and said, “Yeah, bro. Nice ink.” Yes, I said it. And if I hadn’t already been to Hell, I’d say that was where I’m going someday for lying. But when I go back to Hell, it will be for dozens of much worse crimes and probably sooner than I want.

I gave Clarence a look that was meant to imply all the ways I would have liked to hurt him if I had the freedom to do so, which I didn’t. “So. You caught a ride with G-Man. I thought you had a car of your own?”

“It wouldn’t start,” the boy angel said with a distinct tone of sulk. “And you said twenty minutes, Bobby.”

“Know you two have to get on with your top-secret biznizzle,” G-Man said loudly, causing one or two of the poor bastards already eating there to turn and look. “So I’ll just go cruise around. When should I come pick you up, Harrisonio?”

While they worked out details, I just sat there with one eyebrow so far up it was almost painful. When he’d finally gone, Clarence turned back to me with a defiant look already on his face.

“Harrisonio?” I said. His earthly name was Harrison Ely, but nobody ever used it. At least nobody who was even halfway cool.

“At least somebody almost calls me by my real name.”

“I never realized you were a gondolier. Hey, I’ll call you Harrisonio too.”

“Please don’t.” He picked up the menu. “What’s up?”

“Whatever you do, don’t get the corned beef here. It’s made from people—ugly, dry people. Other than that, you’re on your own. I’ll tell you the details after you’ve ordered.”

When we had summoned a harried-looking guy in an apron and told him what we wanted, I said to Clarence, “Now, do me a big favor and run down everything that happened before you met me and Sam.”

“What do you mean? Like before I died? I don’t know that. Neither do you.”

“No, dumbass. I’m talking about your angelic life.”

“Why?”

“Just humor me.” I’d coaxed what I believed were honest answers out of the Amazons by pointing a gun at them, but that didn’t seem appropriate here. For one thing: coffee shop, broad daylight. Also, if Clarence was still a stooge for our bosses, he’d just get rebodied if I plugged him, so it wasn’t much of a threat—especially since he hadn’t already died a couple of times like some of us had, so he didn’t know yet how painful it could be.

The kid sipped his iced tea and told me how he’d woken up in Heaven, a story that was pretty much like mine until he was sent off to work in Records, which—as Clarence told it—had been a job of serene, fulfilling boredom. Fulfilling for him, boredom for anyone with half an ounce of interest in reality, including me. But I wasn’t judging, just listening.

“Then, after I’d been there a while, my boss told me somebody wanted to talk to me. I went to this place and met this angel I didn’t know, but he was really shiny, you know? Really bright. I could tell he was somebody important.”

“Who was he?”

“I didn’t recognize him.”

“And this was still in Heaven?”

He shrugged. “As far as I know.”

We paused when the food came. I was still feeling a bit unmanned by resuming my relationship with hard liquor the other night, so I mainly stuck to carbs—waffles and hash browns, with some fruit just to make me feel virtuous. I watched Clarence eat some of his blueberry pancakes before prodding him to continue.

“Anyway, so this shiny angel said that Heaven had something very important for me to do, something I was going to do that would make the Highest proud of me. It didn’t really sound like I had any choice, so I said yes. Next thing I know, I’m on Earth.”

“Really? You sure?”

“About the Earth part? I think so. It was like a warehouse or something, but it wasn’t anything like any part of Heaven I’d ever seen. And it smelled. Things I’d never smelled in Heaven. Sweat. Machine oil. And the sounds were different, too.” He stopped with a fork in front of his mouth. “Now that I’m talking about it, I kind of . . . thought differently after I got there, too. Clearer about some things, less clear about others. And I wasn’t as happy as I’d been.”

That did sound like he’d been tossed out of Heaven’s nest. “Okay. Then what happened?”

“I more or less got trained. In some very basic stuff. How to use the needle gun they gave me, and a few other things. And the phones, especially the tracking software. There were about ten other angels there, too, learning stuff like I was. We sparred sometimes.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t very good at that.”

“Hang on. You were being trained on Earth with a bunch of other angels? Trained with guns? And this wasn’t Camp Zion, the big camp in the middle of the desert?” I’d been trained at Zion, along with every other angel that has ever been in a Counterstrike unit. If someone was training angels in a different location to do Counterstrike work, that wasn’t just news to me, it was worrying news. How big was the shit going on up there?

“I don’t know where it was, Bobby. Just this place Samkiel sent me. But there wasn’t a desert.”

“Whoa, hang on, cowboy. Who’s Samkiel?”

“The shiny angel who sent me there in the first place—the important one. I heard one of the other angels mention his name once, and people weren’t using names around that place much, so I remembered.”

“Okay, Samkiel.” I didn’t know the name, but I filed it away for later. “That’s something. Then what happened?”

He looked embarrassed. “I’m not exactly sure. To be honest, for a long time I hardly even remembered any of this, but once I started hanging out with you and Sam it started to come back a little.” He looked up at me. “Hey, where is Sam? How come he never comes out with us anymore?”

I sat back and drank my coffee, thinking. I couldn’t find any holes in Clarence’s story, not that it proved anything. The people we worked for, if you can call them that, are much more powerful than we are. Since they were capable of wiping our memories, they might even be able to implant cover stories right into an angel’s brain. At least I was going to assume that, until I found out otherwise. Still, I didn’t have much choice but to believe him. I was running out of potential allies. “Sam and I had a bit of a disagreement. That’s why I need to be able to trust you—and why we’re starting with History 101.”

“Trust me? Didn’t I do that feather thing with the guy from Hell with you? Totally against every rule.” He stopped scowling. “What do you mean, disagreement?”

“All right, argument. To put it more clearly, Sam said I was a stupid, paranoid dick. I’ll tell you all the fun details some other time. I don’t think he’s given up on me, but I also can’t count on him right this moment. So I need you, kid.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know yet. But shit is getting serious. From now on, don’t talk to anyone in Heaven you don’t need to, and don’t talk about me to anyone—including Sam.”

“Really?” He looked very worried by this.

“No, Clarence, I’m just joking with you. We’re going to meet him at Chuck E. Cheese later on and play skee-ball. Yes, Sam. Until I know where he stands on Kephas, I have to play it very, very safe.”

Well, Clarence wouldn’t be satisfied until I told him the important facts about Kephas, that it was probably Important Angel Anaita who wanted my soul jerked out and fed to demon-alligators—although even if I was right that she was behind it all, I still had no idea why I’d pissed her off so badly in the first place. Yes, I had wound up with her feather, but I hadn’t stolen it, and I hadn’t wanted it. She didn’t have any need to go after me at first. Of course, after the whole thing went down with Eligor and Caz I probably knew too much to be left alone.

“Oh, Clarence,” I said, “one more thing. We’re friends now, in a weird sort of way. But if you’re not what you keep telling me you are—if you’re still working for our bosses somehow and you rat out me or Sam, I swear on the Highest I will make you wish you’d never met me.”

He was startled at the change in my tone and showed me hurt-puppy eyes. “That wouldn’t be anything particularly new, Bobby.”

“That’s because I’m difficult. Because I’m rude. But if I have to come after you, you’ll have entirely different reasons. Serious reasons.”

“Thanks for the good faith.” He scowled. “You give angels a bad name.”

“Not my fault. I’m just as the Good Lord made me.” Yeah, like I should automatically trust somebody who had started out as a fink for management.

I wasn’t feeling particularly enthused about seeing G-Man again, so I left Clarence still shaking his head in dismay and I started home. While I still had bars on my phone, I pulled into a parking lot and called Alice at the office to tell her I needed a longer, indefinite leave of absence. Alice informed me in her cheerful way that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in the Devil’s backyard that would happen, so I asked her to address the request straight to Archangel Temuel. I hoped the Mule would back me up, or at least delay the request long enough to give me some time before it was turned down. Too many things were happening at once now, and I couldn’t afford to be called to any surprise job reviews up at the Big Shiny.

While I was sitting at the curb I went back over Fatback’s latest information-dump about prominent local Persian-American women. The more I looked, the more I liked my candidate; she was wealthy, had no immediate relatives I could find, and seemed very, very private. I called George’s number and got the answering machine.

“Hey, hope the worm treatment is going great, and congratulations on that. Skip all the other people and just get me everything you can find—I mean everything—on this woman named Donya Sepanta. Fast, too, if you can tear yourself away from the mud saunas. Please.”

Back at Caz’s apartment, the Amazons had clearly been having a dress-up party. Oxana greeted me wearing a yellow Dolly Parton wig and a miniskirt that would have looked immodest on a ’60s stewardess. Halyna sported a sleeveless red leather pantsuit and an Afro wig, although with those muscles she looked more like Ike than Tina. They were both still wearing their combat boots and various spiked leather armbands and neck straps, though; the combination was somewhat unsettling.

“Luckily for you two I already have enough money, or I’d be pimping you out to the small but select militant-Nancy-Sinatra-bondage-dyke market,” I said. “No, you both look great, but I think we’ll tone it down just a touch when we go into action.”

“Not too much,” said Halyna, primping her wig. “This is most fun we have in America.”

“Our great nation has that effect on tourists,” I said. “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.”

As entertaining as it was watching two young women enjoy themselves getting in and out of clothes, it only made me wish Caz were there. I locked myself in the bathroom for a while so I could concentrate on my work. After all, Heaven wasn’t going to overthrow itself.