Mercury Shrugs

by Robert Kroese

  Malcazar’s eyes went to the ceiling, apparently looking for hidden cameras. Azrael shot a questioning glance at Lucifer, who shook his head. Malcazar returned his attention to the cage. “You in there!” Malcazar he yelled. “Stop that!”

  The demons, oblivious to the command, continued kicking, pummeling, scratching, and choking each other. Pazusu still had Gurien in a headlock and was slowly squeezing him unconscious.

  “Good show,” said Lucifer. “You’ve practically got them eating out of your hand.”

  “I don’t need your commentary, Lucifer,” Malcazar snapped.

  “Nobody needs my commentary,” said Lucifer. “But you have to admit, it adds color. Speaking of which, have you ever seen anyone’s face turn that shade of purple?”

  As they watched, Gurien’s body went limp, but Pazusu continued to squeeze.

  “I heard the Senate was going to summon Gurien for questioning today,” Lucifer remarked to Azrael. “Of course, that’s going to be difficult if his—” As he spoke, Gurien’s head popped off his body, his neck torn in half by Pazusu’s brawny arm. Pazusu gripped the head by the base of the skull and jaw, tore it completely free and hurled it against the bars of the cage. It bounced off the bars with a clang, then rolled into the center of the fracas. Another demon picked it up and hurled it at one of his fellows. Meanwhile, blood continued to spray from Gurien’s severed neck arteries. Pazusu gave a triumphant screech. “Try backstabbing me now, bitch!” he howled, then turned and attacked another opponent seemingly at random.

  “Feel free to intervene anytime you think things have gotten out of hand,” Lucifer said to Malcazar.

  “Tell them to stop!” barked Malcazar. “They listen to you!”

  “Tell them to stop or what?” said Lucifer.

  “Or,” Malcazar said, pointing the fiery sword at Lucifer, “Or you know what!”

  “A tough guy, huh?” said Azrael, glancing at Lucifer with a this-had-better-work look on his face. “Why don’t you try that sword on me?”

  “Don’t think I won’t!” snapped Malcazar.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” said Lucifer. “You don’t have the balls to stab Azrael in the abdomen with that sword. Not even through the bars of this cage. I heard about you in the Battle of Eden II. You hid behind a bush for most of the battle and then came out when the fighting was over. Accidentally stumbled over the enemy general’s corpse. You almost fainted because you can’t stand the sight of blood. Maybe your bosses heard the same story.”

  “That’s a lie!” Malcazar cried. “I slew a hundred men in that battle! They gave me this sword as a reward!”

  “I wouldn’t get to attached to it,” said Azrael. “Anyone who won’t even stab an unarmed man in a cage doesn’t deserve a fancy sword like that.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Malcazar, eyeing Azrael. “Watch this!” He took a step forward, drawing his sword back along his side in preparation to attack.

  Azrael winced as he saw the blade coming, but rather than back away, he gripped the bars and gritted his teeth. Malcazar thrust the sword through the bars, right below Azrael’s solar plexus. The point emerged from Azrael’s lower back and he screamed. The sound was remarkable, somewhere in between the roar of a lion and the bellow of a foghorn. The combatants behind them suddenly stopped what they were doing and turned to see what had made that sound. Azrael’s face was contorted, and he was now staring wordlessly at Malcazar, who seemed nearly as shocked as he was.

  Only Lucifer retained full control of his faculties. He lunged forward, reaching through the cage to get his hand on the pommel of the sword. To his surprise, Malcazar’s hands went limp, and Lucifer had no trouble getting the hilt away from him. Glancing at Malcazar, Lucifer saw that the angel’s face had gone white as chalk. Could it be? Were the rumors true? Apparently the brave Malcazar really did get queasy at the sight of blood. This was going even better than expected!

  Malcazar reeled, looking as if he was about to pass out. Meanwhile, Azrael, with the sword still protruding from his midsection, stumbled backwards toward the other demons, who dumbly retreated. It was one thing to see Gurien’s head ripped clear of his body; it was another to witness the invincible Azrael impaled by a flaming sword.

  “I’ve got you, Azrael,” said Lucifer comfortingly, taking a step toward the big demon. But if Azrael was hoping for gentle treatment, he was disappointed. Lucifer planted his right heel on Azrael’s hip, gripped the sword hilt with both hands, and gave it a jerk.

  Azrael screamed again. The sword, its flame sizzling with blood and Azrael’s intestinal juices, came free, and Azrael’s eyes rolled up into his head. The giant demon fell like a tree to the floor of the cage. The other demons continued to stare, uncertain what to make of the situation. On the other side of the cage, Malcazar was sitting on the cave floor with his head between his knees, apparently trying not to lose consciousness.

  Lucifer held up the sword triumphantly. “Witness the fruits of months of planning!” he cried. “I present to you the Sword of Eden!” He held the sword in the air momentarily for effect.

  “I don’t get it, boss,” said Pazusu after a moment. “What good is a sword going to do in here?”

  Lucifer grinned at them, lowering his arm. He turned the sword upside down and stuck his thumbnail under the gem on the pommel. With some effort, he wrenched it free, and then tossed the sword aside. It clattered to the ground next to Azrael, who lay moaning and clutching the wound in his belly.

  “The sword is worthless,” said Lucifer. “But this!” He held the gem between his thumb and forefinger, closing his left eye to regard it with his right. “This is a piece of...” He trailed off, examining the gem. “Shit!”

  “What... what’s wrong?” Azrael gasped. His eyes were open and some of the color had returned to his face. Even inside a Balderhaz Field, angels healed quickly.

  “It’s a fake!” Lucifer shrieked. “You son of a bitch! All that planning for nothing! The gem is a fake!” He hurled the gem through the bars of the cage, and it landed with a clatter somewhere in the cavern. He turned and picked up the sword, examining its length closely. “This isn’t even the real Sword of Eden!”

  Malcazar’s shoulders began to quiver, and after a moment Lucifer realized the guard was laughing.

  “What the hell is so funny?” Lucifer demanded. “They cheated you! Your sword is a fake!”

  Gripping one of the bars, Malcazar slowly pulled himself to his feet, still chuckling to himself. “Of course it’s a fake, you blockhead,” he said. “You think the Senate would give me the real Sword of Eden, even if they had it? I’m a big deal, but I’m not that big a deal. Gosh, I guess it really is true what they say.”

  “Oh,” said Lucifer coldly. “And what’s that?”

  “The devil is in the details,” replied Malcazar with a smile. “Sorry, Lucifer. You and your pals are going to be here for a very, very long time.”

  Chapter Six

  Berkeley, California; October 12, 2016

  Eddie breathed a sigh that expressed equal parts relief and resignation. His hunch was correct. “Mr. Curry” was his old friend Mercury.

  “So it is you,” said Eddie, observing the impressive structure. “I should have known.”

  “Are you the Twinkie guy?” Mercury asked, without looking up. “I need three hundred more to finish the top.”

  “Sorry, Mercury,” said Eddie. “I don’t have any Twinkies.”

  “Well, it’s going to be a pretty sad-looking ziggurat,” said Mercury, still not looking up. If he recognized Eddie, he showed no sign.

  “Yeah, that’s too bad,” said Eddie. “So, I wanted to ask you about some stock that you—”

  “I say it’s going to be a sad-looking ziggurat,” said Mercury.

  “I heard you,” said Eddie. “Suzy is in the car outside. You remember Suzy, right? We tracked you down by—”

  “Yep, pretty sad looking ziggurat.”

  “Uh-huh. Seriously, Mercury, I know this is importa
nt, but Suzy and I have been working on—”

  “You’re not going to ask me why it’s a sad-looking ziggurat?”

  Eddie sighed. It was pretty clear he wasn’t going to get Mercury’s attention until he had paid appropriate homage to the Twinkie edifice. “Why is it a sad-looking ziggurat, Mercury?” he asked, and then winced in anticipation.

  “Because it’s in tiers!” Mercury exclaimed. He grinned at Eddie. “Hey, do I know you?”

  “Yeah, we’ve saved the world together a few times. Well, you did most of the work. I helped occasionally.”

  “Cool, cool,” said Mercury. “You’re not one of those hubcab-wearing freaks, are you? I like this town, but what is it with the people wearing hubcaps on their heads? And the interminable puppet shows! I try to be accommodating to the mentally challenged, but I swear on this stack of Twinkies that if have to sit through another puppet show...” He made the house-blowing-up gesture.

  “Are you seriously threatening to blow up this house because of a puppet show?”

  “Blow up the house?” Mercury asked, examining his hands. “I thought I was threatening to make banana bread.”

  “You might want to work on your hand signals. You’re frightening the natives.”

  “Eh,” said Mercury. “Fuck those guys. Freeloaders, all of them.”

  “Why do you keep them around then?”

  “I’m terrified of being alone,” said Mercury.

  “Really?”

  “No, not really,” replied Mercury. “But somebody’s got to do the Twinkie shopping, don’t they? Also, between you and me—” His voice dropped to a whisper. “—I kind of like some of the puppet shows. I get bored sometimes.”

  “So I hear,” said Eddie. “Ennui got you down again?”

  Mercury shrugged. “You know how it is. The first seven thousand years are always the toughest. Hey, aren’t you that MOC guy?”

  “Yeah,” said Eddie. “Ederatz. Of course I haven’t had any contact with Heaven for a while. Or any other angels, really, since we thwarted Tiamat’s last plan for world domination.”

  Mercury nodded. “Good times. I thought you looked familiar. What time is it?”

  “Uh,” said Eddie. “Around eleven?”

  “Okay, cool,” said Mercury. “Puppet show isn’t until one. Let’s get drunk.” He turned and went through another door. Eddie followed, and found himself in a much more luxuriously appointed room. Lush carpet covered the floor and burgundy leather armchairs sat around a glass coffee table. Mercury flopped into one of the chairs. “Rhonda!” He barked.

  Eddie sat down across from him. A moment later, Rhonda appeared with a Sierra Nevada bottle in each hand.

  “You read my mind, Rhonda,” said Mercury. “Have you met Eddie? He helped me save the world once.”

  “Four times,” Eddie muttered. “Not that I’m counting.”

  “That’s fantastic!” exclaimed Rhonda in a patronizing, pseudo-enthusiastic tone. “Do you know where I can get a live eel?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” said Mercury. “Where’s your hubcap?”

  Rhonda put a hand to her head, reddened, and ran out of the room.

  “So, what brings you to the neighborhood, Eddie?”

  “An algorithm, actually,” said Eddie. “You remember Suzy Cilbrith?”

  “Sure,” said Mercury. “Cute girl. Purple hair. A little extra padding where it counts. Programmer on the Brimstone project.”

  “Yeah,” said Eddie, a bit nonplussed by Mercury’s comprehensive recall regarding Suzy. Eddie had known Mercury for literally thousands of years, and every time they met he had to re-introduce himself. “Anyway, I got to thinking, after the Brimstone thing, that maybe it would be a good idea to catalog all the angels and demons still on the Mundane Plane. I mean, Tiamat and Michelle seem to have gone underground, but I don’t want to get surprised again. If we can reestablish contact between the good angels, maybe we can forestall the next evil plot before it hatches.”

  “Hmm,” said Mercury, taking a swig of his beer.

  “Anyway, I asked Suzy if she could help me find the other angels. I figured that there had to be signs, ways of identifying patterns in a person’s behavior that would mark them as an angel.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I’ve been watching the news for miracles, but there’s so much ridiculous tabloid reporting these days that it’s almost impossible to tell when an actual miracle happens. Suzy’s been helping me narrow the results by cross-referencing news reports with other data. The problem is that other than miracles, the main sign is actually a lack of data, specifically no birth record and no death record. So we had to—”

  “Gaaahhhh!” Mercury suddenly cried. “The crushing boredom has returned! Rhonda, beer!” He downed the rest of the bottle and set it down next to him. A moment later, Rhonda ran into the room with a hubcap on her head and a beer in her hand.

  “Good girl, Rhonda,” said Mercury. “Take that hubcap off your head. It looks ridiculous.”

  Rhonda nodded, removed the hubcap, and retreated from the room.

  “The point is,” said Eddie, “it turns out to be incredibly difficult to find an angel unless he does something really out of the ordinary, and there’s some kind of paper trail. For example, if an individual somehow bought three hundred shares of a company in 1837 and still owns them.”

  “The great thing about this story,” said Mercury, “is that just when you think it can’t get any more boring, it totally does.” He took a swig of beer.

  Eddie went on, undeterred. “In 1837, a man named Marcus Uittenbroek bought three hundred shares of a company called Quicksilver Fabrication, which was later renamed to Hermeticorp. SEC records indicate that this Marcus Uittenbroek is still the owner of these shares, one hundred eight years later. Since the initial purchase, the stock has split sixteen times. Would you like to guess how much those shares are worth today?”

  “Not unless you’re going to give them to me.”

  “Mercury,” said Eddie, “you’re Marcus Uittenbroek.”

  “I am?” asked Mercury, staring at his knees as if they held the key to his identity.

  “I’m fairly certain,” said Eddie. “This is the address I found for Mr. Uittenbroek. Also, if I’m not mistaken, the name Uittenbroek is Dutch for ’out of his pants.’”

  Mercury chuckled. “Yeah, I thought it would be funny to... hey, you’re right! I did use that name for a while! I am Marcus Uittenbroek!”

  “Yes,” said Eddie. “And you’re rich.”

  “How rich?” Mercury asked.

  “800 million dollars, give or take,” said Eddie.

  “Wow,” said Mercury. “I’m no monetologist, but that sounds like a lot.”

  “It is,” said Eddie.

  “Huh,” said Mercury. “I don’t even remember buying that stock.”

  “Maybe you won it in a bet or something.”

  Mercury nodded. “That sounds like me.”

  “Anyway,” said Eddie, “I’m relieved to find it’s you. We figured Marcus Uittenbroek was an angel, but we didn’t know which one. Could have been Lucifer for all we knew.”

  “Except he’s still in prison, right?” asked Mercury, unable to completely hide his concern with his facade of disinterest.

  “As far as I know, yes,” said Eddie.

  Mercury nodded and took another swig of beer. “Of course he is. He’ll never get out.” Mercury sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as reassure Eddie.

  “I would think not,” said Eddie. “But Lucifer’s not the only demon to worry about. There’s Tiamat, for starters. And we don’t know what Michelle or Gabrielle are up to.”

  Mercury shrugged.

  “As I was saying,” Eddie continued, “We didn’t know who Marcus Uittenbroek was, but we knew he was an angel and that he had a lot of money. A sympathetic angel with a lot of money could be a great ally to us.”

  “Hmm,” Mercury said again.

&nb
sp; “Yes, well,” Eddie went on. “I realize you’re not really a team player, but your fortune could really help us in our efforts to locate the other angels on this plane. It’s just been me and Suzy for the past six months, and finding you is the first break we’ve had. I think if we could hire more people—researchers, investigators, programmers, et cetera—we’d have better luck. We’ve been working out of a tiny office in Baltimore, and the only way I can even afford that is by selling a gold brick every few weeks.”

  “Transmogrification,” Mercury said. “The oldest trick in the angel book. They’ll catch up to you eventually, you know.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” said Eddie. “I’ve got no other way to make money. I mean, other than actually making money.”

  “Counterfeiting is even worse,” said Mercury. “Governments hate competition.”

  “So you see the problem. Your eight hundred million dollars would be a huge help. And since you don’t seem to be using it....”

  “Why are you so interested in connecting with the other angels, Eddie? Why not just leave well enough alone?”

  “I told you,” said Eddie. “Eventually Tiamat or Michelle or somebody is going to start getting ideas again. You know how these people are. We need to be ready.”

  “To do what? Play the hero? Haven’t you had enough of that, Eddie? Has it occurred to you that these angels are less dangerous when they’re scattered all over the world with no way to contact each other? By reconnecting them, you might create the very conspiracy you’re trying to prevent.”

  “I guess I’m not that cynical,” said Eddie. “Most angels are well-intentioned.”

  “Ugh,” said Mercury. “The well-intentioned ones are the worst. Give me a power-hungry psychopath over a well-intentioned angel any day.”

  “Well, take your pick,” said Eddie, who was starting to get irritated. “We’ve got one of each.”

  Mercury sighed and glanced at Eddie. Mercury knew exactly what he was talking about: Tiamat, with her psychotic drive for world domination, was bad enough, but now Michelle had gotten it into her head that it was her destiny to be Earth’s benevolent despot. Michelle’s intentions were always good, but the end result was the same.