When the drilling stops, he looks at the arm, expecting to see blood and bone. There’s nothing. The skin isn’t even broken. He rubs at a few faint scratches. The skin collapses under his fingers like papier-mâché. That’s his cue to scream. He claws at the hollow arm, pulling dry dead flesh off brittle bones. Insects pour out of him. He’s ripped his arm back all the way to the shoulder by the time he understands what’s happening. He tries to shake off the insects but they’re dug in too deep. Dry bones in his arm snap and it falls where it’s snatched out of the air by a tentacle that draws it down into the void. He looks at me as the tentacles hold him, giving the hungry insects time to finish their work. It doesn’t take long. When Brimborion falls, his body is as dry and empty as a locust husk.
I let the dark go and it flows back into me like it was never there.
“I hope I never have to see that again,” says Semyazah.
“You could see that?”
He nods.
“Enough. Like through a fog.”
Bill says, “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
“You still think I have a good side?”
“There’s a search party out for it but I’m optimistic they’ll turn up something.”
Semyazah goes over to Brimborion’s body. Touches it tentatively with his boot, like he’s not sure its real.
“If only you took Lucifer’s other duties as seriously as you take killing your enemies.”
“Which duties? Leading spooky rituals or pretending I love pie charts? What I’m good at is killing sons of bitches who want to kill me. How long have you Hellions been trying it? Nearly twelve years now. What anniversary is that? Pewter? Shit? Napalm?”
Bill sits on the bed. Bounces up and down on his ass like a customer in a mattress outlet. He fingers the blanket and sheets. Semyazah gives Bill a look but he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
“And now you’ll go home and leave us without a Lucifer and the city will burn. Hellions and damned souls will perish but you’ll have what you want and isn’t that all that matters?”
“I can’t babysit you assholes forever. I have things to do. But I’m coming back. Samael used to leave all the time and he always came back.”
“This was his home and we knew he’d always return. What incentive do you have to come back?”
“None, but I’m coming back anyway. Not to save you. Hell, most of you want to die anyway, so they don’t care. But I’m coming back because there’s souls down here I care about. I won’t let Hell fall apart again.”
“I expect we’ll see.”
He holsters his gun and I say a silent thanks. I don’t want to get into a fight with the one general that can stand the sight of me. And I really don’t want to go home with holes in my face.
“I’m taking the peepers with me. If there’s an emergency or you just get lonely, leave a note on the desk in the library.”
“That’s very reassuring.”
I motion for Bill to get up, reach between the mattress and the box spring, and pull out a full Glock clip. I eject the clip of blanks and slap in the real one. Out of habit I start to tuck the gun in the waistband of my pants but stop. I look at Semyazah.
“How much of this shit did you see coming and didn’t let me in on?”
“Marchosias isn’t a surprise but I didn’t know it would happen so soon. As for Vetis, he was a surprise. And certainly not the rise of Deumos and her church. You’ve changed the very nature of Hell in the last couple of days, do you know that?”
“You’re really worried about Hell’s survival.”
“This place is my home more than Heaven ever was.”
“That’s why I’m putting you in charge while I’m gone.”
Semyazah’s forehead creases and he shakes his head.
“Please don’t.”
“I don’t trust you but you didn’t join up with Mason, so you don’t want to die right now. Besides you, I can’t think of anyone else who actually cares about this place.”
“My lord, please.”
“Sorry, man. The thing is you’re like David Coverdale and Hell is like Deep Purple without a singer. You don’t know if you want the gig and the band isn’t sure they want you up front, but you need each other to tour. So shut up. Tune up. Learn ‘Smoke on the Water’ and smile pretty for the fans.”
I toss the Glock to Wild Bill.
“That’s for you.”
He turns the Glock over in his hands. Weighs in. Sights on Brimborion’s body. Tosses it back to me.
“I don’t trust a gun I can’t see where the bullets go in.”
He drops back onto the bed.
“But if you’re in a generous mood, I’d take one of these. Without the dead man, of course.”
“I’ll have someone send one to the bar.”
“And covers and such. These sheets are as soft as a widow’s bottom.”
“They’ll send the works.”
I tuck the Glock in the waistband behind my back. Semyazah has gone to the window to look over his temporary kingdom.
“When you were talking to Brimborion, I was impressed that you figured all that out.”
“Half of it was guessing. After the Lahash thing it was just figuring out who could pull off a coup on short notice. Marchosias is the only one smart and ballsy enough and with the right connections.”
He looks over his shoulder at Brimborion.
“I’ve never seen a man so cheerfully confess his crimes.”
“You let a man hold a gun to your head long enough and he’ll tell you all his secrets. Isn’t that right, Bill?”
“I wouldn’t know. Not having guns pressed against my head was among my utmost goals when I was among the living.”
“Can you people trace phone calls, General? Vetis crank-called me, but when I asked him about it, I could tell he didn’t know what I was talking about. I think he was possessed when he made the call. Where he called from could be a clue to who has the possession key.”
Semyazah nods.
“I’ll look into it.”
“And keep an eye on the Bamboo House of Dolls. And Bill.”
Bill throws down the pillow he’s been fluffing and stands up straight.
“I don’t need a goddamn demon looking over my shoulder.”
“I bet that’s what you said in Deadwood.”
He sits back down.
“I suppose you’re right but that’s an unkind way to put it.”
“I told you the search party would come back empty-handed. I don’t have a good side to find.”
Semyazah looks a little dazed. What I’ve done to Lucifer’s beautiful room. How I let a damned soul talk back to me. Maybe imagination and rolling with the weirdness of the moment is what humans have over angels.
“Let people know if Bill or the bar get scratched, I’m going to cut so many throats they’ll think I’m getting paid piecework.”
“Always the diplomat.”
“Oh. If you feel like overthrowing me while I’m gone, please do.”
“Thank you for your permission but, no, I prefer soldiers to politicians and madmen.”
I weigh the duffel bag in my hand. It’s just a few pounds. Not much to show for three months as God’s redheaded stepchild.
“If Deumos breaks her neck or chokes to death on a ham sandwich, you’re going to have to do something about it.”
“I won’t send troops i
nto the Tabernacle.”
“Then make sure there’s no reason to. You have spies in the church?”
“I’m a general. I have spies everywhere.”
“Good. Give them a kick in the ass and tell them to keep their eyes on Merihim and his sky pilots. One more thing. I want someone to make a list of all the current punishments for damned souls. We’re going to be making a few changes there.”
“Is that all, Lucifer?”
I walk to him and put out my hand.
“Good luck, General.”
Semyazah stares at it and then at me before putting out his own hand.
“I won’t see you off, if you don’t mind.”
“Until we figure things out, the farther you stay away from me the better.”
Semyazah nods curtly and goes off to polish bullets or give the troops a sponge bath, whatever it is generals do between wars.
Bill is on his feet. He has his hat in his hand and he’s looking at the floor.
“What can I say, Bill? You’re my Abilene Bodhisattva. I’m trying to pick and choose my fights better. All those people that got killed in the market, it wasn’t me. It was the Magic 8 Ball. I swear on Lee Van Cleef’s grave.”
He shakes his head, smiling.
“I don’t understand half of what you just said but that’s all right. We never had royalty in the family before.”
Bill isn’t the hugging type, so we shake hands.
On his way out he says, “Don’t forget the bed. I’ll owe you a drink when you get back.”
“If things go right, everyone in Creation is going to owe me a drink.”
When I’m alone I go to the phone and push the PISSANTS button.
A female voice picks up.
“My lord?”
“Who is this?”
“Malabraxas. I’m assistant to Brimborion.”
“He isn’t coming to work for like forever, so you get to steal all his Post-its. But before that, I want you to call down and clear out the garage. I don’t want anyone down there for an hour.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Don’t call me ‘lord.’ ”
“Yes, Lucifer.”
“You got it on the first try. Congratulations. You just got Brimborion’s job. Let Semyazah know. Also, send a cleanup crew to my room. There’s a couple of bodies. They can’t miss them. But don’t call them until after you clear out the garage.”
“Yes, Lucifer.”
I go to the closet and get out my bloody leather bike pants and hoodie. I found it in a cemetery when I first got back from Hell. Yeah, that’s kind of disgusting but I’m the only one who knows where it came from and it doesn’t smell any worse than anything else down here. After surviving the market, the Magic 8 Ball, being burned in effigy, and getting my arm cut off, it feels kind of like a good-luck charm.
I take a quick look around at the room. Nothing I need or want. I pick up the duffel, step over Brimborion’s body, and head back to the library.
I step around the hexes in the floor. I should have told Semyazah about them but he’s a smart guy. He’ll send in another smart guy to check the place out first. With any luck, he’ll be smart enough to look before he leaps. If not, it will be just one more Hellion watercooler story. Did you hear the one about Phil’s head exploding in the library?
I open the false bookshelves, lock them from the inside, and go down the stairs.
The garage is empty. The sound of my boots echoes down to deep, deep sublevels. A B-movie Halloween spook show. I could make a fortune selling weekend Hell junkets to the movie biz. Nonmortal ones, of course. Vampire sound techs. Nahual film editors. Jade cinematographers. Give them the full tour. Where I first landed down here. The arena. The palace where I murdered my first Hellion. The field where the red legger cut off my arm. I wonder where it is now? I should check eBay.
I go to the bike, secure the duffel on the back, and do a quick walk around checking for oil leaks, a flat tire, or a broken chain. It looks fine. I swing my leg over the bike and kick it to life. It sounds good. Like it could crack the foundations of the palace.
I get a glove out of my coat pocket and put it on my Kissi hand. Better get used to it. I’ll be hiding it a lot more soon. I hope.
Time to let go of a lot that happened over the last hundred days. I got ruthless and I got lucky. On the upside, I stayed alive this whole time. I found the 8 Ball. I even figured out Marchosias’s game. On the downside, Samael tricked me into cleaning up his mess again. Creating the Council so I could put the right people in the right places and take the heat for everything that went wrong. Kick Buer’s ass into building a City Hall that doesn’t look like skinhead porn. Get Semyazah on board with keeping Lucifer, any Lucifer, alive at all costs. Draw Marchosias out and almost take the bullet that sooner or later would have been aimed at Samael’s head. Obyzuth was the real ringer, though. She led me to Deumos and something that will change Hell forever. Whether or not that’s a good thing we’ll find out when the place becomes something new or blows itself apart. Samael handed me a leaf blower and left me to clear off the driveway, and for what? So he could stay in Heaven? Or is he going to blow back into town looking like Steve McQueen driving the Batmobile? If he does, I’ll shake his hand and thank him. Take the place back over. Pretend you fixed it all yourself and suck up the applause. Just let me go home and stay there.
I heel up the kickstand and wait, feeling the weight of the Hellion hog against my body. Letting it rattle my bones.
Don’t fear God
Don’t worry about death
What is good is easy to get, and
What is terrible is easy to endure
The only thing I’m sicker of than philosophy is philosophers. I bet Epicurus is living free and easy in Eleusis, the province of Hell reserved for righteous pagans. Next time I’ll trade places with him and sip wine with the vestal virgins while Epicurus runs Bedlam’s outhouse for a while. Then you tell me how easy it is to roll with the terrible, you goat-cheese-salad asshole.
I put the bike in gear and roll by the kennels before heading for the garage gate.
I’m leaving by the front door this time. No sneaking out the back. There’s no reason to be subtle. In a palace, rumors are like flying monkeys. Annoying as vegan desserts and hard to stop once they’re airborne. Besides Bill and Semyazah, no one is supposed to know when and where I’m leaving. But of course people do. Everyone in the fucking palace.
Troops from ten Hellion legions are spread out across the lawn when I roll up to street level. They’re dead silent. Dead still. They’re not blocking Lucifer’s way, but they’re not happy to see me rolling out on my own. Someone is going to twitch first. It might as well be me.
I whistle. There’s a low roar and the sound of razored steel on concrete. Shadows lumber up the driveway walls. When the hellhounds reach the surface, they spread out around me, pawing the ground impatiently. They scan the troops, pink brains sloshing in the bell jars where their heads should be. They settle around me in a protective semicircle.
The potion the palace witches whipped up for me we used to call a Sheol Sucker Punch. Technically, it’s a kind of poison, but a very selective one.
When most people see hellhounds, all they see is the machine part. They forget about the brain, usually because when they’re that close, it means a hound is gnawing off their leg. I don’t know where hellhound brains come from, but I know that brains are brains
and they need food to work. And any brain that needs food is a brain you can dose. A Sheol Sucker Punch burns out the parts of the brain that control memory but skates around smarts and motor functions. Mostly it resets a brain’s emotional clock back to when it was a newborn. And like every good duckling, the newborns wake up looking for something to imprint on. I made sure it was me. I’m Mom now and the hounds, their gears whirring and pistons pounding, are a loyal pack.
The legions back off but stand their ground. They know not to run. Running makes you prey and no one wants to be prey to a hundred metal hounds.
Some of the troops want to cut my throat. Others stare at me like wounded children. Neither are good looks for crazed killers. I should probably say something, but what am I going to say? “Sometimes the Devil needs a little me time”?
The best I can come up with to say is, “Hell needs a Lucifer and Hell will always have one. Just not tonight.”
The wind changes and brings new smells with it.
The gibbet holding Ukobach holds a bloated corpse. By the street, scalps and fresh skins are tied to the ornamental fence, flapping and drying in the breeze. Guess I know what happened to Vetis’s men. I wonder if Vetis’s hide is up there with them?
As the smell of rotting Hellion meat drifts across the lawn, whatever little guilt I’ve been nursing for running out on these poor slobs evaporates. Why did I ever think mass suicide for these murderous hellspawn hyenas was a bad idea? Let them all burn.
The lousy thing is maybe I deserve a seat in the frying pan right next to them. I dragged Ukobach behind my bike when I could have just snapped his neck. But Lucifer needs to put on a show and I never get tired of killing Hellions. Maybe I should send the hounds back to the kennels, go to my rooms, and die down here with these assholes. Maybe that’s the real reason why Samael marooned me here. His way of teaching me one last lesson. The one he wouldn’t tell me because I had to figure it out for myself. That I don’t deserve to go home.
SS 04: Devil Said Bang: A Sandman Slim Novel Page 15
