by Adam Ingle
“Would it be too simple to just look him up in the phone book?” asked Stephanie. “It's not like there's a bunch of Adolph Hitlers out there.”
Leviticus and Mestoph looked at Stephanie, clueless.
“Don't know about phone books, huh? How long have you guys been dead?” asked Stephanie.
“About two thousand years,” said Leviticus.
“I was never alive,” said Mestoph. Leviticus looked sharply at him. They had decided not to mention that Mestoph was from Hell, so he needed to be careful of what he said about his history. “And we know about phone books, we just don't really expect someone to list themselves as Adolf Hitler. Not sure if you know this, but he's not exactly a well-liked guy.”
“Then why do you think his house is going to look like Nazi Headquarters? Is he supposed to have a cactus in the shape of a swastika?” asked Stephanie.
Mestoph looked like he was about to say something but he stopped, leaving his mouth hanging open. He had finally seen the flaw in his logic, and although he hated being wrong, he didn't really have a comeback. Leviticus started laughing; softly at first, but then it became a loud and obnoxious guffaw that sent a couple of nearby birds flying in retreat. Mestoph shot Leviticus a dirty look.
“Oh come on, Mestoph. You've got to admit she's right,” said Leviticus.
He didn't have to admit that she was right. Even if she was. But regardless, he did have to admit that looking for a Nazi from a hilltop wasn't the most efficient way to go about it. He had avoided calling Hitler, even though he had taken Atreyus' phone and dumped his own, for fear of St. Peter getting wise. Out of alternatives, Mestoph finally gave in and dialed up the Fuhrer. Fifteen minutes later, they were walking up a broken sidewalk to a small, pale green ranch house. It was just one drab house amongst dozens, with only its choice of (drab) color separating it from the others. Like all the houses in the area, it had accumulated a thick coat of fine sandy dirt on the walls and windows. The lawn was mostly desert rocks and pea gravel except for a single large boulder next to an extremely stout poplar tree. There were also a few cacti planted throughout the yard. Leviticus tapped Mestoph on the shoulder and pointed to a corner of the rock-strewn lawn at one in particular. When he had spotted what Leviticus was pointing at, he laughed triumphantly and then tapped Stephanie on the shoulder in turn and pointed. Marcus and Sir Regi looked over as well and saw a cactus in the shape of a swastika.
“Maybe he converted to Buddhism,” said Sir Regi. Marcus just shrugged.
“So just how does someone like, oh...say, Hitler go to Purgatory and not Hell?” asked Stephanie.
Neither Mestoph nor Leviticus really wanted to go into detail about the whole balance of good, evil, and neutrality, or how there's no cosmic law against criminal masterminding or war crimes. For the same reason, he hadn’t credited for all the medical breakthroughs, especially in the field of psychology, that had happened through the torture and experimentation by Dr. Mengele and others. That left an egomaniacal failed artist with little to speak for or against him. Instead of explaining any of this, Leviticus just said, “The universe is a very mysterious and fucked up place.”
Mestoph knocked on the door, and it jerked open. A surprisingly short man with a shaggy bowl cut, still sporting the trademark inch-wide mustache, popped his head out
“Get the Hell in here!” he said in an odd blend of an American and German accent that sounded an awful lot like Mel Brooks impersonating Hitler.
There was a look of pleading urgency on his face as Mestoph ushered the others into the house. Hitler slammed the heavy door behind them, securing the dozen locks with practiced swiftness. He peered through an off-center peephole that was much lower than the standard.
“Assassins knock on the door, expecting people to look through a peephole, and then shoot them because they know where their mark's head will be.” Hitler said matter-of-factly.
Everyone nodded or muttered in agreement.
“Oh yeah, of course,” said Sir Regi.
Hitler checked the peephole one more time and then led everyone into another room, locking that door behind them as well. The room was sparsely furnished, containing only a single chair and a table. The room was in the center of the house, and its chalky white walls had no windows. Except for the dim, bare bulb in a fixture on the ceiling there were no lamps. The only decoration was a well trampled and ugly as Hell Turkish rug that was a mishmash of garishly contrasting colors. Hitler kicked it aside to reveal a nearly seamless door in the floor. It had no knobs or keypads, but when he laid his hand flush against the surface, there was a loud clanking noise and then a hiss as the door slid sideways. The hole in the floor was inky dark for a moment, but then clinical fluorescent lights flickered to life down below and revealed a long set of diamond plate steel stairs. Hitler motioned the rest to follow him down what was easily a hundred feet below the surface of Truth or Consequences.
Once at the bottom, the long stairwell opened up to a large, open space of what could only be described as a concrete vault. It looked like it had been built as a fallout shelter in the 1950s and, considering its depth, the apparent thickness of the concrete walls, and what looked like a self-contained ventilation system, it could probably have survived everything but a direct hit. Scattered throughout the open space were several large metal desks covered in computers, routers, switches, and a chaotic mess of network cables running to and from devices and then out through a hole drilled in one wall.
In stark contrast to the high=tech equipment strewn all over the place, there was one clean and orderly corner with a large easel and shelves of paints, brushes, canvas stretchers, and all sorts of art supplies. There were jars ranging from tiny baby food jars to large mason jars full of a variety of plants, minerals, and even a few semi-precious stones for making a rainbow of colors. Sitting on an otherwise empty desk near the easel was a newly sealed Omen and calligraphy set with the pen still sitting in a well of India ink.
Mestoph pointed over to the desk and asked, “Is that ours?”
Hitler nodded as he walked over and picked the scroll. “Signed, sealed,” he said as he handed the scroll over to Mestoph, “...and delivered.”
Mestoph looked at the scroll in his hands and smiled. It had been a spent Omen when he had stolen it, but now it was rolled and sealed with a blob of wax bearing the Sigil of Lucifer. Mestoph absentmindedly picked at the wax seal with a long fingernail, which sent Hitler running over to snatch the Omen from his hands. He gave a caustic look of disapproval and inspected the seal carefully. Once satisfied that Mestoph had not damaged it, he took a wooden scroll case from a drawer and carefully slid the omen inside.
“For all intents and purposes,” said Hitler, “this is an Omen-in-waiting. It's inactive until the seal is broken. Once broken, though, it can't be undone.”
Hitler ran his fingers along the wooden case possessively as Mestoph put his hand out to take the Omen. Hitler handed it to Leviticus instead. The Angel took the case hesitantly, looking at Mestoph as he did. Mestoph just shrugged, and Leviticus stuck it in his sash opposite the Prophecy.
“And now my payment.” said Hitler, much more confident than a few moments before.
Mestoph reached into his pocket, pulled out a flash drive, and handed it over.
“All the solo albums of all the Spice Girls, as requested,” said Mestoph.
Hitler grabbed the thumb drive with a greedy smile and then ushered everyone back to the stairs leading up to the surface.
“Why the Spice Girls?” asked Stephanie.
“Ever heard of psychological warfare? This is what they use. If I listen to it enough times, I’m hoping to become immune,” explained Hitler.
“You’ve got everything you need down here, so why not download it yourself?” asked Stephanie.
“Haven’t you ever heard of the RIAA? Those bastards are brutal!”
Stephanie looked to Marcus, who just shrugged.
“Alright,
guys. You don't have to leave, but you can't stay down here. It's against regulations,” Hitler said as he corralled everyone, but he looked straight at Stephanie.
“Regulations?” she asked.
“Yes. The last time I was in a bunker with a woman, I ended up committing 'suicide',” said Hitler, making air quotes as they were walking up the stairs. “So now I don't let them stay down here. Or much of anyone else, so don't feel too slighted.
“No worries,” said Mestoph, “We’ve got a pretty busy schedule ahead of us.”
Once the group had exited the door in the floor, Hitler sealed it shut again with the touch of his hand. It closed with a slight sucking noise and then deep, loud clank as the locks engaged. Hitler took a quick look out of the offset peephole and then slid the array of chains and bolts on the heavy front door. He opened it slightly and peeked out again.
Satisfied the coast was clear, he opened the door to let—or, more accurately, force— everyone out. As he was waving them out, they heard a distant pop, and then Hitler spun and fell down on the floor face first. He was bleeding and moaning, which meant he was still alive. Mestoph and Leviticus came to their senses first, both having been under gunfire before. Mestoph pulled Hitler, who screamed as the Demon grabbed him under the right shoulder painfully close to the bullet wound. As soon as Mestoph had Hitler out of the doorway, Leviticus slammed the door shut and latched the first bolt he could reach. He then grabbed Hitler under the other shoulder and pulled him back into the central room, yelling for Marcus and Stephanie to get away from the windows and doors.
Leviticus checked for an exit wound but found none. Hitler was bleeding a great deal, and the risk of sending the unaccounted for bullet further through his body was outweighed by the need to flip him over to see if they could stop the bleeding. He hesitated a moment, wondering why he cared about whether or not Hitler lived or died. Again. In his moment of hesitation, Mestoph grabbed Hitler roughly and flipped him over.
“Alright, Mein Fuhrer. You got any weapons in this paranoia death trap?” asked Mestoph.
Hitler couldn't seem to muster the strength or focus to speak, but he pointed to the door in the floor. Mestoph sighed and then grabbed Hitler's good shoulder. He looked at Leviticus and then nodded toward Hitler. Leviticus tried to grab the injured shoulder without causing more pain. He realized that it was impossible, so he just grabbed where it was easiest for him and tried his best to ignore Hitler's cries.
They dragged his body to the door in the floor, and then once again Mestoph brusquely flipped Hitler over like he was a doll, grabbed his hand, and pushed it against the surface of the door near where they had seen him touch it before. The door hissed open. At the same time, they heard another muffled pop and the shattering of glass.
“Sorry! Just wanted to see if I could find out where the shooter is,” said Sir Regi, jumping back from the window in the front room.
“Outside,” said Mestoph as he took off down the stairs.
Marcus and Stephanie sat on their haunches in a corner in the sparse room, trying to stay out of the way but ready to run if necessary. Stephanie looked upset, but Marcus, who was holding her hand, looked remarkably unshaken. That, or he was trying to play it strong for Stephanie’s sake. Sir Regi ran over and curled up near Marcus. He looked as scared as Stephanie. Considering how close he had just come to getting shot, it was understandable.
Leviticus followed Mestoph into the bunker, where they looked around for suitable places to stash weapons. Mestoph was checking the large number of crates and steamer trunks, all of which ended up containing art or ancient artifacts. He assumed that they were all real—and, for the most part, he was correct. His search turned up nothing immediately useful.
Leviticus was going through the many desks and storage cabinets. The desk drawers contained countless folders filled with what looked like classified information from various governments, and the cabinets were full of art supplies. At last, the Angel and Demon both reached the area at the back of the bunker, where they found a long console table with a display case full of World War II weapons. There was a set of German Luger P08s, a British Sten submachine gun with a suppressor, and a German baton-style hand grenade. There were also several boxes of 9mm ammo and extra empty clips sitting in a crate underneath the table. The crate was stenciled with the Nazi Reichsalder, an eagle holding an oak wreath and a swastika.
Mestoph grabbed a stray hard drive from one of the computer desks and chunked it at the glass case, which shattered with a pleasing crack and tinkling of shards on the hard concrete floor. Mestoph brushed aside the glass with his leather sleeve and grabbed the Sten, while Leviticus grabbed both Lugers. They both looked at the grenade and then back at each other. Leviticus shook his head no as Mestoph looked at him with a big grin.
“No,” said Leviticus emphatically.
Mestoph gave a disappointed smirky-frown and then shrugged. They both grabbed a handful of ammo from the crate and then took off for the stairs. As Mestoph crested the threshold of the floor-door, there was another pop and cracking of glass.
“Goddammit Sir Regi, get away from the window,” shouted Mestoph.
Instead, he saw Marcus propping up Hitler's body against the window with the curtain pulled to the side. Marcus was struggling to hold the limp body up, but managed to hold him while Sir Regi pulled on his limp arm by biting onto his shirt sleeve and tugging to the side, which caused Hitler to sway left and right like a marionette. The shot hit Hitler square in the chest without a grunt. He was undoubtedly dead.
“The shooter’s behind the shed in the backyard across the street.” said Stephanie, who was peeking out of the smallest possible corner of the opposite window.
Now that they had succeeded in their mission Marcus let Hitler's body fall, hoping the shooter would think he had hit his mark and stay in the same place. He and Stephanie both dropped low and hurried into the room with the floor-door. Mestoph and Leviticus exchanged a surprised yet pleased look. The humans had used an ingenious if grisly approach to draw out the shooter, and it had actually worked.
Leviticus offered Marcus one of the Lugers, but the man declined.
“Fine, then you two are on ammo duty,” Leviticus said, and both he and Mestoph tossed the ammo and extra clips at their feet.
Marcus and Stephanie obediently took up the clips and began loading them. Leviticus noticed that Stephanie was much calmer than she had been earlier. He figured she was probably in shock. Mestoph began looking around the rest of the house, searching for another way out. There wasn't much more of the house to discover. Beyond the entry way and the room with the floor-door, there was only a kitchen that looked like it hadn't been used since the house was built and a small bathroom with a walk-in shower. There was a tiny window in the kitchen over the sink, but no other windows besides than the ones that were currently watched by the unknown sniper. The front door was both the best and worst option they had.
Mestoph and Leviticus conferred with each other and agreed that their best chance was to draw fire away from the door while everyone escaped. They agreed to meet up later at a hot springs spa called Las Palomas and teleport out. Since Mestoph had the machine gun, it was decided that he would burst out of the door, spraying and praying, while everyone else ran. They quickly went over the plan with Marcus, Stephanie, and Sir Regi.
“Why can't we just teleport out of here?” asked Stephanie
“Did you forget about the whole house blowing up thing?” asked Mestoph.
“So do it in the basement. It's got walls at least a foot thick, and it’s underground.” “The more confined the space, the bigger the explosion. Plus we don't want to attract any unnecessary attention,” explained Leviticus, trying to cut off Mestoph's short fuse before his demonic tendencies kicked in.
“Because a gun fight isn't going to draw any attention?”
Stephanie handed Mestoph the three extra clips she had loaded for him. Mestoph stood at the door, poised to
pop out. He took one last deep breath and then counted out loud. On three, he burst out the door and opened fire, concentrating it on the small shed Stephanie had pointed out earlier.
The gun chewed through the thirty rounds in the magazine in less than four seconds. As Mestoph hit the release and slammed another clip into the Sten, Leviticus and the others ran out the door. Leviticus ran ahead with one of his Lugers held close to his chest so that no one could grab it but he could still aim and fire easily. As they rounded the corner, Mestoph began firing again. There hadn't been any movement by the shed, but he continued shooting at it anyway. The sound of the thin aluminum being punctured was louder than the actual gunfire, and it made for a fast but rhythmic drum roll.
Leviticus and the others subconsciously ran to the rhythm of the machine gun drum line as they rounded the corner of the house and ran right into Atreyus. He had been waiting for someone to come round the back of the house, but he had been distracted by the rhythmic firing. Leviticus and the closely held Luger slammed into Atreyus, and the Angel pulled the trigger.
Atreyus looked down at the flowering of blood on his chest and then stared at Leviticus, confused. The expression on Leviticus’ face closely mirrored Atreyus’ look of shock. He hadn't intended to pull the trigger, but it had happened nonetheless. He knew immediately that he had killed Atreyus, even before the weasel-faced man began to fall, because he had felt a sucking sensation deep inside him. It was the feeling of having his angelic powers taken away from him. It happened any time one side took the life of someone on the other side, and one had to go through an official debriefing to get those powers back. Leviticus would no longer be able to teleport. This would put a bit of a kink in their plans.
Marcus and Stephanie rounded the corner less than a second after the gun went off. They were just in time to see Atreyus fall. Stephanie gave a slight startled shriek but quickly reigned in her panic and clasped her hands to her mouth. Marcus tried to check for a pulse, but he jumped back when Atreyus’ soul lifted from his body.
