Time Jacker

by Aaron Crash

  Fugits had a soft G while Fugs had the hard G. Rhymed with rugs.

  Jack rolled his eyes at her, turned, and walked quickly to his car.

  She clacked after him. “Don’t turn your back on me, Jack Masterson. I’m a creature of hell. Do you want to know how old I am? I’m five thousand years old. I spent some of that in hell, of course, torturing souls. So you better not fuck with me because I could torture you.”

  He about got into his car. But he noticed a squirrel halfway up one of the trees on the street. He went over and touched its fuzzy tail. This was kind of cool.

  “Pay attention to me, dammit!” She was huffing mad.

  Jack swiveled. “And if I start time now? Do you go bye-bye?”

  “No,” she said. “As long as I’m near you at this point, I have the body, but give me a bit, and I’ll be able to go on shopping trips on my own. Like I said, you leak Kairos like a fucking nuclear reactor. While Kairos isn’t my main deal, I still can use it to go all corporeal and shit.” She frowned, brow furrowed. She was the sulkiest demon he’d ever seen. Her cool exterior was gone.

  They went back to stand by his car. Jack held up the toy soldier. “You said I didn’t need this?”

  She shook her head. “That’s not doing a thing. It’s all you. I don’t know how that works, but there’s no Kairos in that.”

  “And what’s Kairos?” he asked.

  She scowled. “Temporal energy. One of the seven Septua energies. How can you not fucking know that?”

  He turned the soldier’s key to the right, and the cars in the street whipped up their engines and sped away.

  “Let’s not talk here,” he said. “Not that I give a shit about people listening because no one is going to believe what I can do. Let’s go to the Big Boy Café. I want Polish sausage.”

  “Is that innuendo?” Her smile was devilish.

  “No.” He got in and shoved open the door. The sex demon slid in, and he drove off.

  In no time, they were in a back booth at the Big Boy Café. While Jack was simply a guy in jeans and boots, Bailey would’ve looked more at home at a midnight cocktail party in New York City. And when the waitress came over, a middle-age, kind woman named Judy, Bailey kicked off her stilettos and flexed her toes. “Fuck, Judy, those shoes hurt my feet. And they make my toes so smelly. Your shoes look very comfortable.”

  Judy blushed herself into the color of a freshly picked summer tomato.

  “Bailey, come on,” Jack urged.

  Judy finally sputtered, “Yes, my shoes are comfortable. I’ll take your order now, Miss Bailey. Hi, Jack.”

  “Hey, Judy. I’ll try to keep my friend under control.”

  Bailey snorted.

  Jack ordered steak and eggs with a Polish sausage on the side. Black coffee. English muffin instead of toast.

  Bailey closed the menu and slammed a manicured hand down on top. “Two pots of coffee, Judy. And all of your desserts. All of them.”

  Judy gulped. “All of them? All of the pies?”

  “Yes, Judy, all the pies, all the cakes. If it’s on the fucking dessert menu, I want it on this table. Don’t go fucking freaking out on me. Just bring me all the desserts. Jack is paying.”

  It was probably around seventy-five dollars of desserts.

  Well, what else would a sex demon order?

  Judy scribbled on her pad and couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  Bailey grinned at Jack. “She has a thing for feet. Did you know out of all the paraphilias that foot fetishes are the most common? She’s rare though. Ninety-nine percent of all paraphilias are men.”

  “What are we talking about?” Jack sipped from his water, lots of ice, very cold. “Para what? Foot fetishes?”

  Bailey rolled her eyes. “You don’t know, and you’re the human at this table. I’ll give you a little lesson. Paraphilias are sexual interests in objects, situations, or individuals that are atypical. People with foot fetishes, mostly men, fall into that category.”

  Bailey lifted her right foot, set it on the table, and wiggled her toes.

  Jack moved it off. “Pretend you’re human. I’m assuming since you know what turns everyone on, you know about current American manners.”

  “I do. Don’t care. What are you into, Jack? I can’t read you, and it’s infuriating!” Bailey held her own glass of water, but the ice cubes had already melted. The condensation created a puddle on the table.

  Jack took his napkin and cleaned up a bit. “We’re not talking about my sex life. We made a deal. I went into the shower with you, and you were going to tell me everything you know about everything.”

  Bailey fluttered her eyelashes. “It’s so boring. Heaven, hell, the Tempus Influunt. Angels, demons, and the Interim. Ugh. Do you like anal? Giving and not receiving. A lot of guys are really into anal. I think it’s all the porn. And you humans are cleaner. Five hundred years ago? Wasn’t as big for obvious hygienic reasons. However, everyone has always liked a nice, juicy ass. Pygophilia is a fetish for asses as a whole.”

  “Why were you at the church?” Jack asked. “Praying for your soul?”

  Bailey snorted. “Like I have a soul. As for the church? There were a lot of horny people in there feeling guilty. It’s a good place to find people struggling with their lust.”

  “No soul?” Jack asked.

  “I have a core of Ijjinaya,” the demon said. “But it’s not a soul, not in the human sense. Like heaven and hell aren’t fighting over me.”

  “So if there’s a heaven and a hell, is there a God and a Satan?” Jack asked.

  Bailey put her fingertips on her cheeks just below her eyes, which were heavily made up—that smoky mascara really emphasized her eyes, the red one and the blue one. “You worked for that bank, right? I talked a little with our friend Evelyn about you. Have you ever met anyone on the board of that bank?”

  Jack didn’t know where she was going. “I don’t work for the bank, but that’s okay. No, I’ve never met any of the bank’s higher-ups.”

  “How do you know they exist?” Bailey tilted her head. “Hmm? You don’t. You take it on faith that there’s a CEO, a president, and blah, blah, blah. You deal with middle management. As do I. Is there a God in heaven and a Lucifer in hell? Well, middle management tells us there is, but believe me, even they have their doubts.”

  Judy came by, set down mugs and three pots of coffee, and hurried away. It was clear it took an effort of will not to glance down at Bailey’s feet.

  Bailey started slamming cups of coffee. It was fresh and hot, but being a demon, Bailey obviously didn’t feel the heat.

  Jack had to sip his own. “Middle management. And who do you report to?”

  “I went rogue a hundred years ago. You humans were too much fun to fuck, not that I’ve done that much fucking. But I was already, in the Tempus Influunt, snacking on all your Ijjinaya. Before then? I reported to Tanichron. He was a duke in Denver. A greater duke in the grand scheme of things, but a lesser duke in the bedroom. Tiny little demon cock. But anyway.”

  “Snacking on our Ijjinaya?”

  She finished off one pot and started on the next. “Yeah, a dude is jerking off, I’m right there, eating. Some1950s couple in a car at make-out point? Who is the little sex demon with them in the back seat? Yours truly. I miss those poodle skirts. An orgy during the Summer of Love? Been there, done that. Some coke whore getting dicked in a New York club in 1983? Fuck her harder, man. Fuck her harder. 1990s gay sex? I’ll take bareback homoeroticism for five hundred, Alex. Weird 2000s S&M fun inspired by Fifty Shades of Grey? I’ve lapped up lust from many a housewife in handcuffs. God bless E.L. James.”

  “Isn’t God your enemy?” Jack asked.

  “CEO of heaven? If He does exist, He doesn’t give a shit about me.” Bailey sighed. “And neither does Lucifer. That duke of hell, Tanichron, though, sometimes sends a henchman after me. But I give ’em the slip. I’m smart, powerful, and love my roguish lifestyle. Actually, I get some flak from Marianna
the most. She’s the angelic duchess of Denver. Sometimes she gets a hair up her divine ass and wants to do some housecleaning. But she loses interest in me because I don’t care two shits about soul collecting.”

  Judy brought Jack’s meal. She then returned with two trays. She set a bounty of desserts on the table. “Do you need anything else?”

  The demon’s smile was pornographic. “Oh, yes, Miss Judy. I’d love to—”

  Jack kicked the demon.

  Bailey’s face crumpled. “Ow. Fine. We’re okay, Judy. Thank you.”

  Judy hurried away. Did she add a little wiggle? Jack thought she might’ve.

  Bailey pouted, not speaking and not slamming coffee like she was doing shots of Patrón.

  “You can’t embarrass me, Bailey,” Jack said.

  “That kick hurt. It’s not nice. And I hate answering your dumb questions. The point is this...I want to hang around you because I like having a body, and you seem like a good time when you’re not kicking me, and you’re a mystery. I’m curious. What about you? How do you stop time?”

  “I have no idea,” he said honestly. “Two bank robbers tried to kill me, and time stopped. I thought it was because of the toy soldier. You keep telling me that’s not the case, but so far the only way I’ve managed to do it is by turning the key in the soldier’s back. Now, eat one of your many desserts.”

  “I’m going to eat them all.” The demon grabbed a wedge of cherry pie and stuffed it into her mouth. She fluttered her eyes as she chewed it down.

  “So demons and angels collect souls?” he asked.

  “Some do.”

  Jack could barely make out the words. “Bailey, that’s gross. Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  She licked her lips and her fingers. “You sure have a lot of rules. Don’t talk with your mouth full. Don’t sneak into the women’s bathroom. Don’t hit on the middle-aged waitress with the foot fetish. Dammit, Jack, I’m a sex demon, not an etiquette columnist.”

  She drank four cups of coffee and then slurped down the apple pie, berry pie, and coconut cream pie. She sat back. “Oh, pie. So much pie. Having a body is awesome. I want you to smear pie all over me and fuck me in the ass.”

  “You need to keep your voice down,” Jack said. He needed to eat—his meal was getting cold—but he was getting the answers to all of his questions. About life, death, the afterlife, the whole deal. “Tell me more about soul collecting.”

  “Human fucker dies, right?” Bailey sucked cream off her finger. Of course, she lingered a bit, letting her tongue swirl the cream into her red mouth.

  Jack felt a tingle in his half-hard cock.

  Bailey giggled. “So some fucker dies, and his soul leaves his body. It’s fair game for anyone in the soul game, though in the end, the amount of fuckery you’ve done weighs you down. The lighter the soul, the more it goes to the light. The heavier the fucker, the more likely they’ll wind up in the darkness. But not always. Souls are powerful. Some come back. Some haunt shit. Some go beyond and become whatever. I don’t fucking care. The soul business is where you have heaven and hell fighting. Fuck all that action. I feed on Ijjinaya and mind my own business.”

  “And the Interim?” Jack cut off a strip of his steak. It was tough as nails but still had some juice.

  “The Tempus Fugits, the time flyers, also known as the Interim, but most of us supernatural bitches call them Fugs. As in fucking ugly. Fugs aren’t demons. Fugs aren’t angels. They are creatures in the flow of time that snack on someone’s Kairos. Every human is a mixture of the Septua energies. You want me to go through them all? Fuck you. Let me eat cake first.”

  Jack ate his steak and eggs. Bailey ate all the cake—carrot, chocolate, strawberry, the range of cakes. She should’ve started with the ice cream, but it seemed she liked it melted anyway. It was good Jack had a strong stomach. Bailey plowing through the desserts was gross. And down went another pot of coffee.

  She went over the energy types that made up your average human.

  Kairos was temporal energy.

  Ijjinaya was lust.

  Corpus was their spatial energy, which helped people travel through the world. Basically, it was the energy within a person’s cells.

  Nefesh was soul. That was what demons and angels fought over.

  Psyche was the intellect.

  Morpheum was dream energy.

  Decaysia was death energy that eventually consumed people.

  The seven sacred energies were also known as the Septua.

  “So are there creatures that leech off each of the energies?” he asked.

  Bailey shrugged. “Like I fucking care. I eat Ijjinaya. I know about the Fugs because I spend a lot of time in the Tempus Interim, the spaces inside time. Also, the Fugs are part of the Tempus Bellum.”

  “And that is?”

  “Fucking boring. All of this is boring.” Bailey just drank the bowls of ice cream. She sat back, hands on her stomach. “I don’t feel so good. I suppose I shouldn’t puke in the middle of the restaurant.”

  Jack was a bit mystified. “You ate too much and drank too much. You didn’t know that was going to happen?”

  “How could I know that? I haven’t eaten human food since 1972. Ugh. This is terrible.”

  It seemed their conversation was done for now. He had a sick sex demon to take care of. He’d gotten a lot of good information, but they weren’t done. Not yet.

  Chapter Eleven

  JACK GOT THE DEMON out of the restaurant. He froze time just as she lost her lunch. He held her hair back as she filled the gutter with very humanish puke. He started time again, got her into his car, and sped off.

  Jack headed for Highway 85, otherwise known as South Santa Fe Drive. Rio Grande Avenue brought him right to the freeway. He wanted to secure a month’s rent before he completely gave up working.

  A miserable Bailey lay in the back seat. “Ugh. You should shoot me.”

  “I can only shoot Fugs once, and then my bullets don’t work. Any idea why that is? Would you be the same?”

  Bailey groaned. “Stop asking me questions. Dammit, Jack, I’m just a simple country sex demon. I don’t know shit.”

  “Why don’t you just take off then? You can make another body, right?”

  The sex demon sighed. “However shitty I feel, I like this fleshy vessel. Being incorporeal is fine. Building bodies sucks, though I have to do it all the fucking time. No, this is better. I just have to learn how to deal with being meat again.”

  “Well, if your meat needs to puke again, let me know. I’ll stop the car, stop time, whatever.”

  They were zooming up Santa Fe Drive. He’d hook onto C-470 and go east to I-25, and that would take them to the rich Cherry Creek neighborhood and the homes of the Tarringtons. They had several.

  “Jack!” the demon shrieked. “I’m gonna do it again. I’m gonna—”

  Jack had the toy soldier ready. A click to the left and the traffic around him became statues, as did his own car. Whatever the physics, he wasn’t thrown through the dashboard. That was convenient.

  He opened the door, ready for his feet to go smearing across the highway at seventy-five miles an hour. Didn’t happen. He ran to the back passenger door, opened it, and dragged Bailey out just as she spewed up again on the asphalt.

  “Give me a minute,” the demon choked. “You’re totally not gonna wanna bang me after this. You’ll just remember all those disgusting noises. I was wrong. Having a body is stupid.”

  “You’d be surprised what a guy can ignore,” Jack said. He took a minute to walk up to a semi pulling a big trailer. Eighteen wheels stuck in motion. Everything had a bit of blur to it, but it wasn’t so bad. Better yet, Jack’s head wasn’t starting to ache yet.

  He walked over to a minivan. A mom was driving, and in the back seat were three kids: baby in a car seat, a toddler, and an eight-year-old boy with an iPad. A nice little family caught in the Tempus Influunt.

  Movement behind a county dump truck drew his eyes.<
br />
  From out of the truck’s open window, a collection of ugly one-eyed birds fluttered away from the driver. They were bright pink with black wings. Their claws were a dusky gold, long and sharp. They had one pale pink eye and a puckered mouth underneath. In that circle of flesh were teeth as dark yellow as their talons.

  There were five of the cyclops birds. More Fugs, which was interesting given the fact they’d been snacking on the driver of the dump truck.

  They came tearing over, flying on those slimy black wings, which were probably better at flying through the timestream than the air.

  Jack pulled his gun. He had to assume he had one shot each. Jack got into a nice and stable isosceles stance, sights lined up with his right eye, shoulders rolled forward. He waited for the first bird to come within range. Jack anticipated where the bird was heading and aimed accordingly. Pulling the trigger, he watched the round slam into the puckered mouth of the thing, and the bird flopped to the pavement.

  Jack felt the energy of the kill more acutely than when he’d killed the Mouth in the dumpster behind the Big Boy Café. He shot two more times, hit once, and brought another bird down.

  “Jack!” Bailey screamed. “What are you shooting at?”

  He was too busy moving to answer. He dodged another bird, and it winged around, but now it was behind him.

  Claws raked up his back, but his leather jacket helped keep most of those claws off him. He whirled and blew through the wings of the bird who’d scratched him. It flopped onto the ground.

  Three birds left, including the one flopping around on the ground. Their claws were too big for them to walk, so without wings, they were pretty worthless. Jack smacked away another of the things, and just touching that soft, squishy pink flesh made his skin crawl.

  He ducked and fired into the ass of the monster. It went down, shrieking and bleeding black.

  The last cyclops bird came right at Jack. He jammed his pistol into the thing’s eye and fired. The black brains and whatever other viscera went shooting out the exit wound. The corpse plopped to the ground.