“Is he still playing there?”
“I reckon so. Why you asking? You ain’t fixin’ to slap him silly again are you? You know he’s still madder than a wet hen about that whole thing in France.”
“The short story is that we need him to take us back to 1975 so we can find the Ark of the Covenant — and summarily destroy it.”
As Coop’s faced went blank, he muttered, “Y’all been drinking?”
Completely ignoring the comment, Rooster said, “Can you meet us at the MidKnight Jayde in twenty minutes?”
“Ah, sure thing.”
“Okay, thanks, man. See you soon. Watch your back.”
“Ain’t my back I’m worried about, pard. Y’all be careful.”
As the redneck archer’s face faded from the screen, Rooster hit the power button on his array of radio equipment and stowed the microphone.
“So, Tallahassee, eh?” I muttered.
“Yeppers,” he replied, getting up from his stool and quickly shuffling toward the kiln to check on his pizza while pulling out his peculiar pad of sticky notes.
“Where are we meeting Cooper?” Erin asked, adjusting her shoulder holster to ensure her pistolas were neatly concealed under her jacket.
“The MidKnight Jayde Karma Café.”
“What exactly is a karma café?”
“It’s, ah, sort of a supernatural gathering place run by a couple vexens named Harlan Jayde and Willa Knightly. Place has been around for as long as I can remember … and that’s saying something.”
“Gathering place, eh?” I muttered. “You mean like a coffee shop?”
“They serve coffee,” Rooster replied, in a manner that made me think they served a hell of a lot more than that.
“And what’s a vexen?” Erin asked.
“Vexens are a kind of an elemental magi. But, instead of being wise men — they’re women. Usually delectable blondes with mesmerizing blue eyes and great big juicy—”
“So, they’re witches,” I interjected before Rooster’s balls wound up on the wrong end of Doc’s kneecap.
“Well, sort of, but not really. In simple terms, they’re like a magus but they have the ability to freely manipulate the four elements — fire, water, earth, and air. And they can do other stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Pray you never find out, my friend. And word to the wise — should you refer to one of them as a witch while in their presence you’ll most likely lose the ability to pee while standing upright for the rest of your unnatural after-life. And they may turn you into a newt — just for fun.”
As I contemplated that for a second or two, Rooster meandered toward the kiln and proudly announced, “Sweet! Looks like the pizza’s—”
Unfortunately, my enigmatic ginger colleague never finished that sentence because he was distracted by the distinct sound of heavy footsteps emanating from the above cabin.
“Somebody’s here,” Doc muttered, just above a whisper.
Fixated on the wide open trap door separating the cabin from the Crow Nest secret lair, we locked gazes and instinctively drew our respective weapons. With enough fire power trained on the top of the stairs to take out an entire platoon of hostile insurgents, we waited with perfect patience to give our mysterious party crasher a proper welcome.
And as fate would have it, what came through the trap door was neither a person nor an unnatural beastie. It was a small, pineapple shaped object that methodically tumbled down the chiseled, stone steps until it reached the floor and casually rolled to an ominous halt between us.
Somewhat perplexed by the unexpected turn of events, Rooster gawked at the peculiar object now resting on the edge of his boot.
“What the hell? Is that a—”
“Grenade!” I yelled, willing the cloak into being.
Grabbing Doc by the waist and spinning her out of the immediate blast radius, I dropped to a knee and shielded her with my body in anticipation of the imminent blast.
So, to quickly recap current events—
It seemed we weren’t having any pizza.
Which sucked.
And although we’d caught a break and tracked down a time hippie to jump us back to 1975, we were regrettably about to be sent to a rocky grave instead.
Which really sucked.
And, of course, we were out of beer.
There were no words for that disappointment.
Grenade anyone?
Chapter 21
As the confined space filled with the telltale odor of stale gun powder, and the fuse of the old school fragmentary grenade violently hissed away like the wick on a firecracker, I waited, with clenched teeth, for the ensuing deafening explosion of searing shrapnel and splintered mayhem.
And although I was pretty sure it was going to hurt like hell, I was also pretty sure that literally being at ground zero of a detonating frag wouldn’t do all that much damage to me — or Rooster for that matter.
Doc, on the other hand, was a different story. As such, I made damn sure she was fully concealed by the cloak as I wrapped my arms around her as tight as I possibly could.
Fully prepared for a truly horrific explosion, I was more than a bit surprised to instead hear a soft fizzle followed by a distinct popping sound indicating that the fuse burned out before igniting the primer.
And, as I knew from experience with old-ass munitions, the olive drab orb was instantly rendered to nothing more than a nostalgic pineapple shaped paperweight.
“Dagnabbit!” A male voice frustratingly bellowed from the cabin above us in a raspy, gruff tone. “Goldurn fuse cap! Dangit all.”
Regaining his composure, our mysterious assailant then said, “Alright, listen here, you sumbitches. I want hands in the dagburn air. Ain’t no need to make this any worse on yourselves. Y’all hear me?”
Releasing my death grip on Erin, I rose to my feet to find Rooster curled into the fetal position next to his pizza oven. Instantly recognizing the cartoon character-like voice of the mystery man upstairs, he jumped to his feet and shook his head is disbelief.
“No freaking way. Tuck? Tuck Corbin? Is that you?”
“You’re dagburn right it’s me, you infernal jaybird. I finally got you right where I want you. Now, I’m a’ coming down there on the count of ten. And you best not try any of that funny stuff now, boy. I’m a’ taking you in.”
“John,” Erin asked, trying to figure out what the hell was happening, “Why is Foghorn Leghorn trying to kill you?”
“Seriously,” I grumbled, “You know this frigg’n guy?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” he replied, drawing his pair of signature Glock pistolas from somewhere deep in the bowels of his bomber jacket as he cautiously maneuvered toward the trap door.
“Who the hell is he?”
“One of twelve members of an ancient society of liderc hunters. And trust me, we do not want him down here.”
“Can’t you just sticky pad portal us out of here?”
“Not so much,” he muttered, “The Crow Nest wards are air tight. We need to get outside before I can open a portal.”
“Alright. I’ll get rid of him. Cover me.”
As Doc instinctively slid her H&Ks from the dueling holsters on her shoulder harness and assumed the ready position, I boldly placed myself at the bottom on the stone steps.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Attention, asshole in the cabin.”
“You ain’t O’Dargan,” he grunted in response, still concealed somewhere in the shadows at the top of the stairs. “Identify yourself.”
“This is Dean Robinson. I’m—”
“The wayward Deacon. Yeah, I know who you are, boy. Lucky for you, I ain’t got no interest on the bounty you’re carrying on your goldurn head.”
“Oh, good. That’s such a relief,” I grumbled, with a slight hint of sarcasm. “Now, listen up, jackass — I’m heavily armed, out of beer, and really fucking pissed. You drop another frag down here and I swear to God — I’ll stick it so far up your a
ss you’ll be coughing up gun powder for a frigg’n month. With that in mind, this is your one and only chance to get the hell out of here unscathed before I become whiny. And trust me, pal, you wouldn’t like me when I’m whiny.”
“Just who do you think you’re a talking to, boy?”
“Gomer Pyle?”
“Lookie here, Robinson. This is Tecumseh Corbin,” he indignantly replied. “And I’m operating on official business, boy. Got me a writ signed by Gabriel himself for one John James Jehoshaphat O’Dargan, a.k.a. the Rooster. A writ, mind you, that gives me full authority to deport that jackleg of a liderc back to the deepest darkest corner of Hell — with the rest of his unnatural like kin.”
“Sorry, pal,” I grumbled, trying my damnedest to get a look at him to no avail. “That ain’t happening.”
“So, it’s gonna be like that, eh? Well, boy, seems we got ourselves a problem.”
“Seems we do.”
“Lucky for you — problem solving is my specialty.”
But, as Tecumseh was a complete and utter hayseed, he said it like ‘spesh-she-ali-tee.’
“That’s your specialty? Seems like cartoon voice overs would be more up your alley.”
“Don’t sass me, boy. Listen here, this can go one of two ways. The first of which is you let me down there all gentlemanlike and we come to terms on the execution of my official business matter.”
“And the second?”
“I push the button on my fancy little device here and let the archangels know where you’re holed up.”
“And remind me again why I just don’t shoot your sorry ass and call it a day.”
“You could try,” he snickered, “But not before I bring half of Tenth Heaven to your dagburn doorstep. After I send the signal, a legion of halos will be here in about three seconds — maybe four if they stop for coffee. I hear halos got a real hankering for coffee
“Aha. That’s actually a pretty good reason.”
“Hoo doggie! We got ourselves a genuine standoff here, Robinson. Your move, boy.”
“Goddamn it,” I muttered, trading glances with Doc and Rooster. “Give us a minute, would ya?”
“Take your time, boy. Been waiting two thousand, five hundred, and sixty-one years to bring O’Dargan to justice. Another minute won’t kill me, I suppose. I do have me some supper plans, so kindly don’t take too dagburn long though.”
Huddling with the crew, I said, “Frigg’n Foghorn Leghorn seems to have us by the short hairs. What now?”
“Let him down here,” Rooster grumbled. “I think I can reason with him.”
“Reason? With him?” Erin scoffed. “He dropped a grenade on us. And he talks like Jed Clampett. I vote for shooting his ass.”
“This guy’s been hunting me my entire freaking life. We’re practically family. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”
“I’d kinda like to shoot him too,” I muttered. “Just saying.”
“Wouldn’t do any good besides piss him off.”
“Why the hell not?”
“He can’t be killed. I’ve tried. More times than I can remember.”
“Is he a nepher?”
“No. No, he’s not.”
“Angel?”
“No. And before you ask — he’s not a demon nor a mutated alien ecoterrorist. He’s a Sumerian Knight.”
“Sumerian,” Doc said, entirely unconvinced. “Like from Sumer? As is in Mesopotamia?”
“Yeppers.”
“As in the civilization that lived like three thousand years ago?”
“More like five to six thousand years ago.”
“So he’s human?” I scoffed.
“He is.”
When it was pretty clear both Doc and I were clearly not following the plot, Rooster said, “Okay, back in the early days, after Lucifer and Lilith started cranking out little lidercs, they thought it would be funny to let them loose on mankind for a while. Kind of like a demented field trip.”
“That doesn’t sound like them at all,” Erin muttered.
“As such,” Rooster continued, “My brothers and I pretty much wreaked unfettered havoc on the Earth for a solid few centuries. Right up until the Sumerian nations had enough of our shit and formed an unholy band of assassins to take care of business. Known only as the Knights of Uruk, they were a collection of ruthless warrior types from across the ancient lands charged with one hallowed purpose — to hunt lidercs and deport them to Hell with extreme prejudice.”
“How the hell did they do that?” I asked. “Lidercs are—”
“Indestructible freak show forces of nature, I know. That’s the thing. Nobody really knew how they did it. Rumor had it that the Knights were imbued with a dark power from the Sumerian goddess of war, Inanna, who granted them near immortality and superhuman abilities.”
“That doesn’t make any frigg’n sense.”
“Regardless of what actually happened, it worked. Over the years, they got every last liderc except one.”
“You.”
“Me.”
“Okay,” Doc grumbled, “So Howdy Doody up there is an immortal assassin spawn from the literal architects of human civilization. Got it — somewhat, I guess. But, why the hell does he talk like he just walked out of a scene in Blazing Saddles?”
“After I went straight and Stephen recruited me to join the Guild, old Tuck couldn’t hunt me anymore. And since I was the last liderc topside, he really had nothing to do. So, he kind of retired. I lost track of him for centuries. Then, out of nowhere, he popped back on the grid in the early 1700s. In freaking Kansas of all places. Had himself a nice little ranch and was running routes for the Pony Express. Might’ve had a stint or two as a Federal Marshal too. Think he used to wear an eye patch. Mainly for posterity. Honestly, I think he just got a little too carried away with whole wild west thing.”
“Okay,” I grunted, making the mental note that I really wished we weren’t out of beer. “We let him down here. You talk to him. If you can’t reason with him, we pop the bastard and get the hell out of Dodge.”
“What if he uses that tracking device to tip off the seraphic court?”
“I’ve got a plan.”
“A plan?”
“More of an idea, actually.”
“You sure about this?”
“No. But, there’s no more time to dick around. We need to get out of here and meet that time hippie guy in Tallahassee. And I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.”
“Agreed,” Doc affirmed, chambering a round in both pistols and removing the safeties. “Let’s do this.”
Yelling up the steps, I said, “Alright, you win. Get your ass down here, Gomer — nice and slow.”
“Had a feeling you’d come to your senses, boy. Y’all stand down. Here I come.”
Not really sure what a millennia old Sumerian Knight would look like, I was more than a bit surprised when the figure that emerged from the shadows, and casually strolled down the steps like he owned the joint, looked more like somebody’s kindly gramps than a merciless immortal assassin.
Sporting pleated khakis and a stylish green sweater vest, the meticulously groomed silver haired aristocrat was a little less than average height, and had a noticeable middle aged pooch hanging over the waist of his trousers.
In fact, except for the peculiar ceramic body armor that covered his torso and the impressive array of eclectic weaponry strapped around his waist, he looked like he should’ve been lounging at a hifalutin gentlemen’s club sipping brandy from a snifter and smoking a pipe.
“Do all Sumerian knights dress like extras from Caddyshack?” I asked.
“I’m retired,” he grumbled back at me, clearly not appreciating the comment.
Holding nothing in his hands except a blinking device, which I assumed was his aforementioned angel beacon, he reached the bottom of the steps to find the business end of Erin’s H&Ks trained squarely on his head.
“Ain’t no need for those six shooters, girlie
,” he said, with a wide smile. “Besides, ain’t nobody ever tell you that sticking a gun in someone’s face was unladylike?”
Returning his smile, Doc responded by casually pointing both pistols at his ballsac instead.
“Is that better?”
Figuring he wasn’t going to win that battle, he gave Erin a dismissive glare and turned his full attention on Rooster.
“Long time, Johnny. I told you I’d be there when you fell from grace. Ain’t no hiding behind the Guild anymore. You’re on the wrong side of the line, boy. My side. “
“Good to see you too, Tuck,” Rooster replied, holstering his Glocks. “Retirement looks, ah, good on you?”
Sucking in his gut, he replied, “I ain’t gone soft, boy. You best believe I’m as good now as I ever was. Despite what you Hell spawn half-breeds think, even I can’t escape the perils of old age — or dagburn ‘all you can eat’ buffets for that matter.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, you don’t look a day over four thousand five hundred and fifty-two.”
“Alright, alright, quit trying to butter me up.”
“How’d you find me anyway?”
“When word came over the wire about your bounty, I had a feeling you’d show up here sooner or later.”
“But, how’d you even know about this place?”
“Please,” he scoffed, “You ain’t got no secrets from me, boy.”
“Have I mentioned how much I’ve missed our little chats.”
“Yeah, I bet you did. You ready to face what you got a coming to you?”
“About that — We’ve known each other for a long time, right?”
“Since before the days of Methuselah, I reckon.”
“And have I ever lied to you?”
“Can’t say you ever did.”
“Then before we proceed, I need you to hear me out about something. For old time’s sake.”
“Alright, you jaybird, I’m a listening. But make it quick. Already made it known that I got supper plans. The missus gets all ornery when I’m late for supper.”
“Okay, right. What if I told you that the seraphic court was compromised and one of the archangels is a traitor. A traitor who’s conspiring with Azazel.”
Wrath of the Fallen: The Guild of Deacons, Book 2 Page 19
