by Borne Wilder
“Did you hear that?” Michael asked looking to Jeremiel, “He didn’t refer to himself in the third person?” For millennia Baal had only mentioned himself in the third person. Michael even thought that it was Baal who had introduced it into human language.
“Is that Gabriel’s doing, Shorty?” Jeremiel asked. “Did he fix it, so you could speak normal?” He kicked another small stone into Baal’s forehead. “Well, you can roll dog shit in powdered sugar, but that doesn’t make it edible.”
“Doesn’t make it a jelly doughnut.” Michael corrected, smiling at Jeremiel. In a thousand years, he had yet to hear Jerry use a folksy saying correctly. He screwed them up in every language, not just English.
“The way I said it, was just fine,” Jeremiel said defensively.
“Well, I’m glad you apprehended your perp, suspect or whatever the fuck he is.” Ron interrupted. “And thanks for saving my ass, you should frisk him for a stun gun, by the way, but we’re kind of in a hurry here. I have never met this man before in my life and I damn sure don’t have his property. We can come by the station and give you a statement and shit, tomorrow.” Ron stepped carefully past Baal and opened the door to his car. “Jerry, Michael, Mr. Baal, it was a pleasure meeting you all, but we have to roll.”
“We know you have a Shekel of Tyre in your possession,” Jeremiel said, as he kicked at another stone, bouncing it off Baal’s head. “We need to know what your plans are.”
“Well officer, unless you plan on arresting us, we’re going to bounce,” Ron said as he eased his still-sore leg into his car.
“We’re not the police,” Jeremiel said, stepping over Baal and closer to Ron. “What do you know about angels----”
“Whoa, pump the brakes there, Jerry. These two probably have a lot on their mind, without you adding a bunch of unauthorized mumbo jumbo into the mix.” Michael spoke up. Usually, he was the one who talked too much. “We need to take care of our perp, anyway,” he said, trying to send Jerry a message with the tone of his voice. “We can swing by tomorrow and get a statement from these guys.”
Jerry flashed Michael a hot look but stepped away from the car.
“Swing by tomorrow, anytime,” Charlie called out as he got into the passenger side of the car. “We’ll be here all day.” He felt it was his civic duty to lie to cops.
The three entities watched the car back out of the drive and pull away. Jeremiel turned and looked coldly down at Baal. “What the freak? They’re not coming back, Michael. We’re going to lose the shekel. Why? Because you want to deal with this piece of shit?”
It tickled Michael when Jerry used profanity, it always sounded disjointed coming out of his mouth. “Nah, fuck this piece of shit, we’re going to follow them.” He tossed Baal’s short cane into the fallen prince’s lap. Baal looked up at him, puzzled, but remained silent. “You do realize you can’t substitute freak for fuck, it’s still fuck.”
“No, it’s not, I’ve said fuck before. It has a completely different feel to it.” Jeremiel had defended his position on this a thousand times already. “What about the coin? We can’t fly outside this dimension and still keep an eye on them. Without knowing where they are going; we can’t head them off outside of time. How do you propose we follow them?”
“We’re taking Shithead’s car.” Michael nodded at Baal. “You don’t mind do you, your Highness?”
Once again, Baal tried to use his walking stick to help get his stubby legs beneath him but was met with Michael’s foot, which planted him back on his butt.
“You’re not coming with, Shorty and if we catch you with your hands on another human, I’ll make sure that it’s Jerry who gets to you first.” Baal’s eyes darted to Jeremiel, whose eyes suddenly seemed to twinkle. “The results of that encounter would be most unpleasant, wouldn’t you say?”
“Jeremiel, I apologize for my rash behavior,” Baal said sheepishly. A little ass-kissing was never beneath Baal.
“Stick it up your ass,” Jeremiel said, he kicked at the crack in the drive and another small stone bounced off Baal’s forehead. The two angels turned and trotted off toward the limo.
“Fuck you, shorty!” Jeremiel shouted over his shoulder.
***
Both of the brothers watched behind them as they made their way out of town. There was enough gas in the car, so they could wait to refuel and maybe put some distance between them and Shorty. Neither one of them had any doubt he would be looking for them. Charlie watched over the back seat while Ron’s eyes remained glued to the rearview mirror. They had crisscrossed and zagged around town, on their way out, which was probably ineffective, considering there were only two main roads leading to the next towns, one north, and one south. The zig-zagging had given the sun time to set so recognizing a car behind them wasn’t going to be easy, but headlights would indicate a vehicle much further back. So far the road behind them remained empty.
“I didn’t see what the cops were driving, but the short fucker with the stun gun came running up from a black limo,” Ron said, absentmindedly rubbing his thigh. He was more than a little embarrassed, a person not much bigger than a toddler had completely incapacitated him with such apparent ease. Couple this with the fact that he knew the small man had not used a stun gun on him, and he actually wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.
“He didn’t have a stun gun. It was just his palm. It must have been some fucking kung fu move. The Vibrating Palm.” Charlie’s tone was serious. “I read somewhere that Bruce Lee died from that shit. Some motherfucker put their hand on his chest and a few hours later his heart stopped.” Charlie glanced down at Ron’s leg. “How does your heart feel?” he asked.
“That’s bullshit, he died because someone put a curse on the Game of Death movie. He revealed ancient kung fu secrets, so they had him killed. Keep your eyes peeled.”
“Who are they?”
“What do you mean, who are they?”
“The ‘they,’ that had Bruce Lee killed? Who are they?”
“Hell, I don’t know, ancient Chinese masters---look it up on the internet.”
After they had passed the town’s last streetlight, the sides of the road fell into darkness, they were now safely into cow country. Charlie relaxed and faced forward. “We’ll be able to see any headlights in the mirrors.”
The two rode in silence, both trying to work out what had happened back at the house. Why were the cops involved? What had they gotten themselves into? Was it going to be worth it? A million five said it was.
Charlie was the first to crack under the deafening quiet. “Who do you think the sawed-off fuckstick was?”
“The Trumpet Maker, or some shit. The crazy witch in New Orleans told me about him.” Ron glanced at the rearview and then at Charlie. “I think he’s the one that sold the coin to Nolte’s dumbass. I think Nolte sold his soul to that guy.”
“There’s no way, that runt was Satan,” Charlie said in disbelief. “There is no way the Prince of fucking Darkness is three and a half foot tall.” Despite his words, the phrase ‘dynamite comes in small packages’ came to mind and it made the little dude seem even scarier.
“I didn’t say that. He must be some representative, or something, a principality or a demon. The witch called him Baal. She said he was dangerous, but she must have forgotten to mention the motherfucker has tasers for fingers.” Ron glanced at the rear view. Any thought of his leg was becoming synonymous with a quick look to see what was sneaking up on them.
“Maybe I’ve been pronouncing it wrong all this time. There’s a Baal in the Bible, but I never heard it pronounced bale.” Dynamite popped to the forefront of Charlie’s thoughts again.
“Who the fuck was he, did they have midgets in the Bible?”
“Some god the Canaanites had. They sacrificed babies to him. Heated up big bowls until they were white hot, then tossed in a baby to sizzle. Can you believe we used to do shit like that?” Charlie stifled a piss chill; the mental image of an infant, sliding around in a white hot cauldron unnerved
him. A red hot chunk of steel had burned through his shoe once when he was welding; the pain was incredible and unending. “That idiot back there wasn’t any kind of a god.” He said, “He was just your average, run of the mill, circus ninja.” He said this more to convince himself, than Ron.
“Need to borrow a diaper, Cupcake? You looked like you were pissing yourself when Too-tall had you by the leg.” Nolte wheeze-laughed, from the back seat. “I know, I almost pissed myself laughing.”
“Motherfucker! I thought I put you down, back at your house.” Ron reached over the back seat swinging blindly. Nolte leaned away from the flailing arm, wheezing and laughing even harder.
“You cock munchers can’t kill me.”
The car jerked violently in the road and Ron gave up on smacking Nolte, for the moment. “The next time I get my hands on you, you will suffer before you have a chance to pop out of sight.”
“Wish in one hand Cupcake, wish in one hand.” Nolte chuckled.
“All the times throughout my life that I had wished you were dead, I come to find out, you’re more of an asshole dead, than alive.”
The laughing from the back seat subsided with a small cough. “That half pint, half a fag back there is Baal,” Nolte said, quietly and suddenly serious. “He’s some fucking big shot demon. Motherfucker buys souls for the Devil.” He clicked his tongue twice in the side of his cheek, trying to draw attention to himself. “The old boy gave me a pretty good deal; I think; he threw in my jimmy enlargement for free.” He patted the front of his diaper. “Would either of you rentboys like to take a gander?”
Careful to remain out of arm's reach, Nolte repositioned himself in the middle of the back seat, causing Ron to wince at the squishing sound the old man’s diaper made. “What do you faggots think you’re going to do with my nest egg?” he asked.
“Shut the fuck up,” Ron replied, wondering if he could break the shithead’s nose without running off into the ditch.
“Oh no, did widdle piddle boy get his feelings hurt, when Tiny Tot kicked his ass back there?” Nolte chided.
Widdle-piddle boy went back to the brothers’ childhood, yet it still carried some sting. “Shut the fuck up,” Charlie said, he turned in his seat to face Nolte. “That was your first and final warning.”
Nolte recognized the look and he knew Charlie meant it, but that didn’t confront him, he was here to punch their buttons until they broke. “You can stick your first and last warning straight up your ass Nancy-Boy, are you going to fight widdle-piddle boy’s fight..." Nolte was silenced by a familiar metallic click.
The passenger seat exploded with a large flash. The air in the car was replaced with an ear ringing cloud of smoke. The smell of gunpowder flooded the vehicle. Ron slammed on the brakes, grabbing at Charlie’s hand to prevent him from cocking the derringer and firing again. Looking down he realized Charlie had fired the pistol through the seat back, in order to shoot Nolte. He’d shot his fucking car!
Ron flipped on the dome light. “What in the fuck are you doing?” He screamed, barely able to hear himself over the ringing in his ears. “You shot a fucking hole in my seat!” He looked back at Nolte, who was pointing to a dark spot on his chest and yelling at Charlie. His lips were moving rapidly, it appeared that he had much to say about the discharge of the firearm, but the muffled, “murum, murum” Ron was hearing, didn’t seem to translate into any real language. Everything seemed to be happening in a slow, surreal cloud of very loud gun smoke. The wound in Ron’s seat looked fatal.
Ron jerked the pistol out of Charlie’s grip and threw it on the dash. His foot slipped off the brake and the car lurched forward. Ron punched it into park with the heel of his hand, a move that resembled what Charlie imagined a well-executed Vibrating Palm thrust might look like. “What in the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, shoving a laughing Charlie against the door panel in order to get a better look at the damage to his passenger seat in the dim lighting from the dashboard. He poked a finger into the hole and noticed, Nolte was doing the same to the hole in his chest.
“You motherfucker!” Nolte yelled. “What if that doesn’t heal?” He pulled a small piece of leather from the gunshot wound and flicked it at Charlie.
Charlie was struggling to catch his breath through his laughter. “We may not be able to kill you, but I’ll do that again, just to see the look on your face.”
Nolte held up his finger for Charlie to examine. “Is that blood?” Without waiting for an answer, he looked down at his lap and pulled the waistband on his diaper out, to look for further damage, possibly a ricochet into his jimmy. “Fucking hell, I shit on my lighter.” The air in the car now reeked of burnt gunpowder and dead guy shit. He pulled a ragged looking pack of Pall Malls from the front of his diaper and inspected them for shit. “My smokes are dry.” He said. Pulling a gnarled looking cigarette from the pack, he stuck it in his teeth. Dusting some debris, probably gun powder, from around his gunshot wound he leaned toward Ron. “Got a light, Cupcake?” Charlie recognized Nolte’s Clint Eastwood, immediately.
Ron backhanded the cigarette from Nolte’s mouth. “Fuck you assholes.” He turned and gripped the steering wheel hard. All three sat in silence for several long minutes, before Ron shoved the car in gear. “There’s no fucking smoking in my car.” He said, as he took his foot off the brake and stepped on the gas.
11
Baal’s driver was nowhere to be found when Michael and Jeremiel opened the doors to little demon’s car. Both got into the front seat.
“You know Baal will find a way to follow,” Jeremiel said flatly. “We should have done something with him.”
“Like what, take him to Gabe? And when he asks about the shekel, we tell him we lost it? Besides, there’s still a remote chance Baal could get his hands on it before us and when that happens, Gabe said you could take him out.”
“He really said that? I can dispatch him?” Jeremiel asked, the sound of his voice a mix between disbelief and giddy.
“By any means necessary.” Michael reiterated. “I’m not saying that we don’t do our job, I’m saying there’s still a chance, as long as he’s loose.”
“By any means necessary.” Jeremiel fell silent and listened to the words repeat in his head. Suddenly he grabbed the door handle and flung the door open.
“He’s after the coin and that’s good enough for me, I’m dropping him.” Jerry was halfway out of the car when Michael latched onto his jacket. “Hold on there, Buckaroo, only if he refuses to give us the coin.” He pulled Jerry back into the car. He could see the disappointment in the angel’s face. “Let’s watch the boneheads and wait for Baal to make his move.” Michael reached for the seatbelt at the top of the seat. “We were sent to observe and protect, remember that Broheim, you’re letting Shorty get to you.”
Jeremiel grunted. Few things pissed him off, but Michael talking down to him was one of them.
Michael adjusted his seat back and pulled slack into the seatbelt. He mined the female end from between the cushions and semi-struggling, reached behind his back locking the male end into the female. Catching Jerry’s curious look, “What?” he asked, slightly panting. “I’m not listening to the dashboard dinging at me. I suggest you do the same. It had been a long-standing argument, between the two, as long as cars had been around in fact. Jerry’s anal retentive driving habits drove Michael crazy.
“Why go to all that trouble, why not just put it on right?”
“I don’t want to look like a pussy.”
Jeremiel shook his head as he pulled the shoulder strap down in front of him and clicked the ends together. He checked his side mirror and flipped the blinker, signaling he was pulling away from the curb. “Which way did they go?” he asked, playing stupid for Michael’s benefit.
“You fucking do that, just to piss me off.” Michael groaned.
“Do what?” Jeremiel smiled.
“The fucking blinker thing. You can’t keep your hand off the damn thing. Blinker, blinker, blinker! Every
time you fucking drive.” Like a snake strike, Michael leaned across Jerry and snapped the lever off the steering column. Immediately the wipers came on and the dashboard started clicking, indicating a right turn.
“Thank you very much; I’m probably going to get a ticket, now.” Jeremiel was no longer smiling. The wipers squeaked on the dry windshield. “Oh yeah, my blinker use was way more annoying than that.”
“Just drive.”
Jeremiel pulled the car away from the curb and drove slowly toward Baal, who was jumping up and down beside one of the cars parked in Nolte’s drive, trying to look in one of the windows. Pressing the switch, he rolled the dark window of the limo down. As they passed, Jeremiel gave the horn a crisp toot. “See ya, I’m glad I’m not you.” He shouted at the small demon.
“It’s ‘Seeya, wouldn’t wanna beya.” Michael corrected.
“What did I say?”
“Never mind.”
The wipers started screeching against the dry windshield.
***
Michael truly cared about mankind, but Jeremiel worried over them. It was his job to help the souls, lost on their way to Heaven, to find their way and let go of their past. Of course, the light was there to guide them, yet, for some reason, some became confused and would wander about in the darkness. What seems obvious in life can lose all meaning after passing. Everything changes for humans.
Some are disoriented. Sudden, unexpected death was behind some of the confusion, but most of the souls that avoid the light, are just scared to let go of who they are leaving behind. None of them realize, that it will only seem like a few moments have passed before they will be joined by them, or, if their loved one’s destinations are not the same, in a few moments they will forget they even existed.
Though the names of those bound for Hell are not officially erased from the Book of Life, until the Great White Throne Judgement, the Boss already knows who is going to make the cut and who will not. Since suffering and pain is nonexistent in Heaven, certain existences are completely erased from the mind and from history, so that there will be no worries in Paradise. To man, or rather, those who think there will always be one last shot at redemption, it might sound cruel, but time on Earth serves a purpose and is finite. Though love and mercy are abundant in Heaven, the opposite weight on the scale is justice. You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too.
