by Nina Post
Stheno stalked off and tried to slam the stairwell door behind her, but the door glided closed on gas shocks.
Kelly turned to the next page in the binder and looked back to Archie’s imposter. “Don listed you as his emergency contact on his medical forms, like the real Archie Driscoll listed Medusa.” Too bad Stheno left before she heard that part. “Here’s a copy of Don’s hospital records from when he was bitten by a badger.”
She flipped the page. “Here’s a printed copy of your Amazon purchases. Two weeks ago, you bought the book Flavor Mixing for Dummies.”
She turned the page again. “And perhaps we should congratulate you on completing your online certificate in food service management. A week-long class. Not quite the accreditation one would expect from the president of a huge foodservice company, let alone the head nutritionist.”
The crowd shook their heads.
“Look, if that’s all you have,” Fluke said, “then I really should get going.”
“That’s not all,” she said, savoring the delivery of her last piece of evidence even though she could hardly believe it herself. “Here is the DNA test proving that Archie Driscoll is my father.”
Everyone, not just the crowd of residents, gasped, including Roger and Archie.
“As well as copies of both of our birth certificates.” She slammed the binder shut and looked steadily at Robert Fluke, impostor. “Get him out of here.”
Gaap and Crocell grabbed the impostor and pulled him a few feet away as he kicked gravel up in a gray cloud.
Fluke wrenched away and seized Kelly, surprising everyone with his alacrity. He dragged her to the edge of the roof and pushed her over the ledge. Crocell tackled the impostor, but too late―Kelly was already falling.
As she plummeted down the side of the building where she first saw Af through the window, she thought three things: one, that she let down Tubiel and the rest of the SPs; two, that she should have kissed Af; and three, would she see her mother again after she was dead?
After these thoughts raced through her mind almost simultaneously, she had another, fourth thought: maybe one of the fallen angels or interdimensional monsters who lived in the building would catch her.
But she hoped that would be soon, and that they weren’t forming some ad hoc sub-committee to discuss the situation, because falling to her death felt kind of unpleasant and wasn’t something she ever wanted to do again. It resembled the plummeting sensation she sometimes had as she fell asleep, only stretched out to what seemed like a long time.
She didn’t want to go out like that, as an unpleasant job for Pedro and the rest of the cleaning crew.
The falling stopped. Not abruptly, but it switched to a new gravitational sensation, like a carnival ride. Someone grabbed her, swooped her up in an arc, and put her back on the roof close to the ledge.
She felt wildly discombobulated, but when she started to get used to being still, Kelly saw that Gaap―fitness-obsessed, smart-mouthed Gaap, with his glossy bat wings―had caught her.
“Thanks,” she said, with a weak smile. “That was close.”
“Your trajectory was still inside the bounds of the building property,” Gaap said, and grinned. “Several able residents fought for the honor. I was just the fastest.” He flexed his arm. “And the strongest.” he lowered his voice. “‘Cause Af isn’t here right now, and I wouldn’t have relied on those demons coming out of the Super-Fryer.”
Tubiel came out of the doorway from the stairs leading a shorter, pudgy figure with messy dark hair, black wraparound shades, a green Donut Robot t-shirt, a pair of baggy blue jeans, and gigantic white Adidas high tops.
Tubiel ran to Kelly and gave her a Cockatrice Catering Company mug.
“You found the angel in charge of donut equipment,” she said, admiring the mug. Tubiel shrugged and smiled.
The angel in charge of donut equipment pulled down his shirt, which kept riding up over his belly, and strolled over to the Super-Fryer, which regurgitated demon after freakish demon.
He took out a small paper packet of Cluck Snack Poppy-Rox and sprinkled it over the swirling, churning portal in the fryer before hocking up a lugie and spitting into the portal.
He waited. After a moment, the demons stopped coming out.
Kelly went up to the fryer. The portal closed and it reverted to a regular Mark 90 Super-Fryer again.
The angel held up a hand. After a second, she slapped it in a high-five.
The angel saluted Tubiel and left the roof, going back through the doorway.
Kelly helped the SPs up the fire escape in the Special Situations International building, like a reverse evacuation.
She lifted Tubiel up by the waist until he pulled himself up to the ledge and dropped her duffel bag on the marble floor ahead of her before climbing over. The SPs ran off and she walked down the middle of the main hallway, in between the rows of the desks of the secretarial pool, her equilibium totally disrupted after her harrowing near-death experience.
She had missed Mr. Black’s office, with its desk like a melted-down B-24, its comfortable brass-rivet swivel chair, its knickknacks and ephemera from a bygone orienteering past, and her melancholy cowboy painting hanging on the south wall. She had missed the bare-bones kitchen with a view of Pothole City to the south, and the conference room where the SPs watched movies.
She had missed her bedroom, the other offices where the SPs watched their shows, and the tube room, where of course the phone rang again.
She took her time getting over there, because it would just keep ringing, or pause briefly and ring again until someone picked up. A moment later, she opened the red metal box and took out the emergency phone receiver.
“Special Situations International, We Do Local Business Only.”
“It’s us,” Mr. Black said over the phone. She still felt a weird thrill to hear his voice.
“We’ve been discussing how we can repay you for performing our jobs in our absence. You found Archie and installed him in his rightful place at Clucking Along Holdings. No small feat. We’re all quite impressed.”
Kelly didn’t hesitate. “I want to stay in the building.”
“The SSI headquarters building?” She heard muffled discussion on their side. “We will talk to Mr. Driscoll and get back to you.”
They hung up.
Ten minutes later, as she drank hot tea and watched the continued rebuilding of Pothole City from the kitchen window, the phone rang again.
“Special Situations International, Come Over for Lunch Sometime.”
Mr. Black cleared his throat. “We spoke to Mr. Driscoll, and he agreed to give you title.”
“Title?”
“Ownership of the building. The one you’re in right now.”
She didn’t know what to say. She had asked for permission to continue living in an empty building, though she would pay rent if she needed to. But ownership?
“Oh, no,” she said. “No. That involves property taxes, maintenance, being a landlord to whatever shows up and wants to stay, inspections… did I mention property taxes―uh-uh. I can’t afford to own it. I just want to be able to stay without getting evicted, that’s all.”
“I understand your concern. But all of that will be taken care of by the irrevocable trust.”
“Say again?”
“The Driscoll Family Trust, which is overseen by a small group who have the best interests of the Driscoll family at heart.”
“Don’t you realize how suspicious that sounds?”
Mr. Black palmed the receiver and spoke to the others. When he came back, he sighed. “It’s us.”
“You and Mr. Orange and Mr. Yellow?”
“Yes. We are the group who oversees the trust. And I assure you, we are trustworthy. No pun intended.”
“You live in a treehouse hell lodge.”
“And?”
“Why are you there and not here, working in this building?”
“We wanted a change.”
How
could she argue with that? “It wouldn’t cost me anything?”
“Your only responsibilities would be the ones you have now: providing housing for and looking after the SPs, basic maintenance, and―” More muffled discussion.
“Hello?”
“Apologies. Ah, Mr. Driscoll has a request,” Mr. Black said.
“I’m not ready to go to the state fair with him. Maybe out for breakfast.”
“No, he would like you to work with him in the lab.”
She hesitated. “I have an undergraduate degree in history, with a minor in bowling. I can occasionally find things. I’m not qualified to work in a lab.”
Find things. The Jackal’s crystal star. She had been so preoccupied with stopping a second apocalypse that she forgot to finish that side job, which given the Jackal’s considerable wealth, would certainly pay well.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mr. Black said. “Only Driscolls can make Cluck Snack. And this recent experience has frightened Mr. Driscoll considerably.”
She chuckled. “The total lack of redundancy, you mean? Putting all your eggs in one basket, that sort of thing?”
“He realized how calamitous it was to be away from his job, and is so grateful to have found you,” Mr. Black said.
“I found him.”
“Indeed. But the point is, we need two Driscolls making Cluck Snack. The world depends on it.”
“Just so you know, I’m not having children. I want to make that clear.”
“All righty.”
She didn’t know what to make of that response, but plowed ahead. “My point is, once Archie’s gone, and I’m gone, then what? Everyone’s screwed, because my father and I aren’t mixing flavors?”
“Sort of, yes. But there are loopholes.”
She held the phone at a distance, supporting her elbow on her knee. Tubiel came in and sat across from her. His gentle smile soothed her.
“OK.”
Tubiel offered her a Cluck Snack Frozen-Like Dess’rt Bar. Pineapple.
“OK what, Miss Driscoll?”
“I’ll accept title to the building. And Archie and I will negotiate any training.” She didn’t know when she could bring herself to call him anything but Archie.
“Excellent!” Muffled discussion. “Pardon me. We’re thrilled to hear that. You’ll be an excellent caretaker.”
She shivered. “Please don’t say that. I’ve seen The Shining.”
“So have I, and it’s not like that,” Mr. Black said. “Also, your father is going to be living with you. Talk to you soon.”
“Living with―”
He hung up.
Archie―her father!―living in the SSI building. “Should proceed smoothly without incident,” she murmured. “Now for the Jackal’s star.”
Kelly drove Roger’s Pacer across town to a tiny shop in a jerry-rigged shack next to a high-rise under construction. She walked past the jackhammers and through a cloud of dust into the shack, about the size of the tube room at the SSI building. A terrible keening sound emanated from the back.
“You here for death worm pageant consulting?” asked the tall jellyfish monster behind the desk, a wood slat set on concrete bricks.
“No.” She handed him the receipt the Jackal had given her. “What’s that terrible noise?”
He chuckled. “My death worm, Paul. He’s hungry. I usually give him a brisket to chew on, but I got pretty busy.”
“I see. Well, someone brought this crystal piece in for cleaning before the apocalypse, and would like it back.”
He took the receipt with a long, transparent tentacle. “This was my previous office.” He gave her a look of regret. “You know, Pothole City is a glorious place. I was a wanderer between dimensions, and one day I was sucked down to a building just over there.” He gestured to Amenity Tower to the northeast. “Came through a vent, and not a week later I started my own death worm pageant consulting business, with crystal cleaning and repair on the side.”
He shook his head and his internal organs wobbled. “This city offers such opportunity. But then it was destroyed, and I had to start from nothing again. I used to have more space than this.”
“That’s great. Do you have the piece or not?”
The jellyfish monster held up a tentacle. “Yes!” He turned and rummaged through boxes. “I managed to save some of my inventory just before the roof caved in, and I remember this particular piece. It looks like a mace.”
He leaned way over, rummaged some more, and stood, presenting her with an intact crystal star. “How in the world did you find me here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
She put her elbows on the desk and turned the star in her hands. “Someone in my building was talking about training his death worm for the regionals, and he said the trainer he wanted to use also repairs crystal, which would come in handy after he and his death worm won the grand prize. And because his death worm tends to break everything, including a crystal trophy, he expects any future trophies to be broken, as well. And how many death worm show consultants also do crystal repairs?”
The jellyfish put a tentacle up to his chest area. “I’m not the only one?” He looked ready to cry.
“No, you’re the only one,” she reassured him. “That’s my point.”
He didn’t respond right away. He tilted his head back as he realized. “Oh, of course. That’s how you found me.”
“Yep. Thanks for the crystal. Does he owe anything on that?”
“For the inconvenience, no.”
She parked Roger’s Pacer in an alley off the street. A flyer on the front window read: Notice of Speech by the Stairwell Monsters, the Great Condominium Agitators of Pothole City. We will address the People of Pothole City, at Amenity Tower/Thursday/six p.m., On the Condominium Tenancy Question. All are Invited. Especially the Ladies.
On the way home, she got stuck in construction traffic and decided to call Tecumseh Creed. The phone rang twice.
“What in the name of Texas Jack are you callin’ for?”
“To set you up on a date.”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Kelly Driscoll.”
“A date? What’s his name?”
“Jerry Shanks.”
“As in veal shanks?”
“Yep.”
“Like him already. He a farmer?”
“He’s in bail bonds.”
“Well, now. I find myself in need of bondsmen from time to time. Gimme his number!”
Kelly gave Tecumseh the number.
“I guess I can tell ya―I was Archie’s phone answerin’ service.”
Interesting choice.
“Got his mail, too. We had a fling once. Maybe a few times.”
“Oh, I know. Call Jerry. I think you’ll like him.” She clicked the phone shut.
elly addressed four of the fallen angel board members―Raum, Forcas, Vassago, and Imamiah―in her office.
“You can’t keep doing these things.” She leaned against the wall with her arms folded.
“What things? Committee meetings?” Raum said with a glib smile.
“Causing so much trouble. Trying to escape through a loophole that threatens the city and who knows what else.” She spoke through her teeth. “Threatening the SPs.”
Vassago started to say something and she held up her hand while she left the room to cough. The angels heard, “Dammit!” before she came back in.
“And don’t think I can’t do anything about it.” She sipped her hot tea. “I’ve tracked down more than a hundred monsters since I was fifteen.”
“We’re not monsters!” Imamiah said.
“And you live in a city full of monsters,” Forcas said.
“You’re not monsters, but you cause as much trouble as some of them,” she said. “And I’m aware of the irony of living in a city full of monsters, thanks very much. But it’s not a stretch. So I’m going to have Gil follow you twenty-four-seven.”
The four board members protested.
V
assago made a disgusted sound.
“What? You can’t―” Forcas started.
“That’s outrageous!” Imamiah said.
Raum waved a hand. “I’m not going to have that robot follow me into the locker room! And I’d like to see him try to follow me into the sauna!”
“I’m not done yet,” she said. “As you may know, Claw & Crutty has built a second condominium building, which just received its certificate of occupancy.”
“So Amenity Tower won’t be Pothole City’s finest and only luxury condominium anymore,” Vassago said. “Big deal.”
“No, it will. The other one barely has any amenities. The big deal is that all of you are going to work as unpaid movers for the monsters in this building who are moving into the other one.” Her statement met stunned silence. “At least from their apartments out to the perimeter of Amenity Tower.”
“The monsters?” Imamiah finally said.
“Especially”―she paused a second―“the ones in the stairwells.”
“The stairwell monsters? No!” Forcas said.
“And you have to use the stairs to move their stuff. The cargo elevator will be out of order indefinitely.”
The fallen angels grumbled as she went to close the door behind her. “Oh, one more thing. I got Gil to approve five hundred years of continuous construction on unit #5106.”
“That’s on my floor!” Forcas said.
“And mine,” Vassago muttered.
“That’s the unit right above mine!” Raum said.
“And right under mine,” Imamiah said.
“Exactly,” Kelly said. “They’re going to rip out the entire place, build it back, install appliances and flooring, then start all over again. Enjoy, and be here tomorrow at seven a.m. sharp.”
She closed the door behind her and left the management office, feeling as good as when she rerouted Murray and Don to the same hell lodge.
After taking a fifteen-minute hot shower―trying to clearly delineate a time before―which had dying SPs, a donut fryer that released demons from the underworld, and a rapid descent off the side of a high-rise―and a time after, involving healthy SPs, a glass of wine and a movie.
