by Siegel, Alex
"Told you to stay down," she said.
"Sammy!" another man yelled from somewhere outside the bedroom. "Are you OK? What's going on?"
"I'll get him," Lisa whispered.
Virgil shook his head. "No. My turn. Watch the girl. Use the ropes to tie up the guy."
"Why don't I just break his legs?"
He gave her a warning look.
She sighed. "I'll use the ropes."
Virgil poked his head out of the bedroom and into a hallway. He didn't see anybody. He walked quickly and silently through the apartment.
He found the second bad guy in the living room. Pillows and blankets on the couch indicated he had been sleeping there. He was standing up and holding a gun.
The bad guy saw Virgil at the same time. Virgil charged straight forward. The guy had time to squeeze off a single gunshot before their bodies collided. Virgil tackled him with enough force to drive his body into a wall. Virgil then punched the guy in the face, knocking him out. Virgil grabbed the gun, popped out the magazine, and threw both pieces across the room.
He stood up. A wet sensation on his chest made him look down. Black, sticky blood was oozing from a gunshot wound. Another shirt ruined, he thought.
Lisa and the hostage walked into the living room.
"Call the police," Virgil told the girl. "When they show up, explain what happened, but give them the wrong description. You can say you were rescued by mysterious strangers, but misremember what we looked like. OK?"
She nodded with a fearful expression.
Virgil and Lisa left through the front door of the apartment. They hurried down a back staircase and emerged from the building using a rear exit.
The morning was turning out beautifully. The sun was rising in a clear, blue sky. The air had the chilly bite of early winter, but no snow had fallen yet this season.
For the ten thousandth time, Virgil was glad to be out of Hell. That place had been dark, hot, smoky, foul, and most of all, lonely. He had spent thirty years in Limbo, a comparatively mild circle of Hell, but Earth was so much nicer. He treasured every sunrise as if it were his last.
He and Lisa walked quickly towards their car.
"That went pretty well," she said.
He nodded. "I can't complain. We got the job done with minimal fuss. No reason for Mammon to hear about it."
"You were shot again."
He shrugged. "No big deal."
"I'm surprised you don't jingle when you walk. How much lead are you carrying in your body?"
"Thirty or forty bullets. It's getting to be quite a collection."
They arrived at their car, a blue Nissan Altima. Virgil took the driver's seat, and Lisa rode shotgun. He started the engine.
He remembered the phone call he had ignored earlier. He took out his phone and saw Sara had tried to reach him. With a puzzled expression, he called her back.
"Hello?" Sara said.
"It's Virgil. What do you need?"
"Why didn't you pick up earlier?"
"I was, uh, busy," he said.
"Busy with what? You and Lisa have been spending a lot of late nights together."
"We're training."
"Without Alfred or me," she said. "What exactly are you doing?"
"You guys don't enjoy the same kind of training as us. We like to mix it up on the city streets. Is there a specific reason why you called, or did you just want to accuse me of unspecified misdeeds?"
"Haymaker is coming to headquarters. He has some pictures he wants me to see. Maybe you should be here."
"We're coming home right now," Virgil said. "See you in twenty minutes. Bye." He hung up.
"We need to change our clothes," Lisa said. "We look like crooks."
He nodded. "Sara is getting suspicious."
"I'm not surprised. I'd suggest we cut back on the hero stuff, but it's too much fun."
We need a real mission, Virgil thought.
Chapter Two
Virgil and Lisa were walking through an alley in Chinatown on the south side of Chicago. Flies buzzed around dumpsters behind restaurants. Flattened cardboard boxes and shipping pallets formed piles. A cat was chewing on a fish head, and it eyed the two intruders warily. Colorful graffiti decorated the walls. Virgil's nose could only perceive supernatural scents, so fortunately, he couldn't smell the rotting food.
He and Lisa reached a concrete staircase leading down to the basement of Red Palace Antiques. They went down the stairs and stepped carefully on the frosty surface at the bottom. The door was made of steel painted red, and it had a brand new, high-security deadbolt lock. Virgil used a key to open it, and he entered the basement. Lisa followed him.
The headquarters of the First Circle Club wasn't very impressive. A mixed collection of tables, chairs, desks, and shelves formed a haphazard workspace. The furniture looked antique, but most of it was actually cheap fakes. Shelves held office supplies along with equipment used for collecting evidence. Footlockers contained weapons and body armor. A couple of bare bulbs cast yellowish light on the dingy, concrete floor.
Headquarters only occupied a quarter of the basement, and Red Palace Antiques used the rest of the space for storage. Chairs and tables were stacked to the ceiling. Three identical Buddha statues stood in a line. Sheets covered the nicest items, but the rest were coated in dust.
Sara was sitting on a couch reading a magazine. She appeared to be a thin woman with long, brown hair. Hazel eyes complemented her pretty, pale face. Virgil knew she was no more a real woman than he was a real man. Angels in Heaven had crafted Sara's body.
"You finally showed up," she said.
"We got here as quick as we could," he said. "There is traffic even this early in the morning."
"Keeping busy?" Haymaker said.
The detective was sitting on a comfortable, stuffed chair. He was a short man with a thin build. Curly, black hair formed a dense mat on his head, and his skin had a little color. His brown suit was nicer than what most police detectives wore. He always paid close attention to his appearance and projected a professional demeanor.
"Just trying to stay sharp," Virgil said.
"Speaking of which, I keep hearing stories of odd occurrences in the city between midnight and dawn."
"What do you mean?"
With a puzzled expression, Virgil looked at Lisa, and she shrugged innocently.
"Daring rescues," Haymaker said. "Foiled crimes. Impossible feats of athleticism. I heard about somebody jumping off a five-story building and walking away. Another ridiculous story involved a person getting shot in the head and still winning the fight. It seems a mysterious man and woman are responsible, but oddly, none of the witnesses agree on what they look like."
"We plead innocence, your honor. As emissaries from Hell, we're not allowed to use our powers for good."
"Of course."
Sara was glaring angrily at him. He smiled weakly in response. He would likely hear from her later.
"I'm not exactly complaining," Haymaker said. "Our crime-ridden city could always use a little help from heroic citizens. I just would hate to see you get in trouble with your management. I believe you work for Mammon, right?"
"Yes."
"The patron demon of greed and a prince of Hell. A professional soul torturer. Not a 'forgive and forget' kind of a guy. As a friend, I'm cautioning you to be more careful."
Virgil nodded slowly. "OK. Message received."
He glanced at Lisa. She was staring at the floor.
"Where is Alfred?" Virgil said. "Is he coming?"
"No," Sara said. "He's at a homeless shelter. I called him, but he said he was caught up in a 'meaningful and important' conversation."
Virgil frowned. Before Alfred had died, he had been a famous psychologist specializing in treating criminals. Upon returning to Earth, he had resumed his old profession with gradually growing enthusiasm. His hobby had reached the point where he was neglecting his responsibilities to the team.
"We came to see some
pictures," Lisa said.
Haymaker took out his phone. Everybody crowded around to look at the crime scene photos.
The images made Virgil gasp in disbelief. The carnage looked like an enraged butcher had attacked a man. Meat and bone had separated cleanly. Body parts and organs were scrambled together.
"The victim was embedded in the ground," Haymaker said. "He hit hard enough to make a furrow."
"A skydiver?" Lisa said.
"No." Sara shook her head. "I examined skydiving accident victims back when I was a medical examiner. Broken bones and ruptured internal organs were the rule. The bodies weren't torn apart like this. What's wrong with the color balance? The muscle tissue looks brown."
"That was the real color," Haymaker said. "The victim was cooked through. He was long dead before he hit the ground."
"Ugh," Lisa said.
"It gets stranger. A bunch of feds showed up and took away the body. They claimed they were from the Office of Experimental Aero-Physics. They told me the victim was a test pilot, but I'm sure there is a lot more to the story. The way they acted made me think cover-up. That's when I decided to call you guys."
Virgil took out his phone and searched the internet. He quickly found the home page for the O.E.A.P.
He read out loud, "Part of the Federal Aviation Administration and the Department of Transportation. The O.E.A.P. studies advanced, experimental technologies which might be applied to air and space travel. There are pretty pictures of airplanes and spaceships."
"I already saw that," Haymaker said. "The website is just a single page which lacks essential details. It doesn't say who is in charge or what specific projects they're working on. The only contact information is a phone number."
"Did you call the number?" Sara said.
"Not yet."
She took out her own phone. "What's the number?"
Virgil gave her the number, and she dialed. She listened for a moment.
Finally, she said, "This is Sara Blandish from the Illinois State Police. I need information regarding a death this morning. It's an urgent, criminal matter. Please call me back at...." She gave her own number and then hung up. "It was an answering machine."
Virgil knew her real name was Sara Bass. Blandish was just a cover story. The whole club carried fake Illinois State Police identification.
"We'll see if they call you," Haymaker said. "In the meantime, let's discuss possible causes of death. What could do that to a man?"
Sara took another look at the pictures on his phone. Everybody waited for her to render an opinion. She was the expert on death.
"I don't see any sign of burning," she said, "and the tissue damage is very uniform. I'm thinking intense radiation."
"Like a microwave oven?" Lisa said.
"Exactly."
"What about a microwave communication tower?" Haymaker said. "I've heard they can be very dangerous."
"Theoretically," Sara said, "but hanging out in front of a radar dish on a tower isn't exactly easy to do."
"Maybe he was flying an experimental aircraft which used microwaves," Virgil said. "An explosion threw him at the ground at high speed."
"I have a suggestion," Haymaker said, "although it may not be appropriate. Could we ask Barachiel?"
Everybody else looked at each other thoughtfully. Barachiel was chief of the guardian angels and one of the most powerful lords in Heaven. Sara and Alfred reported to Barachiel, but communication with the archangel was reserved for matters of great urgency.
"I don't know," Sara said. "Our mission is chasing down supernatural adversaries. There is nothing obviously supernatural about this case."
"But we don't know there isn't," Haymaker said. "It doesn't hurt to ask."
Sara made a face. "I suppose, but don't get your hopes up."
She stood up and walked over to a shelf. She grabbed a silver tray which had become a little dusty from disuse. The basement had a utility sink, and she washed the tray thoroughly with hot water and soap. Then she filled it with a thin layer of clean water and placed the tray on a table.
Sara stood before the tray and said, "Barachiel! Can you hear me? Are you there?"
Virgil, Lisa, and Haymaker walked over. At first, Virgil only saw the reflection of the ceiling. Then the image turned blue, and the angel appeared.
Barachiel had the appearance of an astonishingly beautiful woman in a golden gown. Diamonds twinkled in the gauzy fabric. White, feathered wings were as large as the canopy of a tree. The angel's face was sublime perfection.
Children played on a grassy field in the background. They were tossing sparkling balls back and forth. Their laughter was as pure as silver bells.
"What do you need?" Barachiel said in a voice filled with delightful musical harmonies.
"Detective Haymaker is investigating a suspicious death," Sara said. "We were hoping you might assist him."
"I don't have time for ordinary homicides. Do you have any idea how many humans murder each other every day? It's practically a form of entertainment for you. Just processing the paperwork is enough to keep a committee of angels and demons busy."
Haymaker leaned over the tray. "This isn't an ordinary homicide. I wouldn't bother you if I didn't think it was worth your attention."
Barachiel sighed. "Very well. Who is the victim?"
"I don't have a name, but I know the specific circumstances of the death."
He crisply and professionally related what he knew to the angel.
After he was done, Barachiel said, "Give me a moment." It vanished.
Virgil watched the children playing in Heaven. They were smiling even though the game seemed monotonous. Catching and throwing was the only activity, and the balls never hit the ground.
A few minutes later, Barachiel reappeared with a very troubled expression on its beautiful face. "I found him. Corporal Scott Hartmann, recently of the United States Army."
"Not a test pilot?" Haymaker said.
"No. His soul now resides in the First Level of Heaven."
"Did he tell you how he died?"
Barachiel paused. "This is the first of several issues. Before his death, he swore a sacred, binding oath to keep that information a secret. He couldn't tell me what he was doing or who he was doing it with. He couldn't tell me anything. It is beyond my power to compel a soul to violate such an oath."
"Oh," Haymaker said. "Too bad, but at least we have a name. Thank you."
He took out a notepad and wrote on it.
"I'm guessing Hell has a different policy regarding sacred oaths," Virgil said. "Why don't you invite a demon up to perform an interrogation?"
"Are you serious?" Barachiel said. "We can't allow demons to enter Heaven. Nor can I condone torture."
"Then send the soul down to Hell for a little while. I smell something fishy. We need to find out what happened to him."
"You're talking nonsense. Once a soul enters Heaven, it has a right to stay according to the Celestial Contract. The reward is eternal. There is another aspect to this case which is far more disconcerting. Summon Mammon. The demon needs to hear this directly."
Now Virgil was worried.
He walked over to a shelf and grabbed a mirror big enough to hang on a wall. It had a gold frame, but the paint had rubbed off in spots to reveal plastic underneath. The cracked glass was barely holding together. Black dirt on the surface was actually some of Virgil's blood which had dried out.
He placed the mirror on the table and said, "Mammon! Mammon! Can you hear me?"
The demon appeared. Flaming eyes peered out from the fattest face Virgil had ever seen. Layers and folds of jiggling flesh seemed to move with a mind of their own. The demon's black suit gleamed like steel armor. Its scaly bat wings could've served as a very grim tent. It wore an obsidian crown.
"What is it?" Mammon said in a voice full of irritation and disdain.
Virgil cleared his throat nervously. "Barachiel wants to tell you something."
"Oh?"
Virgil slid the mirror closer to the silver tray of water.
"It appears we have a situation," Barachiel said. "Corporal Scott Hartmann arrived in Heaven this morning."
"I don't know that name," Mammon said.
"Then take a moment to pull his file. You might find it interesting."
The demon vanished.
The background was a gigantic machine made of stone gears. Millions of square teeth ground together making a sound like a waterfall. Human souls were caught in the gears, and as they went around endlessly, they were mashed and mangled. Virgil wondered what circle of Hell he was seeing.
A couple of minutes later, Mammon reappeared. "This is some kind of trick!" the demon roared. Jets of blue flame shot from its eyes, and smoke poured from its ears.
"No trick," Barachiel replied calmly. "I can't explain it."
"What's wrong?" Virgil said timidly.
"Hartmann was a sinner," Mammon said. "We were ready to receive him in Hell. Heaven stole his soul!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Barachiel said. "We would never even conceive of such a thing. He just showed up on his own."
"Then Final Judgement made a mistake."
"He was never judged."
"What?" Mammon bellowed. "All dead souls are judged!"
"Apparently one slipped through the cracks and ended up in the wrong place."
"I can't accept that. Heaven must've found a loophole in the Celestial Contract. You discovered a way to boost your soul count unfairly."
"We play by the rules," Barachiel said, "same as you. We don't want sinners in Heaven. If there was a way to kick him out, we would, but the Contract is clear. Once a soul arrives here, it doesn't have to leave. The purpose of Heaven is eternal happiness."
"Then ask him how he got there."
"He swore a sacred oath to keep that a secret."
"How very convenient," Mammon said, "and of course, you overgrown feather dusters can't violate a sacred oath."
"We didn't create this situation. Stop casting blame."
"This isn't over," Mammon said in a warning tone.
"I agree. We will investigate until we discover what happened."
"We certainly will! Virgil and Lisa, this is your top priority. Learn everything you can about this incident. It must never happen again, or there will be consequences."
