First Circle Club

by Alex Siegel

  Virgil and Lisa went inside. The pub had brass fixtures which needed to be polished. A huge variety of alcoholic beverages was behind an old-fashioned bar. European flags and soccer memorabilia decorated the walls. It was the middle of the day, so the place wasn't crowded.

  Virgil went from table to table, asking for "Sara and Alfred." Virgil eventually found his other teammates in a booth in the corner.

  Sara was a skinny woman with long, red-brown hair. Hazel eyes were set in a pretty but unspectacular face. She was wearing a gauzy, blue dress which looked brand new.

  "Hi!" Sara said cheerfully. "You're Virgil and Lisa, right?"

  Virgil nodded.

  "I'm Alfred," the man in the booth said.

  Alfred had chosen the appearance of a man in his fifties. Thin hair left most of his scalp uncovered, and he had slight bags under his eyes. His wrinkled face and steady gaze suggested hard-won wisdom. He was wearing a tweed jacket over a clean white shirt.

  Everybody shook hands. Virgil and Lisa sat at the table.

  Virgil sniffed the air, and for the first time in his new body, he smelled something. The aroma reminded him of fresh-baked bread. He realized it was coming from Sara and Alfred. Must be what Heaven smells like, Virgil thought.

  Virgil immediately signaled the waitress. After thirty years of total abstinence, he wanted a stiff drink.

  The waitress came over. "You're ready to order?" She held a pen over a notepad.

  "Drinks for everybody," Virgil said. "I want a straight shot of rye whisky."

  "Beer for me," Lisa said. "Two pints."

  "I'll have a martini," Sara said. "Make that two... with alcohol."

  "Just cranberry juice for me," Alfred said.

  His teammates gave him a funny look.

  The waitress wrote down the orders and left.

  "How are you planning to pay for the drinks?" Sara said. "We don't have any money."

  Virgil hefted his sack of gold and placed it on the table with a metallic clank. She looked into the sack.

  Her eyes widened. "Oh! Looks like pirate booty."

  "It could be. It came from Hell."

  "I don't think the bar will take gold coins as payment though."

  He frowned. "You're probably right. I have to get used to this 'money' thing again. It's been a while. Let's introduce ourselves. I'm Virgil Wheeler, U.S. Marshal, specialist at capturing fugitives. I was murdered while on duty and condemned to Limbo. Died in 1985."

  "I'm Lisa Reeves, a sergeant in the Chicago PD. I was stabbed in prison, but I don't want to talk about that. Died in 1995. I was also in Limbo."

  There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Finally, Sara took her turn.

  "Sara Bass. I was a medical examiner in New York City for twenty-five years. I helped solve thousands of cases. The mob shot me in 1993 to prevent me from testifying at a trial. Resident of the First Level of Heaven."

  Virgil smiled. His team was sounding better and better.

  "And I'm Alfred Cattell," the other man at the table said. "Forensic psychologist. I'm an expert in criminal behavior. I was with Sara on the First Level. I passed away in 1965."

  "He's too modest," Sara said. "Alfred was famous in his day. He was a pioneer in the field of criminal psychology before the field even existed."

  Alfred lowered his eyes as if embarrassed.

  "Why did you come back looking so old?" Lisa asked him. "I picked a young body."

  "There's nothing wrong with a dignified, mature appearance. I don't need to look like a fashion model. Vanity is a sin after all."

  "Don't get all righteous with me. The First Level of Heaven isn't that impressive. What did you do that kept you out of the higher levels?"

  Alfred looked down. "I testified in court many times, and some of that testimony was biased."

  "You lied to get criminals convicted?" Lisa said.

  "No. To get them freed. Everybody deserves a second chance, even the worst felons."

  "That's a weird attitude. Bad guys need to be locked up."

  "What's the point of putting people in cages?" he said. "It accomplishes nothing except satisfying a primitive desire for retribution. Criminals need treatment, not abuse. I was trying to change the system for the better."

  The waitress interrupted the argument by arriving with the drinks.

  After she placed the drinks and left, Virgil lifted his shot glass. "A toast. To new beginnings and a chance to do some good on Earth again."

  Everybody drank at once.

  Virgil's eyes bulged. He gagged and coughed up his whisky, making a mess on the table. All his companions also regurgitated their drinks.

  Lisa wiped her mouth. "What happened?"

  "I don't think we have stomachs," Sara said. "That went straight into my lungs."

  The waitress ran over. "Is something wrong?"

  "No, no," Virgil said. "Somebody told a bad joke at the wrong time. Don't worry. We'll be fine."

  "I'll get a towel."

  "Thank you."

  The waitress left.

  Virgil sighed at the unfairness of the situation. His tongue had no sense of taste, so he couldn't even appreciate the flavor of the whiskey. It seemed Mammon didn't want Virgil drinking on the job.

  Virgil noticed an embroidered white leather bag on Sara's lap.

  "What's in the bag?" He nodded towards her lap.

  After glancing to both sides, she lifted a gun out of the bag. The barrel was a foot long and flared at the end. Exquisite gold inlay and complex etchings made the weapon into a piece of fine art. The handle was bronze capped with silver. Virgil didn't see any kind of breach or revolver, and he concluded the weapon was muzzle-loaded.

  Sara put the gun away.

  "It's called Furies' Bane," she said softly. "We're supposed to use it to kill Shipman. It's some kind of supernatural super-gun."

  Virgil raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

  "It doesn't matter what demonic form he takes, this thing will blow his soul straight back to Hell." Sara patted the gun.

  "Nice. How many shots does it hold?"

  "One."

  "Huh?" he said. "How do we reload?"

  "I give it back to the angel Barachiel. It can only be reloaded in Heaven."

  "That's not convenient. Are you a good shot at least?"

  Sara shook her head. "I've never fired a gun in my life."

  "I see. Why don't you let me have the gun? I'm a very good shot. You can hold onto the pirate gold if you want. Sound fair?"

  She frowned and reluctantly gave up the gun wrapped in its leather bag. Virgil hefted the surprisingly heavy artifact. It weighed a good twenty pounds. She took the bag of gold.

  The waitress returned and cleaned up the messy table.

  When she was gone, Virgil looked at the piece of parchment Mammon had provided.

  "Let's get down to business." He read from the parchment, "'Daniel Shipman. Born 1936, died 1975. Killed twenty-three men and women with no clear preference for sex. His victims were typically high school students from upper-middle-class suburban neighborhoods around Chicago. He would ambush his victims as they walked to or from school. He killed with a single thrust to the throat using a thin, sharp knife. The deaths were very quick.'"

  "Peculiar," Alfred said.

  Virgil looked at the psychologist. "Why?"

  "Serial killers normally play with their victims before the end. It's about having absolute control over another human being. Shipman simply executed those young people in a fairly civilized manner. Go on."

  Virgil continued to read, "'He was caught when a police officer noticed him lurking near a school. A search of his apartment turned up notebooks full of specific information about his victims. A diary described the murders. He was executed with the electric chair, and to the very end, he was unrepentant. After escaping from Hell, he immediately returned to his prior habits. He has killed four more times.'" Virgil put down the sheet. "That's all."

  The team settled into a gloomy silen
ce.

  "Let's get the local authorities involved," Sara said. "They need to know it's the same guy as before. The information will help the police catch him."

  Lisa shook her head. "No. We can't. Mammon told me we have to keep this operation a secret. Shipman is our problem and nobody else's."

  "Why?"

  "Something about budget restrictions, revelations, and excessive influence. I didn't really get it. I think the Lords of Darkness just want this mess to go away quietly because they're embarrassed, but it doesn't matter. The instructions were very clear, and I'm certainly not about to defy a prince of Hell."

  "Well," Sara said, "that demon is not my boss."

  Lisa shrugged. "Then do what you want, but don't expect me to participate."

  "I'm just making a statement. You don't have to get bent out of shape."

  "Ladies," Virgil said, "we're a team. We'll operate by mutual consent. I want to talk about something else. We can't really do much with just a bag of gold, a bad-ass gun, and the clothes on our backs. We need transportation, cash, identification, evidence collection gear, and so on. We need to become a properly equipped little police force."

  "We don't have time to mess around," Sara said. "More lives could be lost at any moment."

  "I'm talking about preparation, not messing around. This asshole escaped from the Eighth Circle of Hell, and the lords both above and below can't find him. It's going to be a tough assignment. We won't succeed unless we take a methodical, professional approach."

  Virgil looked at the faces around the table, and nobody argued with him.

  "I know a guy who can help us," Lisa said.

  He looked at her in surprise. "You do?"

  "He has all kinds of shady connections. I'm sure he'll sell us the stuff we need for a few gold coins."

  "You're sure he's still around? How long have you been out of action?"

  "Twenty years," she said, "but this guy is a survivor. If he can't help us, he'll know who can. Listen, I was born and raised in Chicago. I spent my whole life here. I can get us what we need."

  "I guess it's worth a shot. I certainly don't have a better idea." Virgil looked at the others.

  Sara frowned. "Sounds like a criminal transaction. That's a bad way to start a new mission."

  "I say let's give it a try," Alfred said. "I'm sure Lisa knows what she's doing."

  "OK," Virgil said, "by a vote of three to one, the motion passes. Let's go."

  The four of them stood up. Sara left a single gold coin as payment even though it was probably worth far too much.

  They walked out of the pub.

  Chapter Two

  Daniel Shipman crouched behind a hedge. It was a sunny afternoon, but his demonic flesh didn't feel the warmth. If anything, he was cold.

  Big, old homes surrounded him, and each had an interesting architecture. A two-story brick house had tall, skinny windows with stone frames. A blue house used wooden beams to create strong, horizontal lines, and the front porch was as wide as the entire house. Some yards were enormous, and some trees were even bigger than the houses.

  Daniel had never lived in a real house. He had grown up in a trailer behind a church, and the stench of a septic tank had been his childhood companion. His lifestyle had reached its peak when he had moved into his own tiny apartment. At least it had had proper heat in the winter and air-conditioning in the summer.

  Daniel glanced at a photograph in his hand. It showed a pretty girl in her mid-teens. In the photo, she was wearing a green dress with sequins on the hems. Quick movement blurred her bare legs. The picture had been taken from a distance without the girl knowing about it.

  Daniel waited patiently. According to the information he had received, school had just ended, and the girl's route home would take her right past where he was hiding. He didn't doubt the intelligence was correct. In life, he had worked alone, but now he was part of a team, and that was better. He could focus entirely on the important part of the job, the ending of lives, while others did all the preparation.

  The girl walked around a corner and came straight towards Daniel. Freckles decorated her nose. Her blonde hair was tied back in a bun. A smile on her face and a delightful skip in her step made him sigh. She was a very good girl with a clean soul.

  He had seen what happened to girls as they became mature women. Bad relationships and the pressures of the workplace turned them into miserable harpies. Bitterness, jealousy, and petty desires consumed them. Daniel didn't want that to happen to this girl. He would release her soul to Heaven while it was still guaranteed a trip straight to the top.

  The girl walked past him. He jumped out and placed one hand over her mouth. He wrapped his other hand tightly around her throat and squeezed. She squealed in terror, but there were no witnesses around to hear.

  Originally, Daniel had used a knife to do his important work, but now he could form sharp blades directly from his flesh. He extruded a blade from his palm into the girl's carotid artery, cutting off the blood flow to her brain.

  She thrashed for just a few more seconds before going limp. He continued to hold her until he was sure the deed was done. Finally, he allowed her to slump to the ground. Blood spurted from the small incision in her neck.

  Daniel looked around for his ride. A black limousine was already coming around the corner, right on time. It parked in front of him with a slight squeal from the brakes. He opened the door and sat in the cool, dark interior.

  The limousine pulled away.

  * * *

  "What the hell are these gadgets everybody is carrying?" Virgil said.

  The team had been walking west for a half-hour, and every other pedestrian had some kind of electronic device. They held them or carried them in their pockets. The devices were generally small and thin, just the right size for the palm of a hand. The pedestrians often tried to walk and play with their toy at the same time. Even drivers in cars had distracting gadgets, and Virgil had seen a few near accidents.

  "I'll find out," Sara said.

  She stepped in front of an African-American girl with beads in her hair. The girl was looking so intently at the device in her hand, she almost walked into Sara.

  "What's that?" Sara pointed.

  "What's what?" the girl said.

  "The thing you're holding."

  "My phone?" The girl held up the device.

  Virgil saw colorful boxes and text on a bright display.

  "That's not a phone," Sara said. "Phones have buttons and speakers. How do you talk to somebody with that thing? How do you dial? There is nothing but a screen."

  "I actually use it for Facebook and Snapchat mostly. Why? Do you have a problem with my phone?"

  Virgil took a step towards the girl. "How does it work?"

  She looked at his disgusting clothes and wrinkled her nose. "What's wrong with you? You've never seen a phone before?"

  "I've been living in South America."

  "I have to go." The girl pushed past Sara and kept walking down the street.

  Virgil turned to his companions. "We need phones so we can stay in contact when we split up. Obviously, they're very useful because everyone has one. They probably work like radios."

  "And they look fun to play with," Lisa added.

  He gave her a dirty look.

  "One more thing for our long shopping list," Sara said. "Let's keep moving. Are we almost there?"

  "Another block," Lisa said. "This neighborhood has really changed."

  The team resumed their long walk across Chicago.

  "What's different?" Virgil said.

  They were on a busy avenue in a dense, urban area. Townhomes and small apartment buildings with little space in-between lined both sides of the street. Everything was two or three stories tall. Stores often occupied the ground floor, and Virgil saw a dentist, a Russian restaurant, a health clinic, and a hair salon.

  "This used to be a hard-core slum," Lisa said. "Now it's... nice. I wonder where the poor people went."


  After walking a little farther, she stopped and looked at a grocery store. Signs proclaimed "organic" produce, but Virgil wasn't sure what that meant. Wasn't all food organic by definition?

  "Damn it!" Lisa said.

  "What's wrong?" he said.

  "This used to be a housing project. Obviously, my guy doesn't live here anymore."

  He sighed with disappointment. "We were counting on you. We just wasted a good hour."

  "Sorry. I didn't know the old neighborhood was completely gone." She turned away in embarrassment.

  Virgil faced his other two companions. Sara was glowering.

  "It was worth a try," Alfred said. "We all make mistakes."

  "I don't like mistakes," Virgil said.

  "Just relax. We're trying to learn our way around a new era. Anger will only hinder us."

  Virgil rolled his eyes.

  He noticed a suspicious character in the parking lot. A skinny man was standing in the shade of a tree, watching the people who walked by. His baggy black shirt had a hood, and his pants were so low, Virgil could see the man's underwear.

  A white man wearing much nicer clothing walked up to the man by the tree. There was a quick, surreptitious exchange, and Virgil glimpsed cash changing hands. The white man walked off.

  Virgil nodded towards the drug dealer. "This neighborhood hasn't forgotten the old ways after all."

  "Hey," Alfred said, "maybe he can help us."

  "What? Hold on."

  Alfred was already walking over to the dealer, oblivious to Virgil's protests. Virgil, Lisa, and Sara followed.

  "Hello, my good man," Alfred said to the dealer. "We could use some help."

  Virgil drew back in surprise. Alfred's voice held a supernatural quality which rose above the sounds of traffic. It made Virgil think of old friends and relatives he had trusted in life. It was the voice of faith and hope.

  The drug dealer smiled. "Sure. What do you need?"

  "Cash would be a good start."

  The dealer pulled a thick wad of cash out of his pocket and openly displayed it. Virgil estimated the bundle was worth a few thousand dollars.

  "We'll give you a solid gold coin in trade," Alfred said.