House Infernal by Edward Lee (35 page)

He took another peek into the restaurant and he saw
Ruth competently taking orders at a table full of knotfaced Viceroys from one of the Torturian Brigades. Wow,
he couldn't help but acknowledge. Her boobs fill out that
Hand-Bra perfectly. The Viceroys, too, couldn't keep their
rheumy eyes off her full-tilt body. Every so often the large
severed Werewolf hands that comprised the bra-cups gave
her breasts a squeeze, while the "fabric" of her TongueSkirt slowly quivered over her hips and buttocks, still alive.

The priest cocked a smile. I'll bet that's driving her batty.

With some time to kill, he took a stroll, almost having
to shield his eyes against the District's glistening blood
bricks-every road, sidewalk, and building was made of
them. He'd heard that the blood bricks were enspelled to
make them stronger against enemy sorcery. At the end of
the street, he could see one of the foundries where the
blood was distilled down to paste and poured into molds.
Diabolical, the priest thought.

An extraordinary crush of aromas and odors hung in
the street like gas. Alexander was long since acclimated;
the District's main square was the restaurant hub, where
only the most posh denizens of the city could afford to
eat. Each street was lined with one noxious eatery after
another. He stopped at a bistro where something smelled
too good to pass up. "What's that, waiter?" he inquired of
a bow-tied Demon bearing a tray of steaming plates. "I
might have to order some."

"It's poached Goregator Bowel, sir," the waiter responded.

On second thought ...

A shapely Demonness passed out fliers at the comer.
She had slanted eyes and skin like the hide of a horned
toad. Scaly fingers passed a flier to Alexander.

"Come ' to our grand opening, Father," she invited
through an oriental accent. "Cockroach Gardens at Ninth
Street and Emesis Avenue. Free order of Leg Rolls when
you buy the special."

"What's the special?"

"Moo Goo Gai Puke."

"I'll ... think about it," Alexander said and strode off.
He didn't even want to think what his fortune cookie
might say.

He made the round of Thrombosis Circle; then his
stout, corded Usher legs stopped. There he is.

Valets with festering faces rushed from the No Season's
portico to open the doors of a fancy steam car whose convertible top was fashioned by Human skin set with onyx
stones.

Then a shadow shaped like a man-a man with
horns-stepped out of the backseat.

Aldezhor. The Grand Messenger of Hell.

Instead of tipping cash, the Grand Duke tipped the
valets with severed feet. Then the ink black shape entered the restaurant, with a jewel-cloaked Bio-Wizard behind him.

Alexander slipped to the front window, wide-eyed.
Come on, Ruth. Don't screw this up. If you don't get his
table ... we're finished.

Oh, no, oh, no, Ruth thought, butterflies in her belly. That's
the guy... .

The dining room became hushed when Grand Duke
Aldezhor was taken to his corner table by a vampiric
hostess.

Ruth had just pinned up a double order for Kidney Satay and Ghoul Marrow Stew when she noticed the Grand
Duke's entrance.

Here goes ...

"I'm taking Aldezhor's table," she asserted to her floormate, a saucy Hybrid with eyes like swamp scum. Her
yellow skin had been creatively scarred with rows and
rows of fanged Smiley Faces. She dumped some garbage
into a grinder-chute that sounded like a tree mulcher
when the leftovers hit the blades.

"You can kiss my Demon ass," the Hybrid flared.
"Ain't no fuckin' way you get to wait on Aldezhor, motherfucker. You're the new girl, so you can fuck off."

Ruth froze at the retort. She even took a step back when
the Hybrid smiled through surgically implanted Griffin
talons where her teeth used to be.

Heart pattering, Ruth folded; she lost all her spark in a
second or two. "Please. Can I have his table? Um-heyI'll even pay you if you let me."

A slimy seven-fingered hand shoved Ruth by the face
out of the server station.

"Big fake-tit blond bubblehead thinks she's gonna
fuckin take my table when she hasn't even fuckin' worked
here for a half a fuckin' hour?" The Hybrid laughed,
blowing black spittle. "Silly bitch-yeah, you walk in here
wearing a Tongue-Skirt and Hand-Bra like you're all that
but you ain't nothin' but a motherfuckin' lowlife guttercrawling motherfucker."

Ruth was appalled. I don't believe it. This chick's got worse
language than me....

"Don't like it? Do something about it," the Hybrid challenged, and pointed a yellow finger right in Ruth's face.

Ruth didn't like it. "Get your finger out of my face or I'll
bite it off."

The Hybrid gusted another obnoxious laugh. "You
fuckin' dumb blond motherfuckin' bitch. I'll pop your
fake tits and mop the Dumpster with your prissy face.
Oh, and by the way, your mother's so dumb the last time
she tried to rob a bank she blew the guard and tied up the
safe," and then she jabbed her finger again.

Ruth bit the finger off and in one synchronous move ment, yanked open the grinder chute, shoved the Hybrid
in, and closed the door.

The blades whined.

Ruth spat the finger out. Like I said, I'm taking Aldezhor's
table....

Just about every male patron in the restaurant paused
to admire Ruth's apparel, but like the professional she
was, she ignored their comments-and even their offers
to tip her-and rushed to Aldezhor's place. Set in the
middle of the table was a petrified hand holding a card:
RESERVED.

"Hello, Grand Duke. My name is Ruth, and I'm privileged to be your server today," Ruth said.

"What a comely tramp, my lord." The Chevalier at the
Grand Duke's side smiled. He was from Lucifer's personal Cryptographic Unit, and was charged with handdelivering Hell's most crucial operational messages. The
Chevalier's skull was segmented, for all in his class were
head-banded during infancy. "And so unworn for an infernal whore," he added.

Ruth ground her teeth.

The shadowy face of Aldezhor appraised her. "Indeed,
Chevalier. Her harlot's body looks as fresh as though
she'd stepped off the streets of the Living World a moment ago."

Close, she thought, forcing a smile. In the lobby, she noticed Alexander enter the lounge.

He looked a little nervous.

The Chevalier laughed. "Fresh, my lord, yes, but remember how deceiving are the looks of such immoral
Human trash. Why, I'd wager the loins of a thousand
men have been emptied into her privates."

"More like ten thousand, and for pennies per service,"
Aldezhor said, joining in the revelry.

Ruth wanted to upend the table and do a dance on their
faces but when her eyes flicked to Alexander, who now sat
at the bar, he very slowly shook his head no.

Don't blow a gasket, she ordered herself. Don't let these
two scumbags rock your boat.

"Why, Grand Duke Aldezhor," she remarked, giggling.
"You're as witty as you are handsome."

"No one gave you permission to converse with the
Grand Duke!" snapped the Chevalier. "Now bring us a
bottle of your best Chyme-vintage--and don't tarry unless you want to be skinned and packed in a salt box for
time immemorial!"

"Of course, Chevalier." She smiled, thinking, Jesus. She
went to the bar for the drink order, and didn't look at
Alexander when she complained, "Man, those fuckin'
guys are busting my chops so hard, I don't think I can
keep my cool."

"You better," the priest whispered over a shot of creek
water on the rocks, "because if you don't, being skinned
and packed in a salt box will be the least of your worries."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"And watch out for Bio-Wizard."

"Who?"

"The guy in the cloak watching over Aldezhor. He's
scanning for hostile auras. Remember the Prism-Veil in
Rot-Port? Same sort of thing only that guy's ten times
more sensitive."

"Fuck...'

"Remember your mission. The note. You must see the
note."

Shit, I almost forgot. "All right, I'll do my best."

With the tip of the Annelok tentacle, Alexander had
slipped something out of his shirt: that ugly little pouch
on a cord.

"The goodie bag. What's it for?"

"In case this doesn't go well." He looked quickly over
his shoulder at Aldezhor's table. "And keep your voice
down." Another nervous glance at the barkeep, who
looked suspiciously similar to John F. Kennedy. "Don't
speak directly to me. You don't know me, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah. But what's in the bag?"

-Shhh!n

"Quit chatter-boxin', bitch!" the barkeep snapped in a
rich Massachusetts accent, "and stop botherin' my cus tomers unless you want your guts dragged out your ears."
The keep looked directly to Alexander. "Sir, is this
mouthy hosebag botherin' you?"

"Oh, no, not at all." Alexander winked at him. "She was
just asking me for the time."

The keep stalled, then slapped a hand on the bar, honking Bostonian laughter. "That's a good one, sir!" He set
down two dirty goblets and a bottle whose label read:
PINOT CHYMUS-A HEADY, ECLECTIC WINE MADE FROM TIE
MOST SELECT HUMAN DUODENAL ENZYMES. "Now take this to
the Grand Duke's table, you piece of big-tit blond scum.
And there better not be any complaints about your service
or I will personally pop your gourd."

Ruth's lower lip quivered. It's a good thing I don't have
that pistol on me right now. She took the bottle to
Aldezhor's table and poured them each a glass. While the
Grand Duke and his Chevalier put their pinkies in the air
and sipped the yellow slop, Ruth thought over what she
had to do. This Chevalier asshole is going to pass a note to this
Aldezhor asshole, and I'm supposed to take a glance at it....
More thoughts ticked. And I gotta be careful of this BioWizard asshole 'cos he's got some psychic jive going on that
might rat me out.

Ruth wasn't used to this kind of responsibility. "Is the
wine to your liking, sir?"

The Chevalier's banded head jerked up. "Yes, you detestable reservoir of carnal filth. But will you make the
Grand Duke wait another eternity before you see fit to take
his lunch order?"

Oh, how I would love to comb this fucker's hair with a two-byfour, Ruth mused, then smiled. "What would you like, sir?"

"What I would like is you in an iron maiden roasting
nude over a coal fire-"

"But only after being stuffed with bay leaves and
onions," Aldezhor added.

"And covered with a nice macadamia nut crust," the
Chevalier finished. "But, lo"-he paused for effect"that's not on the menu, is it?"

He and Aldezhor tremored with laughter, along with
everyone else in the dining room.

Hardee-har-har, Ruth thought. They sounded like donkeys hee-hawing. But again she sucked it up and just
smiled, bearing her pen and order pad. "You gentlemen
are just so funny."

"Of course we are, trollop!" the Chevalier snapped.
"The Grand Duke would like the Chimichurri Gargoyle
Tenderloin in Truffle Cream, and I will have the Braised
Broodren Gallbladder Pie." He pointed a multijointed finger. "And be quick about it, you pitiable intercoursesoiled daughter of filth!"

The insults were wearing Ruth out, and the quivering
Tongue-Skirt and frisky Hand-Bra only amplified her bad
humor. "Coming right up, Chevalier." She turned to the
cloaked Bio-Wizard, who stood aside from Aldezhor, still
as a chess piece. "Anything for you, sir?"

Spittle shot from the Chevalier's lips. "That's a BioWizard, you brainless blond waste of space! Only the
dimmest wit in Hell doesn't know that Bio-Wizards don't
eat! Hare-brain! Moronic Human trash!"

These fucking guys! She wished she still had her old
pickup truck so she could tie them both to the trailer hitch
and go for a long drive.

Ruth curtsyed to the motionless Bio-Wizard. "My
apologies, sir." But before she rushed off to place the order, she took a split-second glance into the Wizard's hood,
and saw a face that was nothing but a smoking skull.

Yuck!

Aldezhor's shadow-boned finger tapped her arm. It felt
like a prod of ice. "That's quite a fetching outfit, misstypically only worn by the most lauded odalisques-and
I must say, your flawless body does it justice. I'll be sure to
have you wait on me every time I'm here."

Finally! A compliment! "Why, thank you, Grand Duke."
Though she couldn't see his eyes, she could feel them
crawling up her almost nude body. Yeah. Men are all the
same, even in Hell, she deduced. Just a bunch of horny assholes.

Aldezhor's words fluttered up. "May your beauty be as
eternal as your Damnation."

"You have such a way with words, Grand Duke." How
do you like that. The monster's got the hots for me.

Ruth rushed in the order and waited at the end of the
bar, a seat down from Alexander. She tried to sluff off the
ceaseless insults but just got madder. "Those guys are
busting my hump," she whispered.

"I know," he whispered back. "Just grin and bear it."

Her teeth ground. "I don't think I can. They're laying it
on thick, especially that pumpkinhead-looking motherfucker."

A She-Ghoul with implants bigger than Ruth's
waltzed by with a tray of roasted spleens. "Newcomer
scum," the monster sniped under her breath. "I see you
over there sucking up to the Grand Duke, but let me tell
you, there's no way he'll have anything to do with Human shit like you."

Ruth swung her fist-but Alexander's Annelok arm
caught it before it could make contact.

"None of that! You're going to blow the whole deal."

Ruth just ground her teeth some more as the slim
Ghoul Blinked off. Keep it cool. Keep it cool.

The priest looked disgusted with her. "And you're not
paying any attention at all."

"Huh?"-

Alexander leaned right into her ear when the barkeep
wasn't looking. "The Chevalier just passed Aldezhor the
note! Now get over there and distract him enough so you
can read it before he puts it away!"