The Devil Stood Up (14 page)

How could he explain to Sitri that he’d come to understand humans as he’d never been able to do as their punisher. That he’d been both weakened and strengthened in his few short days up here. That he found the longer he was here, the more he wanted to stay.

Once again, Kelly came to mind. The Devil glanced at Sitri, but Sitri was turned away, his mind on something else; he was not causing the Devil to think of Kelly. He wondered if Kelly were thinking of him and that made him feel reduced, and angry. He’d not intended to become so embroiled. So conflicted.

“I need time to build this body. It’s weak,” the Devil said.

Sitri, noticing the odd tone, turned in his seat to look at the Devil.

“Lucifer,” he said, masking his surprise with an amused tone. “I believe you actually like it up here.”

The Devil shook his head but turned to look out the window.

“No Sitri, I would not say that I like it. And stop calling me Lucifer. I’ve not been him for a very long time.”

Sitri raised his brows, passing a hand over his magnificent hair.

“Is it really for that lawyer that you’ve come here? You’ve risked much,” he said. “When I heard, I thought that it could not be. You know there are a few liars amongst our kind.” He grinned. “I thought it some sort of fancy one of the lesser minions was spreading. And I pitied whoever had started the slur against you…you of all the ranks! The most steadfast, dedicated–well, I just had to see it for myself. And here you are! It wasn’t a tale after all! But, Lucifer, I will ask you again: why?”

“Sitri, stop calling me Lucifer.” He closed his eyes against the sudden glare as the train rolled out onto the bridge. “I’m not Lucifer anymore.”

* * *

“Carrie! I’m so glad you answered!” Thomas leaned back in his chair, cell phone to his ear. He couldn’t believe Carrie didn’t have a cell phone. He’d had to call and call at her trailer until he just happened to catch her at home. Another pain in the ass aspect of the little bitch. “We haven’t talked in so long, I’ve missed you!”

“Thomas, holy shit!” she said and he could hear a dog yapping in the background. Something small. Unease whispered through him at the idea of a vulnerable creature in her care.

“Got yourself a dog, I hear,” he said, the smile fading from his face if not his voice. “How’s that going?”

“Oh, well…I thought it would be fun, but, it’s kind of a pain in the ass, to tell you the truth. Do you know how much these things shit? The people next door were always after me to pick up its crap. ‘Oh, Carrie,’ they’d say ‘your little dog is pooing on our patio again, do you think you could walk her out near the road or maybe keep her on a lead when she’s out?’ Whining bitches. And it fucking yaps like a motherfucker until I feed its ass.” There was a crackling on the line and he realized she’d turned away from the phone. “Shut the fuck up, Paris!” she said and her voice echoed hollowly. There was a sharp yelp and then silence.

“It went in the bedroom. We can talk now,” she said. “Sooo, what’s going on? I’ve missed you! Did you see the messages on your blog? Are you on Facebook yet?”

He was taken aback by her cozy enthusiasm. They hadn’t talked in more than eighteen months and here she was, acting like he’d just got home from vacation. She really did scare him with her unpredictability.

“I did see your comments on the blog! Very, uh, insightful. Very informative,” he said. “It’s always great to know someone is on my side out there.” His voice, at least, sounded sincere. “But that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Carrie.”

“Oh really? I kinda thought that might be why you were calling,” her voice dipped into a lower register. “Been thinking about me, haven’t you?”

“In a way, yes; yes I have,” he said. “I was thinking we needed to get together for a little chat.”

Her laugh was deep and throaty and practiced.

“Any time, any where, love,” she said.

He felt as though he’d been transported into a bad eighties romance. He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Well, how about if you come on up here and I’ll take you somewhere nice for lunch?”

“Me? Come up there?” she said, and now all the ersatz flirtation deserted and a new voice lashed out: iron hard, demanding, cold. “Dude, you’re like a two hour ride from here. For lunch? Fuck you, man. I don’t need lunch that bad.”

He was stunned by the quick shift in her demeanor. Of course he’d seen it before. He’d watched her go from an unconcerned, nail-picking, eye-rolling, cold-blooded murderer outside the courtroom to a sweet young girl steamrolled by the horrible circumstances of her life when she was where the jury could see her. But he hadn’t had to deal with her in a long time. It brought home to him all over again that he’d set a monster free. Well, the jury had, really. It had been their decision. It wasn’t his fault.

“I didn’t mean you’d have to drive yourself up,” he said. “I’d send a car for you. And I just didn’t want to take up too much of your time, that’s why I suggested lunch! How about dinner? Would you be available?” God, she was a nightmare. How was he going to ease her out of his life? She came back as regularly as bad weather.

Silence on the other end.

“Carrie?” he said.

Silence.

“Carrie?”

Carrie stood looking at the receiver in her hand. Her face had taken on a shuttered look. Thomas’ voice peeped and squawked at her. Was he fucking with her or what? There had been something…false…in his tone. Carrie knew false when she heard it.

“Gosh, that would be great,” she said. Her voice had softened into the tones of a very young girl, easily impressed.

Thomas was thrown again by the shift. How did she pass so quickly through each persona? Did she really think no one would notice? He shuddered at the crazy leaking through his telephone line.

“Okay, great!” he said. “How about Wednesday, does that sound good? I’ll have the car collect you at three and I’ll make reservations somewhere nice. And we’ll talk.”

“Sounds all kinds of great, lover,” she said, Marilyn-breathy. “By the way,” she continued, her voice hardening. “That fucking car had better be here right at three or you can kiss my ass.”

Now it was his turn to pull the phone from his ear and he stared at it, gape-mouthed. He realized that she actually scared the living shit out of him.

* * *

It was still morning when the Devil and Sitri exited the high-speed line. Nauseous with hunger, the Devil stopped at the first place they found open. It was called Thomasello’s Family Pizza and at this time of day they were serving breakfast, mostly to a steady stream of construction workers who took their food to go. The booths and tables were deserted.

The Devil bought six egg sandwiches, handing one to Sitri and paying with Kelly’s card.

They retreated to a booth at the back and the Devil tore into the sandwiches. The yolks burst open and dripped onto his hands and the table. Sausage crumbled juicily between his teeth and cheese strung golden and melted from his mouth back to the bun. The Devil nearly hummed with satisfaction.

Sitri watched with mild disgust as the Devil ate. His sandwich sat before him, not yet touched, its wrapping dotted with grease stains.

“Enjoying your food?” Sitri asked, his tone mild.

The Devil sat back, wiping a hand across his mouth and belched. Egg yolk had streaked across his chin, drying in flakes. He took the sandwich that sat before Sitri, tore the paper from it, and devoured it in four large bites.

Then he belched again.

Sitri rolled his eyes and lit one of his slender brown cigarettes.

“Hey, no smoking in here, buddy,” the cook called across to them.

Sitri didn’t hesitate in the act of taking a drag from the cigarette. He inhaled deeply and then blew a cloud of smoke.

“What’s next, Lucifer? Can we at least hire a car?” he said. He took another drag.

“Hey. Buddy. I’m warning you. Put it out.” The cook had come to the counter, brushing aside the teenage girl who’d rung them up.

“The address isn’t far from here,” the Devil said. “I think you’ll make it, Sitri.”

“The question is whether I want to, Lucifer, not whether I can.”

A portion of the counter flipped up and the cook came through, wiping his hands on a grease-stained apron. He was a big man with no fear of other men. Especially an old fart and his skinny kid.

“You’re trying my patience, pal,” the cook said.

“I think you want to, Sitri; otherwise you would not have come this far. I think you’re intrigued…in spite of yourself.” The Devil smiled, one side of his mouth coming up.

Sitri shook his head, his irritation obvious. He opened his mouth to reply, but just then, the cook put his hand on Sitri’s shoulder.

As soon as his hand was on the old guy’s shoulder, the cook felt a deep, unmanning regret. When the old guy turned to look up at him, his lower belly cramped. He thought he might shit himself. The guy’s eyes were…were…

The teen at the counter could only see her uncle’s back but she knew something was wrong from his wooden posture. She reached for the phone next to the register, tiptoeing her fingers over, being careful to move slowly. The man facing her way–the thin blond guy who’d eaten like he hadn’t eaten in days–caught her nervous glance and he smiled at her. He nodded. Relief flowed through her and she turned back to the magazine she’d been leafing through. She couldn’t really remember what she’d been concerned about.

Sitri turned his attention back to the Devil.

“Do you know this one?” he asked and gestured with his head to the frozen cook.

“I’m not sure, let me…” the Devil slid from the booth and stood in front of the cook. The Devil took the man’s face in his hands and lifted it. The cook’s eyes were bulging and his eyebrows had climbed nearly to his hairline. His mouth worked but no sound came out. The Devil tilted his own head, as though to kiss the man, but only stared into his eyes. Then he stood back, letting the man’s head drop.

“No, he’s not coming my way,” the Devil said and shuffled through the wrappers on the table. Maybe they should get a few more sandwiches for the road. They’d been delicious. “Not yet, anyway.”

Sitri reached up and grabbed the cook’s ear. He pulled his head down next to his so the cook’s ear was right at his mouth.

“Listen to me, human,” Sitri said. His voice whispered along the cook’s ear canal like a hot wind in the desert, shriveling and crisping everything it blew across. “If you want some trouble I’ll give you all you can handle and more. But I don’t think you’re going to be very…happy…with the results. You think I am an old man, but I am so much more.” His tongue snaked out and it slid, long and sinuous around the cook’s throat, twenty inches long, thirty inches long and still it lengthened, winding and tightening.

In his frozen state, the cook was aware of everything but could not move. At the touch of the demon’s hard tongue, hot urine trickled down the inside of his leg.

Sitri was excited by the acerbic stink of it and the delicious fear flowing from this man. His tongue tightened, tightened, even as his fingers squeezed the cook’s ear. He wanted to keep milking his fear, squeezing it out, lapping it up…

The Devil snapped his fingers in Sitri’s face.

“Enough.” His tone was mild, but Sitri felt the undercurrent of menace. Lucifer was not someone to be fucked with. He withdrew his tongue and let the man go, turning back to grasp the cigarette he’d left burning at the edge of the table.

“Cook?” the Devil said and waved his hand in the cook’s face. The cook had been transfixed, staring at Sitri, but now his gaze went to the Devil.

“Huh?” he said, his voice dulled, trying to take a step back and staggering.

“I’ll take six more of these,” the Devil said and gestured to the mess of sandwich wrappers on the table.

“Lucifer! Are you serious?” Sitri said, lighting a fresh cigarette off the old. He looked to the cook as if the cook would commiserate. “That’s disgusting. How can you shove so much into that poor body? You’re going to break it!”

The Devil hadn’t even glanced at Sitri, keeping his attention on the cook.

“Cook? Six more.”

Something in the Devil’s tone woke the cook enough to get him moving. He retreated across the restaurant and back behind the counter. His niece threw him a distracted smile as he went by.

He cooked in a daze, his hands doing the work by rote. His mouth still hung open. His mind felt as though it had been flushed clean with a strong hose. The drying urine made his balls stick to his leg and he kept kicking out, dislodging them. It became a nervous tick that he carried to his grave.

* * *

A carved wood sign stood at the entrance to the Shawnee Woods Trailer Park. A low cinderblock wall and dead azalea bushes surrounded it. The area was rural, the roads through the park rutted dirt tracks. Pine trees and pin oaks fought for air and sun, creating a dense canopy over the trailers.

The trailers themselves were mostly doublewides. Years and years ago, this had been a vacation spot for people coming to fish the lakes and streams, but it had solidified over time into year-round residences. Mainly older, retired folks lived here and their trailers were nicely kept with flowerbeds and concrete pads for their old Buicks and Fords.

But a few of the trailers stuck out due to their run down and over used condition. It was in one of these dilapidated homes that Carrie Walsh lived.

Next to her trailer was a dirt side yard that contained a picnic table so gray and warped with age it seemed carved from driftwood. Dog turds littered the area around the table, along with Styrofoam cups, three empty Boone’s Farm bottles, a magazine so bloated with moisture that it was almost the size of an encyclopedia, and a whitewashed car tire.

The Devil and Sitri stood at the entrance to the trailer park, next to the wooden sign.

The Devil’s head was up and cocked in a listening posture. He had one arm across Sitri’s chest, preventing him from continuing down the dirt drive.

Sitri was irritated. This old body was not holding up to the walking they’d been doing and he’d run out of the little brown cigarettes it craved.