his wallet.
The bartender hiked his shoulders and went back to wiping the bar. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Scott laid one of the bills on the bar, covering it with his hand. He slid it toward the bartender. “That’s too bad. You sure we can’t convince you to rethink?”
The bartender eyed the hundred-dollar bill. “Have I seen you around?”
“I play bass for Serpentine. I’ve also played poker from Portland to Concord to Boston, and everywhere in between.”
A nod of recognition. “That’s it. I used to work nights at the Z Pool Hall in Springvale.”
“Fond memories of the place,” Scott said without missing a beat. “Won a lot of cash. Lost even more.” He grinned as though sharing a private joke with the bartender.
Sliding his hand flush with Scott’s, and looking around to be sure he wasn’t under surveillance, the bartender pocketed the bill. “Got to frisk you first,” he told us. “No weapons allowed downstairs.”
“No problem,” Scott answered easily.
I started to sweat even more. Patch had warned us they’d be on the lookout for guns, knives, and any other sharp object that could be used as a weapon. So we’d gotten creative. The belt holding up Scott’s jeans, and hidden beneath his shirt, h his shwas in fact a whip enchanted with devilcraft. Scott had sworn up and down he wasn’t ingesting devilcraft, and had never heard of the super-drink, but I figured we might as well make use of the enchanted whip he’d lifted from Dante’s car on a whim. The whip glowed the telltale shade of iridescent blue, but as long as the bartender didn’t raise Scott’s shirt, we’d be safe.
At the bartender’s invitation, Scott and I walked around the bar, stepped behind a privacy screen, and lifted our arms. I went first, enduring a brief, cursory pat-down. The bartender moved to Scott, brushing down his inseams and patting under his arms and across his back. It was dim behind the bar, and even though Scott had worn a thick cotton shirt, I thought I saw the whip glow faintly through it. The bartender seemed to see it too. His eyebrows pulled together, and he reached for Scott’s shirt.
I dropped my handbag at his feet. Several hundred-dollar bills spilled out. Just like that, the bartender’s attention was drawn to the money. “Oops,” I said, feigning a flirty smile as I swept the bills back inside. “This cash is burning a hole. Ready to play, hot stuff?”
I gave a nearly imperceptible nod. “You’re going to win big tonight, babe, I can feel it,” I crooned.
The bartender unlocked a big steel door, and grasping Scott’s hand, I followed him down a dark, uninviting staircase that smelled of mildew and standing water. At the bottom, we followed a hallway around several bends, until we came out in an open space sparsely decorated with poker tables. A single Mason-jar-turned-pendant hung above each table, shedding minimal light. No music, no drinks, no warm, friendly welcome.
One table was in use—four players—and I instantly spotted Pepper. He had his back to us, and he didn’t turn at our approach. Not unusual. None of the other players glanced at us either. They were all tuned intently to the cards in their hands. Poker chips stood in neat towers at the center of the table. I had no idea how much money was involved, but I was betting those who lost would feel it, and deeply.
“We’re looking for Pepper Friberg,” Scott announced. He kept his tone light, but the way his muscles bulged when he crossed his arms sent a different message.
“Sorry, sweetheart, my dance card’s full for the night,” Pepper shot back cynically, brooding over the hand he’d been dealt. I studied him closely, thinking he was much too involved in the game for this to be a cover. In fact, he was so sucked in, he’d apparently completely missed that I stood beside Scott.
Scott snagged a chair from a nearby table and made room for it right next to Pepper. “I’ve got two left feet anyway. You’d be better off dancing with . . . Nora Grey.”
Now Pepper reacted. He set his cards facedown, turning that round, full body of his to see me for himself.
“Hello, Pepper. It’s been a while,” I said. “The last time we met up, you tried to kidnap me, isn’t that right?”
“Kidnapping is a federal offense for us Earth dwellers,” Scott chimed in. “Something tells me it’s frowned on in heaven, too.”
“Keep your voice down,” Pepper growled, nervously eyeing the other players.
I swept my eyebrows up, speaking directly to Pepper’s thoughts.
“Let’s take this outside,” Pepper told me, folding from the game.
“Up you go,” Scott said, hoisting him up by the elbow.
In the alley behind the Devil’s Handbag, I spoke first. “We’re going to make this simple for you, Pepper. As fun as it’s been having you use me to get to Patch, I’m ready to move on. The way I figure it, that’s only going to happen if I find out who’s really blackmailing you,” I said, testing him. I wanted to tell him my theory: that he was playing errand boy for a secret group of archangels and needed a half-decent excuse to send Patch to hell. But in the name of playing it safe, I decided to hold off and see how this shook out.
Pepper squinted at me, his features as disgruntled as they were skeptical. “What’s this about?”
“Which is where we come in,” Scott chimed in. “We’re motivated to find your blackmailer.”
Pepper narrowed his eyes further at Scott. “Who are you?”
“Think of me as the ticking bomb under your seat. If you don’t make a decision to agree to Nora’s terms, I’ll make it for you.” Scott started rolling up his sleeves.
“Are you threatening me?” Pepper asked incredulously.
“Here are my terms,” I said. “We’ll find your blackmailer, and we’ll deliver them to you. What we want in return is simple. Swear an oath to leave Patch alone.” I slapped a pointy toothpick into Pepper’s fleshy palm. Since the bartender had frisked me, it was the best I could do. “A little blood and a few earnest words should do the trick.” If I got him to swear an oath, he’d have to slink back to the archangels with his tail between his legs and confess failure. If he refused, it only gave more validity to my theory.
“Archangels don’t swear blood vows,” Pepper sneered.
“Do they shove fallen angels they’ve got a beef with into hell?” Scott asked.
Pepper looked at us as if we were insane. “What are you raving on about?”
“How does it feel to be the archangels’ peon?” I asked.
“What’d they offer you in return?” Scott demanded.
“The archangels aren’t down here,” I said. “You’re on your own. Do you really want to go up against Patch alone?”
Pepper’s expression of disbelief deepened, and I pounced on his silence. “You’re going to swear that oath right now, Pepper.”
Scott and I closed in on him.
“No oath!” Pepper squeaked. “But I’ll leave Patch alone—I promise!”
“If only I could trust you to keep your word,” I returned. “Trouble is, I don’t think you’re a very honest guy. In fact, I think this whole blackmailing business is a ruse.”
Pepper’s eyes widened with understanding. He sputtered in disbelief, his face turning a throttled pink. “Let me see if I’ve got this. You think I’m after Patch for blackmailing me?” he screeched at last.
“Yeah,” Scott supplied. “Yeah, we do.”
“That’s why he’s refused to meet me? Because he thinks I want to chain him in hell? I wasn’t threatening him!” Pepper squealed, his round face growing more flushed by the moment. “I wanted to offer him a job! I’ve been trying to get that across all along!”
Scott and I spoke at the same time. “A job?” We shared a hasty, skeptical glance.
“You were telling the truth?” I asked Pepper. “You really have a job for Patch—and that’s all?”
