The Dirty Streets of Heaven

there’s a lot of gray area, and you have to learn it the hard way. Instead I cocked a thumb toward the recently deceased Mrs. Martino. “Don’t fall in love with a client, kid.”

“In love…!” He looked horrified.

“You know what I mean. Don’t make it personal.” Those were the most important words I knew-words that could save your afterlife.

“Adultery,” announced Grasswax. “Repeatedly, and without confession. For years.”

“Oh, shit,” said Sam. Actually he only mouthed the words, but I could read his lips.

“A grave, grave sin against the Law of Moses,” Grasswax continued. “And no repentance, either. In fact, she had just met the lover for drinks before her accident tonight, so she died…unshriven, as we used to say. Am I wrong?”

Sam hastily conferred with the woman’s guardian. “Mitigated!” Sam said. “Her husband has a mistress.”

“Oh, but surely two wrongs don’t make a right, Master Sammariel.” Grasswax smiled. It looked like he had horse’s teeth crammed in his mouth. Wasn’t pretty. “This is not the husband’s judgement. As you know, she stands before a representative of God the Highest,” he said, gesturing toward the burning presence of Xathanatron. “She is not being judged by the kind receivers of the Children’s Host. She sinned and kept on sinning. Only death stopped it.” The prosecutor grinned even wider. The conviction was beginning to look, as my old mentor Leo used to say, like an Old Testament Cinch.

“But I didn’t…!” Silvia Martino only got out the first few words before Grasswax turned on her and flicked his taloned fingers. The sound stopped coming. She struggled on for a moment before she realized the gift of speech had been taken from her.

“No one asked you, whore,” spat the prosecutor, then turned back to Sam with a grin. “Well, Advocate? Any final words of summation?”

The new kid was twitching beside me as if something was biting him. “Stop,” I told him. “Don’t attract attention. You won’t like it.” But it was no use.

“How about Thou Shalt Not Steal?” the kid shouted. “Doesn’t that count?”

“Oh, shit.” This time it was me saying it. Everybody turned to look at Clarence. Even Xathanatron the Principality seemed to pause, his fires darkening just a fraction.

“He’s not supposed to talk!” barked Howlingfell, the ugly, coarse hairs on his neck and shoulders bristling. He started his move-he would have been all over the rookie with talons and fangs-but I kicked him hard in the back of the knee, then when his leg buckled I helped him to lie down with a swift jerk on his suit collar. The demon hit the ground hard-Outside is a real, physical place, it’s just outside Time-then I dropped to a crouch beside him to make sure he was all right. Okay, I might have kneeled on his windpipe a little.

“Down, Fido,” I told him quietly, crimping his neck until he stopped struggling so hard. “Let the big boys settle this.”

“Here!” Suddenly rough, clawed hands were pulling at me. I wasn’t going to start a brawl in front of a heavenly judge so I let myself be tugged back onto my feet, although by the time I had my balance Grasswax had pulled my jacket most of the way off. “How dare you!” he snarled, but he didn’t sound entirely convincing-I think he was playing it up for the judge.

“Easy, everybody,” said Sam, getting into the middle. He helped me get my jacket back over my shoulders, then patted me back into shape with a care that was almost fatherly. We’ve been through a lot, Sam and me. “Just a misunderstanding,” he said, glaring at the kid.

Howlingfell was getting up now, too. He looked like he thought he understood everything just fine: his murderous scowl could have bubbled paint.

“Misunderstanding?” Grasswax surveyed us all, a look of calculated outrage twisting his unpleasant features into something even less charming. “Did I misunderstand when I thought I heard an apprentice, unsworn and unnamed before this judge, interrupting an officer of prosecution? Or did it really happen…?”

What Did He Mean? This from the judge, each word like a silver bell in a church tower, loud and vibrant, silencing Grasswax just as he was getting worked up to a grand, oratorical flourish. Xathanatron turned his faceless gaze toward Clarence. Speak, Child. I Give You Leave.

“Her husband-he…he s-stole from her!” To his credit, the kid at least looked properly terrified at what he’d got himself into. “He stole her youth.”

“What rubbish.” Grasswax wore the expression of a man forced to watch a long elementary school performance while standing outside in foul weather.

Clarence turned to face the judge. “From the day they were married, her husband only made love to her one night a month, like…like it was a job. Without…foreplay, without kissing. Rolled off and went to watch television.” The youngster was scarlet, embarrassed. “Then, after their fourth child, he just stopped. Told her she’d let herself go. That she sickened him.” He looked over to the deceased, but Silvia Martino seemed lost in a memory or even a dream, her eyes unfocused. “That’s stealing, right?” he said at last.

I knew I shouldn’t have let the kid talk to her. I felt like punching myself in the nuts for letting it happen. When did he get all that out of her? Even Sam looked as if it had caught him by surprise, and he’d talked to the guardian angel.

When Clarence was not immediately changed into hot steam it seemed pretty clear the judge was going to allow his evidence. Sam knew better than to look this gift horse in the mouth any longer than he needed to. He quickly added a strong theme of tragic suffering to his summation and rode that nag all the way home.

I still wouldn’t have wanted to put money on which way Xathanatron was going to go, but when a column of lavender light surrounded the late Mrs. Silvia Martino, and a look crept over Grasswax’s face that suggested some paralegal in Hell was going to get a horrible bollocking, I knew it was over and Sam had won.

Suddenly the deceased was gone. Grasswax took off a moment later, silent and very unpleasantly angry. Howlingfell pointed a shaking, clawed finger at me. “You’re dead, Dollar!” he growled, but his voice was still a bit weak from my knee crushing his trachea. A moment later he followed Grasswax through the shimmering wound and then, except for the judge, it was just angels standing around in the frozen moment.

“Congrats,” I told Clarence. “You’ve made your first batch of enemies today.”

“What?”

“And not just on the other team,” Sam said. “If you ever do that to me again, kid, they’ll never find all the different pieces.”

“Pieces…?”

“Of you.” He shook his head in disgust. “You get any more bright ideas, try ’em out on me or Bobby first.”

I was watching Xathanatron, who to my discomfort seemed to be staring in my direction. I’d kind of hoped that scuffle with Howlingfell would have been beneath the high angel’s notice.

You Are Wanted In The Celestial City, Angel Doloriel, the pillar of light told me. Sam and the kid didn’t hear it, but for me it came loud enough to make my cheekbones ache. Your Archangel Wishes To Speak With You. Then the big glow was gone.

“C’mon,” Sam said to me. “Time to go back. I’m going to buy Clarence an ice cream. I mean, we did win the case.”

Me, I was feeling thirsty-that’s just how I react to happy endings. But then I react to unhappy ones pretty much the same way.

two

my lucky week

I already know some of the questions you want to ask. The answers are:

1) Yes, it’s pretty darn interesting being an angel.

2) No, I haven’t met God. Yet.