I glanced over at the Model-T and whistled. Compared to those two, I’d gotten off easy. I peeled my coat off and half-embedded shrapnel pulled loose and clinked onto the street. I tossed the trench aside. My back would heal fine, but the coat had seen its last.
It wasn’t but a second later when I heard the first of the sirens, off in the distance. I whistled, impressed. Normally, I’d beat feet and get my obviously involved ass down the road, but I still had a job to do. While the explosion had shattered the windows of the club, it was still standing. As much of a message as torching Bugs’ goons was, it wasn’t the one I’d been sent to deliver. Uncle Lou wasn’t big on independent thought.
With my grenade gone, I’d have to do things the hard way. I looked to the burning remnants of the Model-T and smiled. Everything I needed was right there. The sirens grew in the background, so I ran to the car and peered inside. What was left of Paulie was charred and smoking in the seat. The steering wheel had melted and was covered in dripping red and black, one of Paulie’s hands now a permanent part of it. I glanced down at the tires and saw that they too were gone, little more than black goop that puddled on the pockmarked street.
No time left for finesse or rational thought, I reached my hands beneath the side of the car and grabbed ahold. Flames licked at my fingers and I felt my palms burn, but it couldn’t be helped. My legs bunched beneath me, I rolled the Model-T over onto its side. It hit with a crash, shattered glass crunching beneath it. I shoved the car again, my hands smoking, blisters bubbling up. The T flipped, landing on its roof. Pieces of Paulie and Jimmy dripped down in long, wet streamers of red as I hit the T one last time, sending it sliding into the front wall of the club.
The wood creaked and I heard a few timbers crack, but the wall held. I saw the curtains go up inside the shattered windows, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough as close as the police were. The wail of their sirens tickling my ears, they’d be able to put the fires out before it spread to the liquor. So, with desperation puckering me in unpleasant ways, I back up a few steps and charged at the T. I put my shoulder into it and felt my back twinge as I hit. My skull rang like a church bell, but I heard the wall give way.
The sharp snap of wood echoed through the night, burying the sirens for just a second as the steel frame of the T groaned and gave itself over to gravity. In an instant, the car disappeared, tumbling to the sound of thunder down the stairwell just beyond the front door of the club. It was so loud I almost didn’t hear the screech of tires behind me.
My heart in my throat, I spun around to see another black Model-T, identical to Paulie’s, jerk to a halt not twenty feet from where I stood. There weren’t any markings, and no sirens blared from it, so it had to be Bugs’ guys. The driver was your standard goon; wide of forehead and thick across the jaw. I wouldn’t have to worry about him until he hauled his bulk out of the seat and got his machine gun ready. His passenger though, was a different story.
Little more than a twig, the guy was out of the car before it even stopped rocking. He was almost completely bald, with little tufts of white hair floating above his ears like tiny clouds. His suit was two sizes too big for him, bunched at the elbows and ankles. It looked like a stiff wind could knock the guy over, but there was something threatening about him. His hands were empty, and though he didn’t even seem to be carrying a gun, there was a threat in the dark green of his eyes.
Without even thinking about it, I let my senses loose. Invisible tendrils reached out, grasping for anything out of the ordinary. Even as dull as my senses were, they found different in spades. Of course, the shimmer of blue- green energy at his fingertips would have been obvious to a blind man.
I ducked and ran, slipping down a nearby alley as a burst of magical force ripped apart the street where I’d just been standing. My balls cradled in the well of my ass, I ran until I crossed the north-south line and then kept on, not stopping until I was sure I’d put some healthy distance between me and Bugs’ boys. They didn’t bother to follow.
Deep in the heart of Capone’s territory, I finally slowed, taking a second to catch my breath before I headed home. While I’d done the job I’d been sent to do, I just knew Uncle Lou wasn’t gonna be happy.
“Are you certain?” Lucifer asked, his voice a quiet rumble like a distant storm.
“The guy was a demon, I’m tellin’ ya.”
My uncle leaned back in his seat, his hand at his chin. While nothing of his thoughts showed on the surface, I knew he was furious. There was a slight tremor in the earth that vibrated my chair. I fought the urge to go fetal and waited for him to decide what he wanted to do, knowing better than to rush him.
Though he didn’t look like much, Lucifer didn’t earn his reputation by appearing mean…he simply was. A few inches shorter than six feet and slim, but with a bit of a paunch, my uncle looked more grandfatherly than dastardly. He had gray hair that was cut fairly short, wisps of it sticking out like wings. There weren’t any horns or hooves, or even red skin. He was kinda pasty actually, and could probably use a little sun. Wrinkled and covered in age spots, there wasn’t anything about Lou that set him apart from the rest of humanity, until you looked him in his eyes.
It was like peering into an abyss of wickedness. The whole of the world’s cruelty, its anger, its depravity, stared back at you when you locked gazes with my uncle. Every dark and sinister secret hidden from the light, every horror ever perpetrated on man, angel, or demon, was there to be seen, to be experienced in all its terrible grandeur. The first of the evil in the world, Lucifer was the epitome of it all, the entirety of it buried in his eyes. I looked away as the darkness churned in their depths.
“Did you recognize him?”
I shook my head. “I was too busy running for my life to bother checking if he was cute.”
“Don’t be vexsome, Triggaltheron.” I could feel the weight of his stare on me, and simply nodded. At last I felt him turn his gaze away, the leather of his chair squeaking as he settled. Only then did I dare to look back. “It would seem Moran has found his own infernal assistance, though I can’t imagine who would be so foolish as to interfere in my business.”
Neither could I. While there was an unwritten rule that those of the Demonarch-the demon realm-were pretty much expected to wreak havoc where they could, there wasn’t a demon still breathing who didn’t know better than to muck up Lucifer’s plans. If the big guy was cooking, you stayed the Hell out of the kitchen if you weren’t invited.
Lucifer sighed. “Go and rest, boy, and send Baalth in on your way. I’ve another job for you in the morning, and I want you healed, just in case.”
I didn’t waste any time. After I’d told my uncle’s lieutenant the boss wanted to see him, I made my way to my room. The stink of gunpowder and charred meat still clung to me. I crawled into bed without bothering to wash. Since I didn’t suspect I’d be getting screwed in any fun way in the morning, I didn’t figure it mattered if I stank.
We’d all smell the same dead.
Morning came around early. We rolled down North Clark Street, me squeezed behind the wheel of the nice new Cadillac sedan Lucifer had rushed into town overnight, headed for the SMC Cartage warehouse. While I wasn’t privy to all the details, I’d overheard some talk about Bugs and his demon flunky supposedly being there. Didn’t take much imagination to realize this wasn’t a social call. The shotgun Baalth was holding kinda helped.
The demon lieutenant sat in the back with two of my uncle’s goons, another up front. Two of them were dressed like they were going to church, clean suits and ties, long jackets and nice hats, while Baalth and the last of them had on police uniforms. They all sat low in the seats, trying to be inconspicuous. There were too many unfriendly eyes on the street to be so transparent as to cover the rear windows. I’d just have to drive and hope for the best.
Before I could worry about it too much, we were there. I pulled into an alley that led to the rear of the warehouse and parked, leaving the engine running. Baalth smiled at me and stepped out, shotgun in hand, motioning for me to wait. The three demons slithered out as well. The one in the uniform carried a shotgun like Baalth, the other two toted Tommy guns. Baalth led the way up a short ramp as a German Shepherd, tied to the bumper of an old truck in the parking lot, growled and barked at them. It knew what was coming, even if those inside didn’t.
Baalth and the others slipped into the warehouse through the back door. Not five minutes later, after some muffled gunshots, the demon lieutenant and the other police-disguised demon came back outside, holding their shotguns on their own men, leading them at gunpoint back to the car.
That was my idea. If anyone had heard the shots and was peeking outside for a look-see, all they’d remember is two cops taking away a couple of suited malcontents. Misdirection at its finest.
