“But what do you think? What’s your best guess? See, I want to find out if there’s any hope for us. You said we’re going to Hell, both of us, and that dude, the Italian—”

“Dante,” I supplied.

“Dante says the sign over the door says don’t hope. I went to a school like that for a couple years, come to think of it.”

“Were they merely strict, or actually sadistic?”

“Mean. But the teachers lived better than we did—a lot better. If there’s a chance of getting to be one yourself, we could always hope for that.”

At that moment, we heard a knock at the front door, and her shoulders sagged. “There goes my free room. I guess I’ve got to be going. It was fun talking to you; it really was.”

I suggested she finish her chicken first.

“Probably I should. I’ll have to find another place to stay, though, and I’d like to get going before they throw me out. It’s pretty late already.” She hesitated. “Would you buy my wedding ring? I’ve got it right here.” Her thumb and forefinger groped the watch pocket of her blue jeans.

I took a final bite of coleslaw and pushed back my plate. “It doesn’t matter, actually, whether I want to buy your ring or not. I can’t afford to. Someone in town might, perhaps.”

A booming voice in the hallway drowned out the old man’s; I knew that the new guest was a demon before I saw him or heard a single intelligible word.

She held up her ring, a white-gold band set with two small diamonds. “I had a job, but he never let me keep anything from it and I finally caught on—if I kept waiting till I had some money or someplace to go, I’d never get away. So I split, just walked away with nothing but the clothes I had on.”

“Today?” I inquired.

“Yesterday. Last night I slept in a wrecked truck in a ditch. You probably don’t believe that, but it’s the truth. All night I was afraid somebody’d come to tow it away. There were furniture pads in the back, and I lay on a couple and pulled three more on top of me, and they were pretty warm.”

“If you can sell your ring,” I said, “there’s a Holiday Inn in town. I should warn you that a great many demons stay there, just as you would expect.”

The kitchen door opened. Following the old man was one of the largest I have ever seen, swag bellied and broad hipped; he must have stood at least six-foot-six.

“This’s our kitchen,” the old man told him.

“I know,” the demon boomed. “I stopped off last year. Naturally you don’t remember, Mr. Hopsack. But I remembered you and this wonderful place of yours. I’ll scrounge around and make out all right.”

The old man gave Eira a significant look and jerked his head toward the door, at which she nodded almost imperceptibly. I said, “She’s going to stay with me, Len. There’s plenty of room in the bed. You don’t object, I trust?”

He did, of course, though he was much too diffident to say so; at last he managed, “Double’s six dollars more.”

I said, “Certainly,” and handed him the money, at which the demon snickered.

“Just don’t you let Ma find out.”

When the old man had gone, the demon fished business cards from his vest pocket; I did not trouble to read the one that he handed me, knowing that nothing on it would be true. Eira read hers aloud, however, with a good simulation of admiration. “ ‘J. Gunderson Foulweather, Broker, Commodities Sales.’ ”

The demon picked up her skillet and tossed her chicken a foot into the air, catching all four pieces with remarkable dexterity. “Soap, dope, rope, or hope. If it’s sold in bulk, I’ll buy it and give you the best price anywhere. If it’s bought in bulk, I sell it cheaper than anybody in the nation. Pleasure to meet you.”

I introduced myself, pretending not to see his hand, and added, “This is Eira Mumble.”

“On your way to St. Louis? Lovely city! I know it well.”

I shook my head.

She said, “But you’re going somewhere—home to some city—in the morning aren’t you? And you’ve got a car. There are cars parked outside. The black Plymouth?”

My vehicle is a gray Honda Civic, and I told her so.

“If I—you know.”

“Stay in my room tonight.”

“Will you give me a ride in the morning? Just a ride? Let me off downtown; that’s all I ask.”

I do not live in St. Louis and had not intended to go there, but I said I would.

She turned to the demon. “He says this’s close to Hell and the souls of people going there stop off here, sometimes. Is that where you’re going?”

His booming laugh shook the kitchen. “Not me! Davenport. Going to do a little business in feed corn if I can.”

Eira looked at me as if to say, There, you see?

The demon popped the largest piece of chicken into his mouth like an hors d’oeuvre; I have never met one who did not prefer his food smoking hot. “He’s giving you the straight scoop though, Eira. It is.”

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