Then the Creature knelt by Conan and whispered, “I love you Max. Go with caution and return with care.” And the little fighter felt his chest tighten up and his throat thicken like hot soup was stuck in there. She’d said something like this before, but now it felt different. He glared at the Quinlan boys, and then hugged Creature with all his strength, taking great care with the blades on his die-flower. He stepped away quickly, and gave a menacing face to the twins who just shrugged, but were too smart to smile or make a wink. Dirty Squeakers.
The Creature nodded and then smiled into Sophie’s shadows before she rose. She turned to Mr. Jay, acknowledged the concern in his face.
“The Creature thinks that already your responsibilities grow, Mr. Jay.” And she laughed before saying, “We are glad you understand the precious nature of this company.”
The Quinlan boys slipped into their packs and then slid down the ladder to the sewers. Slip. Splash! Liz followed grunt-grumble, and Mr. Jay went after. Conan gave the Creature a quick bow and followed the other fighters into the dark. Squint-peek! They gathered in the dim light at the bottom of the ladder, and in seconds the Quinlan boys had hurried away to scour their path for danger. Mr. Jay walked beside Liz. He quick used up his smoking-bad-girl-good stories and asked for one to puff and chew.
Conan was pleased that he was given the dangerous position of protecting the rear-bums and backsides; but it wasn’t long before he knew that he wasn’t alone back there.
47 – Danger Pay
Driver had never seen an Angel, but he had higher hopes than the broken down old transvestite he was looking at. The word usually conjured up the image of a tall beauty in clingy robes-maybe with a spangled G-string showing through-and definitely no bra. She’d have long hair, blue eyes, and a halo of gold or silver, and maybe tote a horn or one of them harps. But not this fruit. The Texan looked the Marquis up and down then he turned to Felon.
“What in Hell are you talkin’ about?” He kept his gun on the old man. “He’s a queen, not a Angel.”
“Disguise.” The assassin studied the Marquis’ face.
Driver looked over at Tiny, raised an eyebrow. The salesman wore a look of disbelief, but bright-eyed enthusiasm bubbled underneath. Tiny liked surprises of a non-lethal variety, and this was one of them. Now he was looking at it for angles-guess the right time to step in.
“Hogwash!” Driver barked. “Angels?”
“Driver, doesn’t matter if we believe it or not,” Tiny blurted. “Something isn’t right here, you agree? Them weird little guys with the guns, and that thing.” He gestured to the body of the big freak on the floor. “And Felon’s the boss.” Tiny flipped his gun into his belt. “If he says the Marquis is an Angel. He’s an Angel.”
“Oh.” Driver smiled and nodded. “I hear you, brother.” He looked at Felon. “But I would like to know more about this Angel business.”
“Tell us!” Felon pushed his gun into the Marquis’ face.
“Mind you.” Driver scratched at his scalp. “Aren’t Angels supposed to be girls with wings up there in Heaven? Shit, we known the Marquis for seventy years and more. He’s a gangster!”
“Angel,” Felon hissed, as he pushed the Marquis along the wall away from the bedroom and into a crouching position in the corner.
“Easy Driver. You been out on the range too long,” the Texan whispered to himself before looking over at Tiny. “We been drinkin’ bad mescal? Ain’t supposed to be true is it?”
“You got to remember.” Tiny smiled one of his sharp-toothed smiles then poked his chin at the big gunman. “Bloody is dead.”
Driver nodded. “Course.”
“And walking around.” Tiny’s voice was a reassuring drone. “And that isn’t supposed to happen, is it?”
Driver nodded again. “True.”
“Well, it seems to me that something strange has already been going on.” He stepped toward Driver, slapped him on the arm. “In a way Angels might explain some this Change.”
“So we’re all dead?” Driver ran a hand over his goatee. “Shit, that would explain even more.” He enjoyed the fact that he had leapt to the conclusion, even if it was a depressing one.
“Not dead,” Felon rasped. “ They changed the world.”
“So we ain’t dead, but Bloody is.” Driver walked toward the Marquis, both guns out and pointed at the brittle old chest. “Tell me then, Angel. What did you do?” The Marquis looked at the guns and rolled his eyes pleadingly toward Felon.
“Later.” Felon’s dark eyes flashed at the Texan.
“Okay.” Driver stepped back, thought a moment, and then stepped forward again. He waved a gun at the corpse by the stairs. “What the hell is that goddamn thing?”
“Eyesores.” Felon unwound a bit, but his gun never strayed from the Marquis’ head. “Demon servants.”
“Demons too?” Driver turned his head toward Tiny and then swung around to Bloody. “Demons he said. Demons.” He turned back to Felon. “We’re talkin’ Demons now?”
“Yes Demons!” The Marquis bellowed, his voice suddenly full of power. “From the Pit. Crude imitations of the Firstborn. What they lack in sophistication, they make up for in barbarity.”
Driver shrugged at Felon. “I ain’t complainin’ about the work, but you could’a mentioned Demons.”
“I work for Balg, a Demon. His servant, Passport, was here. Told this Angel to kill me. He disappeared. A group Balg represented hired me to whack a low-level Angel before he could blow the whistle on them.” Felon jammed his face close to the Marquis’ old cheek. “It was a different Angel-almost killed me.” Felon snarled into the old face.
“Oh, that’s better.” Driver gritted his teeth. “That fills in the blanks.” He was beginning to think that Felon’s ammo was wet. The Texan threw a quick glance at Tiny. The salesman’s eyes were wide, his mouth half-open. He was taking it all in, already trying to work an angle.
“Who set me up?” The assassin heaved the Marquis to his feet and pistol-whipped him. The transvestite shrieked and clutched his cheek. “My target met me at the door, but he wasn’t expecting me.”
“Stop!” The Marquis’ voice had returned. “You must not betray the Divine Compact. You don’t understand the forces involved here.”
“Talk!” Felon raised his gun again.
“Don’t!” The old drag queen started weeping. “It was an old debt, nothing more. Felon, you’ve got to believe me. I owed Balg a favor. But he promised me you would not be hurt.”
“Bullshit!” The assassin’s expression was black.
“He wanted the nun-the God-wife.” The Marquis twisted fingers in his lace collar. “I had to call him if I saw you. He said you had his property! Honestly!”
“Fucking Angels!” Felon spat on the Marquis’ dress
“I am sorry.” The Marquis raised his hands to set them against the assassin’s chest but they were swept away by the gun.
“Truth!” Felon pressed the gun barrel against the Angel’s temple.
The Marquis’ whole frame trembled. “I’m telling you the truth!” he sobbed. “Please Felon, I am sorry. I should have told you about Balg, but he said he only wanted the God-wife.”
“Why?” Felon’s teeth were locked.
“I don’t know! I don’t know!” The Marquis flung an arm over his forehead. “Please don’t kill me!”
“I figure the old pansie’s tellin’ the truth!” Driver added suddenly. He had stepped back to study the interrogation. “If he’d sell us out, he’d sell this Balg guy out just as quick.” He looked toward Tiny, who winked at him. Then, Driver was truly puzzled. “Tell me though, Felon. If the Marquis is an Angel, how come you can stand around pokin’ his face with a 9 mm. Why don’t he just use his magic and-pffft!” Driver made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Disappear.”
“Mortal on earth.” Felon’s gaze burned on the Marquis. “ Can be killed but they know what you’re going to do. Hard to catch them.”
“This don’t explain what, Felon? You got this Angel nailed to the wall with your gun. He don’t know that yet?”
