The Judas Line

I was thunderstruck. “They’re trying to kill each other?”

Heimdall nodded. “Controlled bouts in full armor. I’m proud to say we haven’t had a death in over five years.”

“That is the stupidest damn thing I’ve heard in … hell, forever!”

The faux-god growled and pointed a finger the size of one of his cigars at my head. “Listen, asshole-” he began.

“He is entitled to his opinion,” Cain said smoothly. “But for now I must beseech the rest of the Council of Asgardians, perhaps they can see to it that Maggie is temporarily released into my custody. I will return her forthwith.”

“Personally, big guy, I don’t care if you return her fivewith. It ain’t my call.” Gone was the cultured speech, revealing coarser influences. I guess he’d been in New York long enough to become acclimated.

Cain remained unperturbed. “Then let us repair to the council chambers, where I could sway the Council to view circumstances more favorably.”

“What do need her for, anyway?”

“Careful, Haime,” I smiled. “Your Hicksville is showing.”

He tossed me a golden glare. “Wise guys. Always wise guys. Okay, Cain and you-Mr. Smartypants-let’s go see the Council.” Consciously reverting to his more cultured speech, “But I can tell you, it will do you no good.”

I whispered to Cain as Heimdall led us back into the hallway, “What made him lose his cosmopolitan veneer?”

“That happens when angels grow weary, they become a little more … human,” Cain replied quietly.

“I heard that,” the angel said, “it’s not nice.”

“Although his hearing does remain unparalleled.”

Shortly, after that eye-watering hallway turned several times, we came to another door, this one also plain, whitewashed wood. Heimdall ushered us through.

Big room. Big enough to play football in and have enough space for fans. Lengthwise down one wall was a television as big as a movie screen. Showing on the enormous plasma was a movie, a classic, playing at a decibel level that would have had The Who screaming for mercy. Bridge over the River Kwai. And there, bigger than life, was Alec Guinness, much younger than his Obi-Wan days in a much better movie.

Arranged in a semi-circle in front of the screen were dozens of Lazy Boy type recliners, most of them occupied by people drinking champagne or eating what looked like cucumber sandwiches.

All of them angels.

This just kept getting better and better.

Most of the avid watchers were true to type, although not dressed for their roles: a huge, burly man whose beer gut strained against the buttons of his blue flannel shirt and whose huge bushy red beard stretched to his belt had to be Thor. A lean gent with white hair and beard sporting an eye patch and Saville Row suit had to be Odin. The rest, Freyr, Freya, Sif and others reclined in indolent luxury, although the only one who seemed to be genuinely enjoying the movie was Thor, who grinned at every gunshot and laughed at every explosion.

“Is this what mythological beings do when they retire? Watch television and go to seed?” I ran my eyes over the lavish rugs on the teak floor and the full bar a few short steps away. The other side of the room held a kitchenette where, if I wasn’t mistaken, Balder the Beautiful was prepping a BLT.

Heimdall muttered, “Oh, bugger me,” as one of the faux deities paused the movie.

Cain closed his eyes. “Now you’ve done it, you’ve hurt their feelings.”

Perhaps I should have remained silent, but the sight of all those angels, those sad, pathetic creatures, lounging in idleness and sloth drove a spike of anger into my brain They had Heaven, they had God, and instead of trying to get back into His good graces they did nothing. “What? Sensitive Cherubim and Seraphim?” A dull heat throbbed behind my eyes, the frustration of the past few days, my worry for Mike and the sheer ridiculousness of it all finally snapped the tether of my sanity and self control.

“What is the meaning of this, Loki?” thundered Odin as he shot to his feet, giving Cain the old stink-eye, which was impressive considering he only had the one. “You dare bring an insolent human to a gathering of the gods!” A low rumble of righteous anger came from the assembled angels as they rose to their feet and, as one, strode toward us.

“Loki?” I whispered.

“It was a long time ago,” retorted Cain, composure shot as he held up his hands toward the advancing Asgardians. “I am vilified everywhere.”

I should’ve known, was my only thought before I decided to add gas to the fire. “Am I to understand that Maggie is illegally incarcerated here for the use of magic in an unlawful fight?” I bellowed.

The question stopped the angels in their tracks. “She broke the rules and she has to pay the price!” thundered Thor. A belch followed his shout of outrage. He reminded me of a rough-hewn lumberjack straight out of Ken Kesey’s Sometimes a Great Notion.

“So you are detaining her against her will. Illegal imprisonment, or did you fail to realize you were in the United States and that’s not considered kosher?”

Thor and the others just stood and stared, looking confused while Odin strode purposely toward me. “Human laws have no validity here,” he said.

I set off a wide, nasty smile that showed plenty of teeth. “What I have, fallen, is a hidden microphone that, when I give the command, will have plenty of humans with plenty of guns waltzing in here to ruin the party I hear coming through these walls. Somehow I don’t think losing your worshippers is in your game plan. Also, something tells me you aren’t bulletproof.” A that time I was praying fervently for the fallen not to call my bluff.

“You’re lying,” Odin accused, narrowing his eye dangerously.

I laughed, a harsh, evil sound. “No, man, I’m Sicarii.”

Odin, the supposed father of the “gods” and the rest of his angelic crew drew back, naked fear on their golden faces. For the first time in my life I really understood the fear my Family generated.

“Loki,” Odin hissed at Cain. “You brought one of them here?”

Cain snorted, with disgust or resignation, I wasn’t sure. “Oh please stop the histrionics, Jophiel, it is unbecoming in a being your age,” he admonished, using the fallen’s true name. “I find myself concerned only with the return of my lovely apprentice. And the name is Cain. I shed the Loki persona centuries ago along with those temperamental Vikings who disgraced Norway with their rapacious ways.”

“But-”

“Heed this advice, Jophiel, and acquiesce to this formidable young man’s demands. If he can summon the strength to coerce my assistance, then you must believe in his ability to carry out his diabolical threats. Besides, you have long ago squandered what little power you had and can no long be labeled ‘mighty.’ No doubt it is by sheer numbers alone that you and yours forcibly persuaded the formidable Maggie to remain as an unwilling guest.”

“Do you really have to talk like that, man?” I asked quietly, keeping an eye on Odin who signaled to Freya.

“I’m afraid so,” came the whispered reply.

The Father of the Norse Gods stared at me with pointed hatred for a brief moment before nodding to Freya, who left through the only other door, located next to the kitchenette. Thor and the others, weary and defeated, walked back to the recliners, doing their level best to ignore us now that their impotence had been proven. Soon WWII continued on the giant screen. Moments later they were joined by Odin, the tattered rags of his dignity wrapped around him like a shroud.

Minutes passed as Heimdall shot dirty glances our way and pouted, biting a thumbnail. When Freya returned he left in a huff, face closed and stormy.

The former goddess of fertility brought with her a woman big enough to double as the statue of liberty, a buxom lady with muscles on her muscles and long blonde hair twirled in a braid. She was dressed in chainmail and leather leggings, a double bitted axe in one hand and a wooden round shield in the other.