Coven

looked down. Then he smiled.

He was grateful Czanek had gotten the address. Here it is. He dropped the manhole covers all at once. The floor shuddered.

He rang the doorbell.

“Vas? Sarah?”

“Meter man,” Jervis said.

“Zahlerableser?” The door opened a crack. “Zerr ist no meter.”

Jervis grinned. “Hi, Wilhelm.”

Wilhelm’s handsome face pinched. “Vas ist…? You!”

Jervis smacked the door open. Enraged, Wilhelm stepped back. He wore a black robe with a Das Reich emblem on the breast.

“Vut do you vahnt?”

“Revenge—no, cosmogenic justice,” Jervis corrected.

Wilhelm laughed. “You vahnt to fight me, Arschkipf?”

“You took what was mine. Let’s just say that compensation is in order.”

“Ich pisse dir gleich ans Bein.” Wilhelm produced a pistol. A Luger, Jervis noted. Why am I not surprised? Did the guy carry guns around in his robe? Wilhelm cocked the parabellum slide. “Get out or I vill blow you guts up all over zah valls. Out! Schnell!”

Was he bluffing? Perhaps a little provocation would tell. “Say, your father surrendered to the Russians, didn’t he?”

“Schwein! Mein fah zer vas unt war hero! He vun zah Knight’s Cross mitt oak leaf clusters at Sevastopol!”

“I don’t care if he won the Popsicle stick cross with cock rings at Fire Island. He was a Nazi coward. He sucked Himmler’s balls, and your mama fucked Russians for free.”

That was all it took. Some guys just couldn’t take a joke. Wilhelm fired a volley of shots. The 9mm bullets stitched a line across Jervis’ chest, punching smoking holes.

Jervis fell down and calmly got back up. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that, pal.”

Seeing sheer terror congeal on the face of this Aryan pillar of muscle brought delight to Jervis’ heart. Wilhelm fled to the bedroom to a closet. Jervis followed him in.

In the closet hung SS banners, regimental standards, and a Nazi state flag. There was also a glass case full of iron crosses and NSDAP pins. Wilhelm unwrapped a ceremonial SS dagger.

“That’s what I call a closet Nazi,” Jervis quipped. He smiled at his opponent’s antics. “What are you doing?”

Wilhelm gripped the dagger, shouted, “Aufgeben? Nein!” and lunged. The blade sunk hilt deep into Jervis’ stomach.

“Take zat!”

Jervis tsked, standing tall. He withdrew the dagger and opened his shirt. Wilhelm stared at the bloodless slit and bullet holes.

“Gott int Himmel,” he muttered.

A fast backhand sent the German flying across the room. His robe had come apart, showing a limp Teutonic penis. Jervis noted with some despair that Wilhelm’s member was bigger soft than Jervis’ was hard. He seriously considered cutting it off with the dagger, but that seemed petty. Even an asshole like Wilhelm didn’t deserve to have his dick cut off.

Jervis shrugged. He cut it off anyway. Wilhelm’s deep shuddering scream sounded like a truck motor in high gear.

Jervis held it up for his foe to see.

“Arrrgh!” Wilhelm bellowed, convulsing. “Mein schlong!”

Jervis smiled brighter than a thousand suns. The act was a symbol; he’d evened the score for all the guys in the world who had lost their loves to a bigger penis. “See how many girlfriends you steal now, buddy boy.”

Wilhelm kicked away, his screams downshifting to wavering groans. He managed to get up, which Jervis found admirable. It took a man of some resilience to stand up so quickly after having his penis removed with an SS dagger.

“Run,” Jervis advised.

Hand to bloody crotch, Wilhelm staggered out. Jervis lit a Carlton and took a deep, satisfying drag. Smoke eddied up through the holes in his chest. He heard the German stumble out.

Then, as predicted, came the long descending “Woooooeeee!”

Thump!

Jervis meandered to the hall and looked down the elevator shaft. Sure enough, there lay Wilhelm at the bottom, broken, twisted, but—thankfully—still alive.

“Now we’re going to play a game,” Jervis called down. “And the name of the game is America Bombs the Fatherland.”

Wilhelm whined, pleading up the shaft for mercy. Jervis released the first manhole cover. It banged to the bottom but missed.

“Damn, I guess I better adjust my Norden bombsight, huh?” Jervis let the second manhole cover go. Its edge caught Wilhelm across the knees. Wilhelm roared.

“Good,” Jervis approved, “but not good enough.” The third cover floated down almost dreamily. Wilhelm’s bulged eyes watched it descend. “Nein, nein, nein,” he moaned.

The eighty pound manhole cover landed square across Wilhelm’s stomach. Wilhelm’s entire GI tract exploded out his mouth.

“Direct hit!” Jervis celebrated. For posterity, he dropped a fourth cover, which flattened Wilhelm’s head.

««—»»

Wade slunk into his dorm room, locked the door. Finding Lydia was his priority, but he couldn’t very well search for her on an eighth of a tank of gas. His wallet was empty, and his only remaining cash was at the dorm. But now…

What was it?

He set Lydia’s .357 on the bed. He scratched his head, looked absently out the window. Normal out there, everything’s normal. He got an Adams out of the fridge. It tasted good, it tasted normal But still…

Then he realized what it was. He had that proverbial feeling that he was being watched.

“You’re probably wondering why you feel like you’re being watched,” came the voice of Tom McGuire.

Wade dropped his beer.

Tom’s severed head had been placed atop Wade’s stereo. The gray face grinned. “What’s up, buddy?”

“Give me a fucking break!” Wade appreciably exclaimed. He asked the first logical question. “How did you get here? You obviously didn’t walk!”

“Jervis left me,” Tom’s head answered, “to pass on a message.”

Wade sat down on the bed. I’m having a conversation with a severed head, he realized. How much further could this go? “Why did you and Jervis go over to the Supremate?”

Tom mistakenly tried to shrug. “We didn’t have much of a choice, we were chosen. Besides, the Supremate offers immortality for service.” Tom’s head paused. “I guess that part’s out for me now. What’s he gonna do, make my head immortal?” Tom chuckled. “You’re not cooperating, Wade. The Supremate’s got a deal for you.”

“Tell the Supremate he can kiss my ass,” Wade said.