The Devil and Dan Cooley Page 12

  He nodded. "So what are you going to do?"

  "I'm not entirely sure. I have an idea... but I don't really want to discuss it until I know if it's even feasible."

  She dropped him off, gave him a quick kiss, and waited until Cyn came to the door. But she drove off before he could even double-check to see if his sister would be able to give him a ride home.

  The first words out of his sister's mouth were, "You look like shit."

  He tried a smile, then gave up the attempt. "You saw the news?"

  "Yes."

  "I could have lost all of you. Mom... you... Amy... Tom... even Arthur..."

  She hugged him. "I know. I know." He realized she was crying. He hugged her tightly and began to cry, too.

  When at last they wiped the tears from their eyes, he said, "Do me a favor, would you? Would you call Mom and Arthur and ask them to come over? I want to see both of them but my car's..." He started to giggle, realized it was a delayed reaction to the shock, and even when he realized it, couldn't do anything to make himself stop. "Oh, God. My car. I don't have a flat tire, Cyn. I have a flat car." He stood there laughing while Cynthia stared at him; when the nervous laughter changed to tears, he leaned against the wall and let them flow. "Somebody tried to kill me," he said. "Me. I'm just a damn DJ. I play music and tell a few stupid jokes in the morning to help people wake up. That's all."

  Cyn was out in the kitchen, on the phone. Dan realized he was talking to himself.

  "That's all I was, anyway. I guess I'm not just a DJ anymore. I'm a celebrity. But if this is what it means to be a celebrity, I don't think I want to be one."

  He was calmer by the time Cyn rejoined him in the living room. "Mom and Dad will be here in half an hour. Tom's on his way home, too. He got his supervisor to fill in for him."

  Dan leaned against the cool, smooth expanse of wall and closed his eyes. "Thanks," he said.

  He heard the soft shuffle of footed jammies on wood floor, followed by a shrill squeal.

  "Uncle Danny!"

  "Amy," her mother said, "what are you doing up?"

  "Uncle Danny!" Amy climbed onto the back of the couch before Dan could grab her and shrieked, "Catch me!"

  "Jesus!" He caught her in midair. "Don't do that! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

  She giggled. "You're funny."

  Dan tickled her stomach. She erupted into squeals of laughter as he lifted her over his head and spun the two of them in a circle. He hugged her and fought back the tears. "Hey, Cyn," he yelled, holding Amy upside-down by her ankles. "This belong to anybody?"

  Cynthia smiled. The game was an old one, but she didn't mind playing. "Where'd you find it?"

  "Outside rummaging in the garbage can."

  "Probably a raccoon. Be careful, it might bite."

  At the suggestion, Amy bent in half trying to nip Dan's hand. He said, "You don't think it's rabid, do you?"

  "Is it foaming at the mouth?"

  He grabbed Amy under the arms and held her up. She kicked the air. "Put me down!"

  "Yep. What now?"

  "Don't they have shots for rabies?"

  "NO SHOTS!" Amy yelled.

  "Then let's cook it for dinner." He made growling noises and bared his teeth at her, and she screamed again. He put her down and she ran over to the couch and crawled behind it.

  He smiled at Cynthia. She smiled back.

  When his mother and stepfather arrived, he hugged them both. "Mom... Dad," he said, "I'm so glad to see you."

  We have so much, he thought. So much, and we take it for granted. We forget how precious family is, and how easy it is to lose.

  Chapter 29

  Hell's recruiter arrived in a cloud of sulphur and brimstone, with a thunderclap to announce his presence. He stood at the foot of her bed glowing a dull and evil red in the dark room. "I heard you were looking for me," he said.

  Janna hadn't been asleep, but she'd been sleepy. Not anymore. Her heart pounded and her mouth dried out. This was an altogether different order of devil than Puck; this monster stood more than eight feet tall—she knew this because her bedroom had an eight-foot ceiling, and the devil had to crouch to stand there. Its wings swept to either side of her bed like curtains, and it leered at her, twisting its nightmare of a face into a grin.

  "Ah..." she said, staring up at it. "I... ah..."

  "You want to be a resounding success, no matter what the cost. You want to be a brilliant actress, a renowned director, a producer of films both critically acclaimed and commercially successful."

  She stared up at it. "Yes."

  "You want to be a legend now as well as a legend after you're gone."

  She straightened a little. "Yes. That's what I want."

  "And you want this success to be guaranteed—you want the guarantee that no matter what you do, you cannot fail."

  She had regained her composure. "That's exactly what I want."

  "I'm Scumslag. Usually I don't waste my time with recruitment, but we think you have the potential to do a great deal for our organization. We think you are, in fact, potentially one of the most extraordinary candidates we've ever had the pleasure to recruit. So in spite of the fact that I'm in charge of the whole Earthside operation, I've decided to talk with you personally. I've come to discuss terms with you."

  Janna smiled. She'd expected when she talked to that spineless excuse for a devil, Puck, that Hell would be interested in her. She felt gratified to discover that Hell shared the high opinion she held of herself. She got out of bed and said, "Yes. Let's discuss terms."

  She started out to the kitchen, wearing only the lacy negligee in which she'd gone to bed—she didn't see a need for a housecoat. She'd appeared topless on screen in Raging Moon, and doubted that the devil would take much interest in her physical body in any case. Scumslag vanished from behind her and reappeared in front of her, considerably smaller but still frightening in appearance. He had, however, ditched his wings for an elegant black silk suit, a tailored European-cut shirt, and black patent leather wingtipped shoes. His red silk tie had an understated flame pattern woven into the cloth, and his slim leather briefcase looked both expensive and tasteful.

  Once again Janna was pleased. Nice to know Hell went first class.

  The devil pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table, then took one for himself. "I'll hit the high points," he said, smiling, "and if you have any questions, just stop me and ask. Since you expressed interest in Satco, I don't feel it's necessary to give you the full recruitment pitch, but..." He shrugged and his smile grew broader. She was, for a moment, fascinated by his teeth, which were all tremendously long and pointed. Her first acting job had been as an extra in a horror flick, and she'd had a mouth full of teeth rather like those. She wondered if the devil's were more comfortable than the ones she'd worn.

  He pulled out a contract, and she got a good look at his hands. The black, needle-sharp talons were as long as his fingers, and wickedly curved. He was hairless, with batlike ears, curling horns, and eyes as flat and deadly as those of a rattlesnake—pale gold, with square pupils. Those eyes were the only thing he shared in common with Puck, her only other close encounter with deviltry. She imagined that Scumslag would despise Puck for willingly giving up the power and fear that being a devil would confer.

  "As far as your Hell-terms," Scumslag said, "we're offering an initial seven-year postmortem hitch. You'll go in as a Demon First Class. If you've made Devil Junior Grade or better by the end of the seven years, you'll be allowed to re-up. Or, of course, you can repent, but I'll be honest with you. Hell has excellent terms of advancement, whereas in Heaven, you stay where you are."

  Janna nodded. "So if I fail to make grade, I'll end up in Heaven."

  Scumslag raised an eyebrow. "You'll end up in Heaven if you repent. If you fail to make grade, you'll end up as a damnedsoul, and you'll have to work your way up through the ranks from imp. But if you were that sort of a slacker, we wouldn't be interested in you in the first place." />
  "I see."

  "We expect big things from you, Janna, both here and below. If you decide to take our offer, you'll get a signing bonus, and start off with a salary commensurate with your rank as a human operative, brevetted Demon First Class. That salary, paid to you annually on the first day of the new year, will be in addition to any money you make on your own."

  "How much?"

  "Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars."

  "That's not so much."

  "No. It isn't. But if you manage to earn promotions while you're a human agent, you'll get increases in your pay. And of course that doesn't take into account the fact that we're guaranteeing you enormous career success."

  Right. She'd forgotten that. She wasn't looking at a salary. She was looking at gravy on top of the millions she'd make as an actress, director, and producer.

  "Fine," she said.

  She took the contract and looked it over. She would be a major big-budget motion picture star. Hell guaranteed her top billing or equal billing on every project she starred in, and guaranteed, too, that when she chose to move behind the camera, she would continue to have the golden touch. Her entire life would be remarkable; the body of her work would endure in popularity long after her death; she would be a legend.

  In return, Hell claimed her soul.

  "So how do I go about earning promotions and raises?"

  Scumslag smiled. "I can't tell you that."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I literally can't tell you that. God has prohibited us from saying or doing certain things while we're on Earth, and if I were to tell you what you had to do to earn promotions, I would be breaking that rule."

  "So break it."

  Scumslag laughed. "You have the right attitude for Hell. Unfortunately for me, I am physically incapable of doing what you ask me. But I've included a copy of God's orders to the Hellraised. If you look at those and see the things we can't do, you'll figure out quickly enough what you'll need to do to earn your wings."

  Janna smiled. "I'll be brilliant, hmmm?"

  "Brilliant."

  "Give me a pen."

  Scumslag handed her a beautiful, heavy, enameled fountain pen. "Just sign on the bottom."

  As Janna wrote her name, a pin in the side of the pen popped out and stabbed her in the finger. Blood poured across the contract.

  "Just write through it," the devil said.

  Janna kept on writing.

  Chapter 30

  Honorial said, "I really thought she'd change her mind. She was willing to work hard. She didn't mind the hours, the sacrifices she had to make to do what she loved. Why did she sign?"

  God shook his head. "She wanted a guarantee."

  "But Hell can't give her anything she couldn't have given herself."

  "No. It can't."

  "So she would have been this brilliant actress, this genius director and great producer, all on her own?"

  God just looked at him. "What do you think?"

  Chapter 31

  SATURDAY, JUNE 11TH

  Five A. M. came early, especially since sleep had come so late, and since usually he would have had Saturday off. Most of him hoped that Carol, the regular weekend morning jock, would enjoy her vacation, but a small selfish part of him prayed that she'd been harassed by insects to the point where she decided to come home. Nothing would have made that part of him happier than walking into the studio and finding her already in the chair. Dan stopped to wake up Puck on his way out to remind him that he had spots to tape later in the day; then he drove the car he borrowed from the station to work on autopilot.

  Sandy hugged him when he went into the studio. "I tried to reach you late last night, but either you weren't home or you just weren't picking up. Your answering machine wasn't working."

  "My whole phone wasn't working. People said it rang when they called, but it was dead on my end. The explosion did something to the wiring—the phone company is supposed to have it working again today."

  "Oh. Mostly I wanted to let you know I was glad you weren't dead."

  "I was pretty glad of that myself."

  "The phones here have been going wild. People all over the United States have seen that video clip of Puck doing CPR and trying to save the woman. According to them, he's the greatest thing in redemption since Christ," she said.

  "I can imagine. It's such a pity she didn't make it."

  Sandy nodded. "Yeah. We could have had her in here, talking about how her life was saved by a devil who'd been reformed by the Great Devil Makeover—" Sandy faltered. "What? Why are you looking at me that way?"

  "I just meant," Dan said, "that it was a pity she didn't live. I wasn't thinking of the publicity angle of her being saved by Puck."

  "Oh. Yes. I see what you mean."

  Dan got ready to take over for her. As she was getting the backpack she frequently carried instead of a purse, he turned back to her and said, "People are getting a little carried away by what a good thing we're all doing, and forgetting why we're doing it."

  Sandy nodded. "In light of that, maybe I shouldn't mention the ratings."

  "Ratings?"

  "They came out yesterday. I can understand why you hadn't heard. Anyway, guess how we did."

  "Don't tell me we got nudged by WZZV again."

  "We doubled our share."

  "What?" Dan looked up from his console and grinned at her. "You're not kidding, are you? And if you are, lie to me."

  "I would, but I'm not. We grabbed share from every single station in this town. Even the country and urban stations."

  "Yeeeessssss!" Dan leaned as far back in the chair as he could and closed his eyes.

  "So it's all right to get a little carried away?"

  He laughed. "Yeah. And probably all right to be a little self-congratulatory. I mean, we are doing something good."

  "You bet your ass. Bernie's having T-shirts done up with little red devils on them. Sales has been on the phone ever since the ratings from Arbitron came out. All our old accounts are back, and paying more. And we have new accounts all over the place."

  "It's turning, isn't it?"

  Sandy tipped her head and studied him. "Turning?"

  "The state. The economy. It's starting to turn around."

  Sandy shrugged. "Too soon to tell. The station is, at least. But I'll bet somebody checking the numbers of people moving out of state would see a drop in that statistic."

  Dan closed his eyes. Sandy's song was wrapping up. He had two minutes of advertisements to run before he did his opening sequence for the Gunga Dan morning show. "It's going to work, though, Sandy. I can feel it." He pulled his script in front of him and told her, "I believe."

  Chapter 32

  By the end of his shift he'd interviewed two Raleigh women and the gargoyle they'd adopted, had taken calls from the listeners he was starting to classify as the good, the bad, and the nuts, and had discussed Puck and Puck's progress in between playing the best rock of the '70s, '80s and '90s. When he left the booth he felt sure North Carolina was moving toward its own redemption.

  But not all at the same pace.

  He got two more calls from people who said they were going to get him, and several from people who said they were very sorry to see on television that the car bomb had blown up the wrong person. While the hate calls weren't fifty percent of the calls he was getting anymore, as they had been the first day or two, they still made up about a third of the phone calls that he took over the air, and about a fourth of the ones the station received.

  Steve's replacement, a guy named Keene, came in for his first afternoon and Dan had a few minutes to talk to him before he joined Sandy and Darlene for a couple of quick, celebratory drinks over the ratings. The guy seemed nice enough. He was a funny, easygoing redhead the size of a bull moose, and he was congratulatory about the Great Devil Makeover. "I came in to apply for this job because of you," he said. "You're the kind of person this state needs. You know I stayed here because of you? I had almost finished
packing..." He gave Dan a bemused smile. "That would have been a damned shame, too. I love it here."

  Dan nodded. "I know what you mean."

  The celebration took place at a bar within walking distance of his apartment, a new tavern called The Green Lantern that was next to Darryl's on Old Wake Forest Road. The place had attracted a neighborhood clientele; the college crowd mixed liberally with businessmen stopping in after hours and couples on their way to and from other places. Dan visited at irregular intervals, usually when he was missing Francie. Since the hellish heat of the last few days had finally broken, he dropped the station's car off in the parking lot, changed into Bermuda shorts and his favorite Hawaiian shirt and a pair of athletic sandals, and hiked. That way, he figured, if he and Sandy and Darlene decided to get shit-faced, he wouldn't have to worry about getting the car home. He'd considered calling either Meg or Janna to see if one or the other wanted to join him, but he realized he didn't particularly want to share The Green Lantern.

  The crowd was typical of Saturday night; he was there alone, but Sandy brought Julie and Darlene brought her fiancé, whose name Dan thought was Mitch or Rich. He and Sandy and Mitch/Rich kept drinking after Julie and Darlene switched to Diet Cokes. They had a good time, but he had the Sunday morning show, too, and another five A. M. wake-up—and he felt the alcohol, which meant he'd probably gone past enough and into the realm of too much.

  He raised the remains of his boilermaker and said, "Final toast for me, folks. To second chances."

  The others raised their glasses, he swallowed the last of his drink, then rose to leave. He felt a little unsteady.

  "You want a ride?" Mitch/Rich asked.

  "The walk will straighten me out a little," Dan said. He took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back, wondered if he was overcompensating, then carefully left the bar.