The Devil and Dan Cooley Read online

  When his shift finally ended, he thought he would have to drag himself home a piece at a time, because he was too tired to move his body all at once.

  He stepped out into a June oven to find Puck leaning on the station car waiting for him.

  "I need your help," Puck said. "Can we talk?"

  "Sure." Dan frowned. "But why in the world would you wait out here? It's nice and cool inside..." He flushed. "Right. This probably still seems nice and cool to you."

  "I have to admit I don't have a lot of sympathy for you folks who go around all the time complaining about the temperature."

  "I guess not." He shrugged and grinned. "However, if you want to talk to me, I'd rather do it in air conditioning."

  Puck waved to his car. "I'll drive. Or we can just sit in the parking lot."

  "Parking lot's fine."

  They got in and Puck started the car and the air conditioner. The two of them sat, waiting.

  "So what do you want to talk about?" Dan finally asked. "What kind of help do you need?"

  "A favor."

  "You saved my life," Dan said. "I certainly think I can do you a favor."

  "You're making too much of that," Puck said. "I just did what I had to do."

  "I'd have been dead if you hadn't done it. What do you need?"

  Puck winced. "It's major."

  "How major was saving my life?"

  The devil sighed deeply. "Meg and I talked to a representative of Wilderness Forever, Inc., yesterday."

  "On a Sunday?"

  "It was a secret meeting. No one was supposed to know about it. But we ironed out most of the problems that stand between the Hellraised and that piece of property."

  "Good."

  "I see a major problem in the future, however."

  "Which is?"

  The devil turned and studied him. "The people buying the land from the wilderness people and selling it to the Hellraised are... um..." He chuckled softly. "Let me put it this way. They'd sell their own grandmothers to Lucifer if they could turn a buck on the deal, and many of their previous dealings prove this. When they sell us the land and we try to get our permits to build on it, people are going to know who they are. Their... ah... mercenary and somewhat callous record will be on public display, and people will equate them with us. We're going to face a lot of resistance unless someone who has gained the respect of the people of North Carolina stands up for us and says he supports the Hellraised. If you say you think the project will be good for the state, people will support it."

  Dan nodded. "I can see that. I think the project will be good for the state." He smiled. "But, Puck, I don't support the Hellraised. I support the right of the Hellraised to seek second chances for themselves and to find redemption. That's a long way from supporting Hell's agenda."

  The devil nodded. "Yes, yes... I misspoke. I know how you stand on the issues—I just was a bit careless in my wording."

  "It happens. But you want me to say that I'm in favor of seeing Devil's Point built? That I think it will be good for the economy, and that it will give the Hellraised employment that isn't directed entirely at temptation?"

  "If you would. I honestly think you are the one man in the state who could smooth the way for us to get Devil's Point off the planning table and into production."

  Dan rested a hand on Puck's shoulder. "You saved my life. I owe you a favor. And I'll be more than happy to tell people what I think about the project. You aren't asking me to lie, after all."

  "No." Puck smiled. "No. I'm not. I wouldn't do that—it would cost me our friendship, and I know it."

  Chapter 39

  TUESDAY, JUNE 14TH

  Tuesday, Meg called Dan after the show. He'd talked to her only once since the story of how Puck had saved his life had come out. She'd been somewhere between cool and frosty—after letting him know she was glad he wasn't dead, she didn't have much else to say.

  He couldn't really blame her. She hadn't known he was dating Janna at the same time that he was dating her. She apparently thought he hadn't been seeing anyone else—and evidently was offended that he hadn't been exclusively hers. Now she sounded crisply professional. "Puck said you were willing to act as spokesman for the Devil's Point project. We're ready to go on the sale of the land. Can you meet with everyone at my office?"

  He leaned back on his couch and closed his eyes. The day had been as tough as Monday. Someone had leaked the story that the three Devil Bombers had started building five other bombs, and notes and journals targeting others sympathetic to the Hellraised had supposedly been found at the scene. Call-ins had been heavy and draining. "What time?"

  "Three."

  Dan looked at his watch—already two. He'd have to shower, shave again, change clothes...

  He sighed heavily, hoping she'd get the hint. She didn't. Instead, she said, "It's important, Dan. Really important—to Puck and to a lot of other Hellraised souls who won't find a good second chance elsewhere."

  "I can be there." He rolled his eyes at Fetch, who sat in the corner of the living room sucking on one of his toes. Fetch grinned at him. Dan grinned back.

  The meeting turned out to be as awful as he'd dreaded. By five o'clock the environmentalists were calling the old-money contingent crazed imperialistic capitalist and planet killers. By six, the old money was calling the environmentalists tree-hugging fascists and eco-Nazis. The Hellraised contingent sat in the middle of the melee grinning over their future clients from both camps.

  By seven, Dan had a headache that would have killed a blue whale. Or a blue chip stock. To keep one shoe of his hyperbole firmly planted in each camp.

  He listened and listened, and no one got anywhere near middle ground. The temperature in the room hit 90, with tempers fifteen or twenty degrees hotter than that. Finally, Dan slammed his fist on the table and said, "Hey assholes! Listen to me! Sell the Hellspawn the land—which is all we came to do—and let's get out of here. None of you people are going to convince anyone else that you're right. None of you will shut your mouths long enough to listen to what anyone else has to say. And you don't want to listen anyway. You just want everyone else to listen to you." He stood up, his voice getting louder. "Well, I'll tell you something that might surprise you. Nobody wants to hear what you have to say, either. You're ALL full of shit, and you're ALL assholes!"

  Meg glared at him, and he realized that somewhere along the way, he'd crossed the line between acceptable and unacceptable behavior, at least in her eyes. She said, "I was handling the meeting."

  The chip on her shoulder plus four hours of listening to idiots got the better of him. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "No you weren't. You were trying to build a consensus between people with no common ground. We don't need a consensus. All we need is for these people to sell their land, for those people to buy it, and for them to turn around and sell it to the Hellraised. That's all. It's so simple. And either the econuts came to sell their land or they didn't. And if they didn't, they should just shut the fuck up and go home. And either the imperialist assholes came to buy it or they didn't. That's all anybody needs to know."

  One of the consortium members said, "This is the man who's going to make our selling land to the Hellraised acceptable?"

  "No," Meg said, her voice cool. "I don't think he is."

  Dan's eyes narrowed. "Well, just so there won't be any doubt, sweetheart, I'll guarantee you that I'm not. You want somebody to sell your project, it can be somebody else."

  He started to leave. Puck rose from the far end of the table. "Dan," he said.

  Dan's gut knotted. He turned slowly and looked at the devil. "Puck, I owe you for saving my life. If you insist that this is want you want me to do to repay you, then I will." He stared at the roomful of angry faces glaring up at him. "But I don't want to help anymore. You—yes. But not these people." He put his hand on the doorknob and twisted. "If you decide you still want me to tell people I'm in favor of the project, you can tell me about it tonight."

&n
bsp; The whole drive home, he stewed. But by the time he'd changed into a pair of shorts and his purple, orange, and green macaw shirt, dropped back into his easy chair, and put his feet up, he realized he'd been wrong. Big-time wrong. He'd been incredibly rude to Meg, and Meg hadn't done anything to deserve it. He'd been rude to a group of people who had neither needed nor wanted his opinion of them.

  I was tired, he told himself. I've been dealing with people as ignorant and frustrating as those were all day long. Well, all week long.

  He closed his eyes.

  Actually, shithead, he told himself, that's what you do for a living. If you can't cut it anymore without blowing up at a friend or the people your friend is working with, maybe you should look into a different job. One that keeps you away from people.

  Things were already bad enough between Meg and him. The second he saw the news with Janna—obviously in love with him—giving a statement to the press, he knew that Meg was going to be angry. Hurt. She was going to feel cheated and lied to.

  And now he'd humiliated her in front of the people whose deal she was trying to broker by acting like an asshole. He'd said a lot of things that he might have meant, but that he didn't have any real right to say. Not then, anyway. Not there. No one was paying to hear his opinions at that moment.

  He groaned "Fetch," he said, "I said some truly rotten things to Meg. You think she'll forgive me?"

  Fetch looked at him and slowly shook his head.

  "Thanks for the reassurance, dude." He scratched the back of the imp's head, and it began to make a sort of rumbling, purring noise. With the other hand, he picked up the phone and dialed Meg's number. He got her machine. "Meg, if you're there, pick up. I need to grovel."

  She didn't answer.

  He called her office, and got the machine there, too.

  "Meg, I'm sorry I was such a jerk. I could give you a lot of reasons, but none of them would make the situation any better. Please forgive me."

  He waited twenty minutes, hoping that she'd been en route to her uncle's place from work, and tried her machine again. This time Ed picked up.

  "Ed. It's Dan."

  "I recognized the voice on the machine the first time. You made quite an ass of yourself at the meeting."

  "I know. May I talk to Meg? I need to beg forgiveness."

  "She isn't home yet. But I wouldn't worry about it too much. Your outburst was like a bucket of ice water dumped on the participants. They shut up after you left and got to work. I'll thank you here and now—if you hadn't blown up like that, we'd probably still be there."

  "That was what I was afraid of," Dan admitted. "And I had a long, shitty day."

  "Well, the land was sold, then sold again, all the documents were signed, sealed, and copied, inordinate amounts of money changed hands—including enough that went directly to Meggie that she'll be able to buy that house she's been wanting. I should be able to get my guest bedroom back now."

  Dan breathed a relieved sigh. "You don't know how pleased I am to hear that."

  "Why? Did you have designs on my guest bedroom?"

  Dan laughed again.

  Ed laughed with him. "Don't be too relieved, though. I think Megan is still royally pissed at you."

  "She has every right to be. Please have her call me when she gets there. Tell her I'm—"

  His doorbell rang. "Could you hang on for just a second?"

  "Of course."

  He ran to his door. To his surprise, Meg stood at the door. "Meg!"

  "I can't stay—"

  "I'm so sorry—"

  "—and I didn't stop by to hear you beg forgiveness. As far as I'm concerned, we don't have a personal relationship, so your behavior affected no one but you. The people who were there got to see the real Dan Cooley, and they weren't impressed, but that's your problem, not mine."

  She didn't look angry. She just looked cold. Professional. He realized he wanted to see her radiant smile and hear her loony laugh, and at the same instant he realized that he probably never would again. That had been reserved for the private Dan Cooley, not the public one.

  Meg continued. "Puck still wants you to represent the Devil's Point project, and so do the rest of the Hellraised who were present at the meeting. They've put together a standard 'spokesman' contract, I've vetted it to make sure there aren't any elements that shouldn't be in there—"

  "Like selling my soul."

  "—like selling your soul—though if I were you, I wouldn't worry. They'll probably get it at bargain prices a few years down the road. If you don't mind, I'd like for you to sign it. I need to get back—I'm not through with the final portion of the meeting yet."

  "Can I look it over for a couple of days?"

  Her eyes went even colder, and got that distant look in them again, and she said, "Don't you trust me?"

  The woman who had dedicated her life to doing good law for the financially disadvantaged accusing him not trusting her—that hurt. "Yes, I do," he said. "I can't think of anyone in the world I trust more than you. But I don't want to sign a contract that might in some way conflict with previous obligations. I have previous obligations through my work with the radio station, and you don't know what they are or how they might conflict."

  She nodded. "Then certainly, look it over tonight. The Devil's Point development team has a press conference scheduled for tomorrow, though, to announce the sale of the land and the planned number of outside jobs the Devil's Point contract will create. I'd like to know you are in our camp by the time we meet the press tomorrow."

  "Our camp..." he said to her retreating back.

  He closed the door slowly, and went back to his chair, and sat down, frowning. Then he realized the phone was still off the hook. He picked it up. "Ed? You still there?"

  "Yes."

  "Sorry about that. Meg was just here."

  "Oh. Then I guess everything's okay again."

  Dan thought about that for a second. "No. I don't think it is."

  Chapter 40

  Meg said, "He wants to look the contract over, of course. I did let him know you were eager to get his signature on it before the press conference tomorrow."

  Puck turned to the other Hellraised who sat around the table. "That will be fine," he said. "We know we want him to represent us. He's a good man, and if he needs a little time, we're willing to wait."

  The other Hellraised—a dark angel named Canthoniel; another devil, this one named Roiling Pusbucket; and an absolutely gorgeous incubus whose name Meg couldn't remember because he kept smiling at her—nodded their agreement.

  "Then if we don't have anything else—" she started to say, but Puck stopped her.

  "We've been discussing the matter," Puck said. "While you were gone, I mean. We're going to need a human lawyer to represent the Devil's Point project, and those of us who work on it. Hell's lawyers would certainly be willing to consult, but they haven't taken the bar in North Carolina so they can't practice here." He paused. "Well, some of them passed the bar in North Carolina, but I don't think the state allows lawyers to practice after they're dead."

  "I think the state might have a problem with that," Meg agreed. "I know a few business and corporate lawyers who would be able to take you on as clients," Meg said. "Though they might not want to..."

  "Exactly." Puck smiled at her. "And honestly, we don't want any lawyer. We need a good, honest, upstanding person. An idealist. Someone compassionate, someone who sees beyond our exteriors to the people we once were... and could be again."

  "I'm not a corporate lawyer, and you're going to be a corporation. I do family practice."

  Puck nodded. The other Hellraised nodded. "We all know you're doing good work. Admirable work. We realize that you've spent a great deal of time and effort creating a practice that permits people in lower income brackets to find good representation." Puck smiled.

  Meg waited, listening.

  "Your idealism extended to helping another disadvantaged section of the North Carolina population: us." Pu
ck tapped his chest, and his expression grew serious. "I'm the first fruits of your work, Meg. I'm the start. You can do more, though; you can reach more of us."

  "What about my family practice?"

  "Keep it We won't have much work for you for a while."

  "But when you do, your work will eat up my time."

  Puck shrugged. "Then you hire partners. Secretaries, legal assistants, interns. By then, your work with us will subsidize your family practice. You'll be able to do pro bono work, expand your activism, make the changes in the system that you want to make."

  He handed her a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it. "This is a check for half a million dollars," she said.

  "It's a retainer. Against this year's expenses. If we go over that in work, bill us. And we can afford another check like that to begin the new year, and in six-month increments thereafter."

  "A million dollars a year."

  "To start with. If we're as successful as we hope to be, you'll make much more."

  She looked at them. She looked at the check. She looked back at them, and frowned. "What are the strings, Puck? Contract on my soul? Retirement at sixty-five, damnation in ten more?"

  Puck flushed and looked down at his hands. When he looked at her again, she could see the pain in his eyes. "Even you," he said sadly. "When I try to do something good, something right, even you see an ulterior motive."

  She looked down at the check again, feeling her cheeks grow hot. "Damn. I'm sorry, Puck." She looked up at him. "I know you need a good lawyer. And I know I could do a good job for you. Can. I can do a good job for you. It just isn't the career I planned, you know?"

  He nodded. "Life is what happens while you're making other plans."

  She smiled. "So I've heard. So what will I do for this million dollars a year?"