The Devil and Dan Cooley Page 7

  "Why?"

  "Because if they're given a chance to live normal lives, maybe they'll repent. If they repent, they aren't a problem anymore. I want to tie in this lawsuit with the devil who is participating in the Great Devil Makeover at WKTU."

  "I thought that was a publicity stunt."

  Meg shrugged. "It might have been, though Dan sounded sincere when he talked it up on his show. I still have to discuss this with Dan, and with the devil, whose name is Puck. I have to assume that Puck is a likely candidate for repentance—he's been given a second chance here on Earth and if I can take the calls Dan fielded over the air as any indication, he has a lot of people who are rooting for him."

  "That's hard to imagine."

  "People want to be able to hope that things will get better. If he defects, they can work toward gaining other defectors." Meg leaned forward in her chair, excited all over again in spite of her weariness. "To encourage this, we have to sweeten the pot as much as possible. First, he must be able to hold a job. A legal one. He needs to get a green card or a social security number, pay taxes, contribute to the welfare of the state. He needs to have a place to live that he can pay for himself. An antidiscrimination suit and some good publicity will help a great deal."

  Ed sat in the chair across from her, his eyes closed.

  "What do you think?"

  He shook his head. "Give me some time, Meg."

  "How about the rent?"

  He sighed. "I'll let it go another month. This at least pretends to be a worthy cause, though I don't imagine you'll accomplish anything."

  "Thanks."

  Greg came into the kitchen, kissed Meg on the top of the head, and kissed Ed in passing. "Couldn't you even take it out for her?"

  "I didn't want to feed her madness." When Greg gave him raised eyebrows, Ed said, "She's lost her mind. I was just listening to the tale."

  Greg grinned at Meg. "You want to hear about lost minds, you should have Eddie tell you about his day."

  Meg raised an eyebrow. "Bad?"

  "Worse than usual. One of my bank tellers is almost due. The vixen waited until today to tell me she'll be taking twelve weeks of family leave after the birth. My chief loan officer is still laid up with a broken leg, so the bank is shorthanded for the rest of the month."

  She winced. Ed's bank was busy with a full complement of staff—one of the few businesses in Raleigh that hadn't suffered a severe drought after the advent of the Hellraised. "Sorry. I know how hard that makes things."

  Greg placed a plate in front of her, then took a chair next to Ed and rested his head on Ed's shoulder. "We've been up to our asses in alligators today."

  Meg started eating. The food melted in her mouth. She murmured, "God, Greg, when are you going to open your own restaurant?"

  He laughed. "Probably when Hell goes back where it belongs. Eddie's not exactly being loose with his venture capital right now."

  Meg laughed. "He's a Republican, Greg. He was born being tight with his money."

  "That's why I still have some."

  Meg smiled at her uncle. "I know." A thought occurred to her. "Um... with you being shorthanded at the bank right now, what do you think the chances are that you might be able to give Dan's devil a job?"

  "The proverbial snowflake in Hell would do better."

  "Yeah. I thought I'd ask anyway. Do you know anyone who might give him a job?"

  "Well, the IRS is always looking for a few good men."

  "Not funny."

  "I thought it was."

  "He'll need to do something that will improve his reputation, not make it worse." Meg sighed. "You know more about the business community than anyone I know. Assuming they sought employment, what are the chances the Hellraised could find jobs?"

  "Microscopic at best." Ed rubbed his chin. "They'll have to manage in the traditional 'unwelcome immigrant' fashion."

  "Which is?"

  "Go into business for themselves."

  "Where would they get the money?"

  Ed leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he looked over at her and smiled. "Now I can give you good news. I know people who would offer their firstborn as collateral if there is profit to be made. And if the right opportunity came along."

  "We'll be trying to avoid deals of that nature, but if you can keep those people in mind, and if, after I've talked with Dan and Puck, I can come up with a suitable project, would you help me put it together?"

  "For the good of the state—and my own business, of course—I'll certainly consider it."

  Chapter 14

  "I can't blame you," Dan said as he drove them to his apartment. "I've wanted to kill that little rat ever since I met it. I'm tempted to pay you for having done me a favor."

  The devil sat in the car, staring out the window. "It was reflex. Plus I was hungry—and it smelled delicious."

  "I really do understand. But this is going to make things difficult for me with Janna." He sighed. "Still, knowing that little shit won't piss in my shoe or bite my ankle again, I'm inclined to do something really nice for her to see if I can't make up."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know. Buy her some roses? Find her a kitten? Yeah, that's a decent idea. I like cats."

  "So do I."

  Dan glanced at Puck. "The same way you like dogs?"

  Puck sighed. "Well... yes."

  "Great. If I get her a kitten, don't eat it. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  Chapter 15

  Lucifer's new lieutenant, Garafanal, stood at his lord's left hand in the throne room, after the last of the newly damned were led out and sent to their stations. Lucifer sensed that some new envy ate at Garafanal, but he couldn't quite guess what.

  He turned to the fallen angel, who stood stiffly, staring straight ahead, and said, "All day there has been something you've wanted to say to me. All day. It's impinged on your performance. Yet you haven't said anything to me."

  Garafanal nodded. "I doubted that you would care to hear my concerns."

  "You're probably right. Nevertheless, tell them to me."

  "I wonder at Scumslag's ability to run the North Carolina mission."

  "Do you?" Lucifer tapped on the armrest of his red-lacquered seat with long, pointed talons. "And why is that?"

  "He's only a devil, Your Loathsomeness."

  "I noticed."

  "I mean, even if he is a Devil First Class, how could he possibly be as competent as one of the Fallen?"

  "Bucking for a trip upstairs?" Lucifer asked.

  "Me? To Earth? No, O Mighty Foulness. I never want to leave your presence. I'm just concerned that the mission be successful."

  Lucifer laughed. "You don't know anything about Scumslag, do you?"

  "Not really."

  Lucifer leaned back. "We got him after he died of old age. He was a businessman in a small town—at one time had a wife and three kids. He murdered his wife after her obstetrician told her she couldn't have any more children, then systematically began abusing and molesting the kids. When his oldest, a boy, turned eleven, he threw him down the stairs and killed him because he threatened to tell. The other two shut up. Neither of them ever came forward. The middle child, a girl, ran away when she was thirteen, became a prostitute in Richmond, Virginia, and died of a drug overdose at fifteen. The youngest boy also ran away, but he found help. I'd hoped he would turn out like his father, but he's been such a disappointment."

  Garafanal shrugged "I could pick out fifteen thousand damnedsouls with stories just like his."

  "Could you?" Lucifer smiled. "With his youngest son gone, this man started collecting young boys, runaways mostly, but the occasional child from the town. He molested, tortured and murdered the boys and buried them in the backyard. The family who bought the house and lives there now has no idea. They're considering putting in a garden next spring, though—I'm looking forward to their first crop." Lucifer chuckled.

  "Fine. He was evil—"

  "Evilness Inde
x of nine hundred sixty. One of the highest we've ever received."

  Garafanal stubbornly kept going. "—But surely one of the Fallen would be better in the administrative role in which you've placed him."

  "He has an MBA. He built up his own business from nothing. And even more importantly, he spent his entire life mixing with the people of the small town where he lived his whole life. He was a Jaycee and later a Shriner; he raised money for the Children's Christmas Fund; he belonged to the country club and lived in a good neighborhood and drove a nice car. No one ever suspected him of anything. He knows the rules of the game they play up there better than anyone." Lucifer rested a hand on Garafanal's shoulder and smiled down at him. "The Fallen lack that sort of practical Earthside experience. You're theoreticians, and I've had evidence that your theories don't always hold up terribly well in practice."

  "Agonostis was weak."

  "Agonostis held the job you now hold for millennia. He wasn't weak. He simply wasn't right for the job. I've learned," Lucifer said, letting go of Garafanal's shoulder, and noticing absently the charred handprint he left behind, "that I must set a thief to catch a thief."

  Chapter 16

  WEDNESDAY, JUNE 8TH

  Dan rolled over and opened one eye only enough to catch the green glow of the clock radio.

  Seven A. M.? Seven A. M.?!

  In the instant when he was certain that his alarm had failed to go off and that he was late for work—really, really late—his entire body tensed, his heart raced and his mouth went drier than North Carolina pavement on a hot day in August. Then he relaxed. Day off, he thought. Day off. Day off. He willed his heart to slow down, reminding himself that he wasn't late. Day off. He had a glorious day alone, with nothing to do but sleep, or watch television, or kick around town looking for a movie that was worth seeing.

  He let go of his tension. He breathed in and out slowly, and like a cat, stretched his entire body and yawned, feeling every muscle pull deliciously. When he finished, he wrapped his arms around his pillow and curled on one side. The waterbed shifted around him, conforming, seeming to blend with him until his awareness of it as a thing apart from himself disappeared, the bed temperature, neither too cool nor too warm, lulled him. He drifted in a soothing, linen-scented, floating half-dream lit by the soft warm fall of dappled sunlight through patterned curtains....

  "YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"

  The bellow, next to his ear, shocked him out of his fetal curl. He tried to bound upright but the waterbed confounded him, sinking under him where he most needed resistance, rising up where he most needed clearance. The sheets came to life, rolling around him and tangling his flailing legs, until, flopping like a fish, he heaved himself over the side of the bed, and trailing sheets and comforter and pillows, crashed to the floor.

  A devil stood over him. Oh. Right. Puck stood over him, grinning slightly, shaking his head, gleaming like an oversized, butt-ugly penny. "You okay?"

  Dan rubbed his head. "Other than the concussion, you mean? Yeah, I'm swell." He looked up at the devil. "What are you doing in my room?"

  "It's after seven; you're going to be late for work." Puck motioned toward the shower with his thumb.

  "Puck, before the temptation to strangle you overcomes me, I should tell you that today is my day off."

  "Yeah? Yesterday your boss' secretary told me that I had to be kind of presentable because today you were going to take me to meet sponsors for a couple of... on-site promotions?"

  Shit, Dan thought. He's right. I was supposed to call in and find out which sponsors were wiling to meet with him.

  "You're right. I forgot. Give me a minute to get showered and changed. You can borrow some of my clothes... you sure can't go in the shorts and T-shirt."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it shows too much of you, Puck. Way too much. The less anyone can see of you, the better. If we could hide your face under a paper bag, we'd be in there." He sighed and untangled himself from the sheets. "Dammit. And I was ready to sleep, too." He climbed to his feet. "Puck?"

  "What?"

  Dan pointed at his bedroom door, which stood ajar. "Don't come in here without knocking. Okay?"

  "That was wrong?"

  Dan nodded emphatically. "Way wrong. Always knock on a closed door before you enter it."

  The devil nodded. "Sorry. I didn't realize that was wrong. We don't have doors in Hell. Well," he shrugged. "We do, but they aren't doors anyone would want to be behind. And the people who go through them don't come back out. Doors are still a bit of an awkward concept for me."

  "S'alright."

  Dan shaved and took a quick shower. He spent more time than usual picking out his clothes. The local businessmen weren't impressed by his usual look—loud Hawaiian shirts and khakis. No pleasing some people. But he had a couple of silk shirts—one of those would work. Something light-colored, he thought; after all, the rain had stopped, the sun was back, and by noon it was going to be hotter than...

  Well. No, it wouldn't. But it would be pretty hot.

  He found one in a dusty green. He dug though his jeans until he found a cream-colored pair of chinos. He thought about adding a vest, but decided against it. In fact, he rolled up the sleeves and decided to skip the tie. He was a DJ, after all. People cut him some slack. And besides, the night before, Channel Five had predicted the temperature would hit a high of one hundred and one, with eighty percent humidity.

  He shoved his wallet into his hip pocket, then went to tell Puck it was his turn in the shower.

  "Wha—?"

  Dishes, empty and full, covered the dining room table. Puck waved at him. "Hey, come on! We made breakfast for you!"

  Oh no, he thought. The kitchen...

  Puck followed Dan's look. "I wouldn't go in there just yet. But don't worry; the imp will have it clean in no time!"

  Dan studied the meal Puck had prepared. Sausage, swimming in grease. Bacon, done to a carbon black.

  "What's that?" he asked Puck.

  "Huh? Oh, those are eggs."

  Dan shook his head. "I've never seen blue eggs before."

  "Oh, that was the imp. It got a little crazy with the food coloring." Puck held up a bowl. "Want some grits? They were blue too at first. Then I dumped two sticks of butter in." The devil looked at the bowl. "What color would you call that, exactly?"

  "Baby-shit green. Look, Puck, I appreciate the effort, but—ah—I'm not much of a breakfast person."

  Puck, crestfallen, studied the food spread across the table. "Oh." He ran a talon across the tablecloth they'd put out (Tablecloth? I don't own a tablecloth. )—across the bedsheet they'd put out, and sighed. "You don't mind if we eat it, do you?"

  Dan spread his arms. "Please. I'd hate to see it all go to waste." Especially since that looks like most of what I had in the fridge. Dan stepped past the table into the kitchen.

  "Christ!"

  Puck materialized at his shoulder. "Where?!"

  Technicolored glop smeared down the walls and across the floor and hung in pendulous globs from the ceiling—one reached the critical breakpoint as Dan glanced at it and dropped to the floor with a splorch. Bright orange globlets spattered across the floor and Dan jumped back to avoid being hit. Broken glasses and broken dishes and pans full of burned food filled the sink and overflowed onto the counter. And someone had unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper in great loops across the table, between the table legs and across the spindle arms of the lamp. "It looks like chimpanzees went to war in here. Or like some of my old fraternity buddies dropped by for a drink," he added.

  "Well..." Puck stared at his feet. "Fetch started it."

  "Fetch... started... it." Dan remembered that tone of voice from his childhood. "Fetch, huh? You're supposed to be the responsible one," he said, and immediately wished he hadn't. The line—patently his mother's—sounded wrong coming out of his mouth, and made him feel suddenly old.

  "Fetch will fix everything. Might as well start now." Puck walked back into the dinin
g room and picked up the imp by the scruff of its neck. He whispered into its ear, then dropped it to the floor.

  The imp squeaked, then dashed by Dan through the doorway.

  "It'll be fine, you'll see," Puck said. A loud crash came from the kitchen. "It's really good at putting plates back together too. Come on, sit down and have some coffee."

  I don't think they're going to be able to stay with me after all, Dan thought. Maybe the street would work until someone else found them a plaice.

  "You know what the problem is with you humans?" Puck poured coffee into Dan's Renaissance Fair mug. "You don't know how easy you've got it. If you had to spend one day in Hell, you'd have a different attitude, let me tell you. Hey, is black okay? We're out of creamer and milk. Oh, and sugar. And bacon, sausage, eggs, flour, orange juice, salt, pepper..."

  Oh my aching bank account, Dan thought. He took the mug and sipped. "Oh!"

  "What's wrong now?"

  "Wrong? Nothing." Dan took another swallow. "This is the best coffee I've ever had."

  "Yeah, if there's one thing a devil knows about, it's how to apply heat."

  "I'll bet." He didn't do anything to encourage that line of conversation, and this time Puck opened his mouth, then closed it again without adding any further insights into his work. When he finished the coffee, he rose and put the cup down on the table.

  "Get your shower and put on the clothes I laid out for you. I'll call Darlene and find out who we need to meet today. And hurry, okay? We may need to get on the road right away."

  By the time the devil had showered and dressed—dusty pink seersucker jacket, navy shirt, navy tie, and navy slacks—Dan had his day's itinerary. Amazingly, it was a long one. Darlene said everyone at the station had been stunned by the response among advertisers.

  He hung up and turned to Puck. "They're ready to give you a chance, man. Let's go."