just a humble facilitator. Really.”
“Uh-huh. So what’s a humble facilitator charge for getting out of here?”
“Oh, it varies from customer to customer. Depending on the entertainment value.”
I start to see where this is heading. “How about I hook you up with free cable? I know a guy.”
His smile gets wider. “Oh, the reception in here is terrible . I know, I’ve tried. But you’ve got the right idea.”
Yeah. In an endless gray blankness, anything new and stimulating would be invaluable. But what a demon—and no matter what this guy claims, that’s what he must be—finds entertaining isn’t going to be pleasant. On the other hand, the lack of traditional Judeo-Christian torments here means it may not involve red-hot pokers or bodily orifices. “So tell me, already. But I should warn you that my singing voice is terrible and I can’t juggle.”
“Oh, I think you’re a fine juggler. Just think about how many balls you’ve got in the air right now—there’s the dojo you just started, your friends, your dog, your new lover … and of course your job, which really counts as more than one. All those cases you get dragged into because of your expertise in profiling, when what you really should be doing is concentrating on the one that’ll let you get back to your old life.”
He pauses, obviously enjoying the grim look on my face as he effortlessly defines my current existence. “But look! The biggest ball of all has just landed in your hand! Aristotle Stoker, Fugitive Number One, right there beside you. Exactly one half of your ticket home—you should be overjoyed. Well, half overjoyed, anyway. Maybe just joyed.”
“Get to the point.”
“Which one? There are so many, all of them quite tasty; a point buffet, if you will. Let’s start with a nice contradiction appetizer: the fact that you’re collaborating with someone you really should be arresting.”
“We have mutual concerns.”
Zevon mock-frowns. “Oh? Well, I suppose there is the fact that you’re both human. And single. And heterosexual. Which brings me to point number two…”
“You’re just here to annoy us, aren’t you?” I nod wearily. “Okay, go ahead. Beats us annoying each other.”
“No, annoying you is just a bonus,” Zevon says cheerfully. “Would you mind getting out of the car so we can talk face-to-face? More comfortable all round, I think.”
Why not? I feel like I could use a little distance from Stoker right now, anyway. I get out on one side, Stoker on the other. I cross my arms and lean against the DeSoto with one shoulder. “So make your pitch, already.”
“All right, here it is: I’ll return both of you to the mortal realm—if you’re willing to give up something near and dear to each of you.”
I’m beginning to see how an eternity of vagueness could be considered Hell. “Which is what, exactly?”
“Well, that’s the catch. You knew there was going to be one, right?” Zevon sighs. “That’s the problem with this place. Nothing surprising ever happens … anyway, it’s got be something you can both agree on, and acceptable to me. Let’s get those lines of communication open, eh? Full and frank discussion, all options on the table.” He beams at both of us.
“Not very subtle, is he?” Stoker says.
I shake my head. “Honestly? I’m a little disappointed.”
Zevon blinks. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, it beats all the artificial sexual tension we were trying to generate,” Stoker admits.
“Maybe, but at least that was almost enjoyable.”
“I thought the slap was a little cliché.”
“Me, too. But hey, what about your leering redneck impression?”
“Over the top, I know. I was just trying to keep up.”
Now Zevon looks a little miffed. “Artificial? Wait a minute—”
I cut him off. “We’re not going to emotionally eviscerate ourselves while you watch, Zevon. Arguing back and forth over what really matters to us and what we’re willing to give up?
“Uh-huh. So what’s a humble facilitator charge for getting out of here?”
“Oh, it varies from customer to customer. Depending on the entertainment value.”
I start to see where this is heading. “How about I hook you up with free cable? I know a guy.”
His smile gets wider. “Oh, the reception in here is terrible . I know, I’ve tried. But you’ve got the right idea.”
Yeah. In an endless gray blankness, anything new and stimulating would be invaluable. But what a demon—and no matter what this guy claims, that’s what he must be—finds entertaining isn’t going to be pleasant. On the other hand, the lack of traditional Judeo-Christian torments here means it may not involve red-hot pokers or bodily orifices. “So tell me, already. But I should warn you that my singing voice is terrible and I can’t juggle.”
“Oh, I think you’re a fine juggler. Just think about how many balls you’ve got in the air right now—there’s the dojo you just started, your friends, your dog, your new lover … and of course your job, which really counts as more than one. All those cases you get dragged into because of your expertise in profiling, when what you really should be doing is concentrating on the one that’ll let you get back to your old life.”
He pauses, obviously enjoying the grim look on my face as he effortlessly defines my current existence. “But look! The biggest ball of all has just landed in your hand! Aristotle Stoker, Fugitive Number One, right there beside you. Exactly one half of your ticket home—you should be overjoyed. Well, half overjoyed, anyway. Maybe just joyed.”
“Get to the point.”
“Which one? There are so many, all of them quite tasty; a point buffet, if you will. Let’s start with a nice contradiction appetizer: the fact that you’re collaborating with someone you really should be arresting.”
“We have mutual concerns.”
Zevon mock-frowns. “Oh? Well, I suppose there is the fact that you’re both human. And single. And heterosexual. Which brings me to point number two…”
“You’re just here to annoy us, aren’t you?” I nod wearily. “Okay, go ahead. Beats us annoying each other.”
“No, annoying you is just a bonus,” Zevon says cheerfully. “Would you mind getting out of the car so we can talk face-to-face? More comfortable all round, I think.”
Why not? I feel like I could use a little distance from Stoker right now, anyway. I get out on one side, Stoker on the other. I cross my arms and lean against the DeSoto with one shoulder. “So make your pitch, already.”
“All right, here it is: I’ll return both of you to the mortal realm—if you’re willing to give up something near and dear to each of you.”
I’m beginning to see how an eternity of vagueness could be considered Hell. “Which is what, exactly?”
“Well, that’s the catch. You knew there was going to be one, right?” Zevon sighs. “That’s the problem with this place. Nothing surprising ever happens … anyway, it’s got be something you can both agree on, and acceptable to me. Let’s get those lines of communication open, eh? Full and frank discussion, all options on the table.” He beams at both of us.
“Not very subtle, is he?” Stoker says.
I shake my head. “Honestly? I’m a little disappointed.”
Zevon blinks. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, it beats all the artificial sexual tension we were trying to generate,” Stoker admits.
“Maybe, but at least that was almost enjoyable.”
“I thought the slap was a little cliché.”
“Me, too. But hey, what about your leering redneck impression?”
“Over the top, I know. I was just trying to keep up.”
Now Zevon looks a little miffed. “Artificial? Wait a minute—”
I cut him off. “We’re not going to emotionally eviscerate ourselves while you watch, Zevon. Arguing back and forth over what really matters to us and what we’re willing to give up?
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