Damnation, Inc

I drove on, through the winding, dark streets of Los Angeles by way of Hell, a demon sitting at my side in a forty-eight thousand dollar BMW, lighting a cigar, looking around like a Japanese tourist. I found that Abaddon had been true to his word, and had left the demon sitting there, in my car, after he had made off with Heather’s soul and I had planted the bodyguard in the house. That was still bothering me. He was innocent of this. Oh, don’t get me wrong, that guard wasn’t an innocent; he was innocent of the crime he’d been left at. But it would be too late now to do anything about it.

The demon sat there nonchalantly; taking deep lungfulls of cigar smoke, the tip of the foul stogie glowing a hot yellow. It sent a flickering sick sort of lighting in his red eyes; making me wince to look at him. It wasn’t the cigar, and I could now see why they resorted to firelight in Hell.

He was godamned ugly, pure and simple.

“Place has changed,” he remarked to hopefully no one in particular. I didn’t want to answer him; conversation after framing an innocent man was not my usual forte’.

“Really changed, you know.” The demon prodded, a plume of smoke rising from his mouth…what was it with people smoking in my new car?...I’m not answering..Not answering…

“Well, what in Hell’s great depths are we going to talk about?” the demon asked, exasperated.

I slammed the brakes. Fortunately, traffic was near non-existent right now, no one was around for blocks. “Nothing!” I barked at him, my teeth were on edge, nerves literally fraying beside him. “What in Abaddon’s name would I have to talk with you about?” The coarse hairs on the back of the demon's neck bristled, then relaxed, as if on their own. Good thing, they were poking holes in my leather seats.

“You did well back there,” the demon replied, trying to soothe the situation. For a tormentor in Hell, he was refreshingly supportive. “Really. Got us a two for one special with that first swing at bat.”

“What?” I was floored. How did he mean that? I asked him so.

“Well, the Dealer, of course.” The demon pointed this out as if it were only obvious. “He died unrepentant. He was a rapist, and a child molester. Hell’s brimming over with his kind, but we’ll take ‘em, all the same.” He sat back, puffed on the cigar, rolling it around on his tongue. Despite his glee at being out, business was still business. I had to admire that; he must have been a lawyer before all of this.

“Dead wrong.” He answered my thought, and I learned right there that he would be able to read any thought I had. “I was a tax accountant.” He smiled, “Specialist in finding hidden clauses.” Another plume of smoke followed. He cackled.

“Thank you for the compliment.” I deadpanned. Of all the things to be praised for, in life or not. Nabbing a second-rate coke dealer and first-rate sicko. My skin begged to be washed for about a week. If only I had that much time. I thought about her again, suffering in that pit. The mental image of her scalded skin would not leave my mind, not when I had seen it so blissfully pure before all of this, so beautiful. Her struggling to feed among so much untouchable blood haunted me…I thought myself already knowing of damnation…how pathetically wrong I was.

“Don’t go on about that, nothing you can do til you complete the deal, anyway.” The demon advised, once again invading my mind.

“Do you mind staying the hell out of my head?”

“Can’t, and won’t.” the demon replied, shrugging. “Why I’m here. To keep you on the task, and not thinking of a way to renege and rescue her.”

I seethed, sitting in the driver seat; we’d gone another three blocks and nothing could rid my mind of those horrible thoughts. I didn’t care what he said, whether he knew what I was thinking or not. Let him report it to Abaddon; let him tell all of Hell, it didn’t matter to me, only that she be freed. That had to be all that mattered, the only thing I could set for a goal. To free her.

“I’m on the task.” I informed him, and this was a surety. “Just stay out of my way until I finish it. Then give me what I’m doing this for, understand me?”

“Hey, you made the deal, remember?” My red-skinned friend blithely advised, he put his hooves up on the dashboard for effect. Gods, I disliked him intensely. “You don’t want the deal? Fine. I’ll tell Abaddon, and you can rot in Limbo while she grinds her face in blood dust for all eternity.”'

“No!” I felt utterly trapped, and the trap had been my own big mouth. Oh well, at least it was equipped with sharp teeth. There were some advantages to being a vampire. But sunlight, that was still the downside. I needed to answer him, but how? The problem was, they had me, and they knew it.

See what I told you about the deals always being stacked?

We rounded the corner at Sunset and Vermont, headed up towards Los Feliz. Getting back to my rooms was now the most important; I wanted some solace from El Diablo Y fumar. But the task kept creeping back into my head. “Who’s next again? “ I asked, irritated.

“State Senator Charles Patrick Riddell.” The demon answered by rote. “Another lost soul from way back. Once we found his dark little secret, we had him; he’s trying to get legislation passed that would outlaw abortion in even cases of rape or incest.”

I looked at the smug demon, my face apparently frozen in astonishment. “You’re kidding.”

“Not remotely. He puts the ass in asshole. Don’t it just figure?"

Now that, I had to laugh at, some things never changed, apparently. So now we had to catch a government official who liked bathroom games. Just swell. I could see that the goals were going to be harder with each and every one. Who was last on the list, God himself?

“Close.” The demon replied. “But I can’t tell you just yet.”

“Special.” I groused. I was tired, and only half a feeding wasn’t helping matters. Time for rest. Checked my clock again; three forty-eight. It was summer in L.A., which meant sunrise by roughly five-thirty. So while it wouldn’t take me that long to get to my hiding place, it did mean I didn’t have as much play time as I thought. I’d hoped for another meal, something a bit more delicate to take the taste of kiddie porn off my tongue. But now I wouldn’t have time. Damn.

One more corner and we were there. The Hollywood Arms Motel. I liked the name, it was completely trashy, seedy, and everything I could want in a flophouse. I had the money, but really, driving up to a five star hotel at after three in the morning raises questions. Questions I would have had difficulty answering with a cigar smoking demon in my car. So it was this or sleeping in the car.

Ever slept in a car? Well, they’re not made for it, let’s just say. We got into the room, and I was chagrined that there was only one bed. I looked at the demon; he just stared back at me.

“What?” he asked, a trifle flustered. “I’ll take the chair. Christ.”
“I really appreciate that.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Now he was grumbling. “Goddamn Vampires and their soft asses.”

He grabbed the quilt off that one bed and hit the chair; I brushed my teeth and got some sleep.

**********************************************************
Morning, or rather my kind of morning, which wasn’t, came and the demon stood in the kitchenette, expectantly. The drapes were still drawn, which told me it was still several minutes shy of dusk. I stretched, yawning. Mornings were always bad for me, sometimes disorientation got a hold and for at least two hours I was useless. Then something floated along through the room, a scent I was not familiar with. Bleary-eyed, I looked around, and saw the bags on the table. He’d clearly been out shopping, and judging from the disgusting odor coming from the pitifully small stove, he was in a creative mood. To my detriment.

“Little goat hoof…” the demon was talking to himself, almost a singsong. “Some black pepper, no, a lotta black pepper…some toadstool…”A bloom of light washed over the demon’s skin, lighting the red and turning it brighter by several shades for a brief moment, and he began whistling the tune to “Three’s Company”.

I went from hatred to loathing, but he cared not and kept right on whistling. A cleaver came up in his hand, and then a chopping noise distracted me. I realized he was either waking the dead or cooking himself some breakfast. Then the aroma really hit me, and the gagging went straight to heaving….

“What in the name of all that’s unholy are you cooking?”

The Demon turned around a “Fuck the Cook” apron hanging from the crooks in his spine, a smile on its face. “Lil’ pick me up, Vamp. Why?” He dropped a powder into the frying pan, and the room was awash with orange light as the fire sizzled on whatever he was calling his meal.
A one-bedroom space that was swimming with this fetid ordure was beyond my list of trials I’d wanted ever in my life…I said so.

“Well, it’s not Wolfgang Puck, but not everyone can sell his soul to make goat-cheese pizza popular in this country. “ He fired back sarcastically. “Asshole.” he muttered, turning his back on me. He pulled the sizzling pigeon out of the pan; its parboiled eyes glaring in mute indifference at its treatment, a lascivious grin broke the demon’s face as he stretched his jaw wide in defiance of physical law. The elongated tongue lapped across teeth too long and far too sharp, and took a bite of the bird, head first. He chewed several times, swallowed, and a smile born of hundreds of years of punishing the wicked spread over his face.

“Exquisite.” He said, and took another bite. Chewing with relish, he lifted the bird to me in offering. “Want some?” Came the offer.

I never ran so fast to a toilet to throw up in my entire life, living or dead. Quick question, to anyone interested. Ever heave up with nothing there?.......

God awful, isn’t it?

After he finished the bird off, cleaned his teeth and gargled with tequila several times, he sat down in his chair and looked up at me expectantly again. “So when are we going after this cocksucker?” He folded his hands in his lap, trying desperately to cover the rising erection. “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed at his obvious enticement. “That word always gets a rise.”

Trying to desperately avoid the rising discomfort in the room, I looked anywhere and everywhere but at the demon, hoping to focus my attention on the task. “Well, where is he, what’s his constituency?”

The demon regained his composure, though his face flushed bright purple. “The great state of Oregon.” He answered, getting back to business. “He’s on leave right now, the Senate’s not in session, he’ll be in his home, near Eugene.”

I’d heard of the town; near a major college it was a town full of young, bright , eager hopefuls that were just brimming with prospect. It also boasted a sizeable gay population, just one more city with an interesting underside, no different from a thousand others. Perfect hunting grounds for a man like Riddell. I was beginning to like this job more and more.

I had no issue whatsoever with anyone of a different lifestyle, but someone who ran for the advocacy of that lifestyle’s banishment while running the length of a man’s member in his mouth at home had no room at the inn as far as I was concerned. I’d learned to hate hypocrites most of all. It just bothered me. It was too long to drive there in a convertible BMW. A plane flight would be nothing for me, but the demon….

Shit. The demon…what the hell would I do about that? A seven foot tall walking ad for Dante’ would not go down well in this day of post 9/11 travel stress. No, not at all…..This needed to be attended to.

“Way ahead of you, chum.” He said, and in a column of smoke nearly as vomitous as what he’d been cooking earlier, out came a well heeled, middle-class looking man in a charcoal grey tweed suit. Spats, ankle boots. The two inch long fangs were replaced with a set of teeth so white they could have been seen from space.

“Ah, the good old days,” he said, nattily adjusting the perfectly knotted tie. The hair was neatly oiled and slicked back, a pencil thin mustache finished off his look.

He looked like William Powell in Life with Father.

I laughed hysterically for what must have been ten minutes. Then, regaining myself, I tried as delicately as I could to instruct him why I was laughing. He needed a makeover. Seriously. A half hour and several men’s style magazines later, I had him looking at least like he belonged in this century. I checked my watch. It was now 6:25. Nightfall. Fortunately this was early summer, night still came fairly early. But we had a plane to catch. I grabbed my things, the few that they were, and headed for the door.

“Let’s go to Portland.” I said, and the demon turned man smiled.