Dead Nolte (18 page)

Jeremiel looked at Michael and stared silently.

“What?” Michael asked unable to hide his smile. “That’s what
shorty over there is going to try to do.”

“Baal has never actually broken a deal.” Jeremiel told him,
but he knew full well, that Baal had never before had this kind of temptation
placed in front of him. Baal may not know the ins and outs of what was in that
house, but Jeremiel was sure he could sense the uniqueness of the item, beyond
the soul of Judas. The lure of it might prove too much for him to bear. “We
have no say in matters of the soul. Our hands are tied.” Jeremiel gave Michael
a stern look. “We stay out of the transactions, right?”

Michael smiled, shook his head no and said, “Yes.”

Both of the angels felt the vibration at the same time. For
some inexplicable reason, the little fish that got away was quickly popping
back and forth between dimensions.

“Do you think he’s trying to leave with it?” Michael asked.

Suddenly the soul was gone, except for the part that had
been bound to the coin, which now, seemed to be moving.

“I don’t know what is going on,” Jeremiel pointed to Baal’s
car. “But Shorty felt it too.”

Baal’s driver had gotten out and opened the rear door of the
limo. Baal was struggling to slide off the seat and get his feet to make
contact with the street. Finally, he pushed off the seat and dropped the last
six inches to the concrete. He began a rapid waddle toward the house, poking at
the concrete with his tiny walking stick with every other step.

Charlie and Ron bounced down the porch steps and trotted out
to Ron’s car. The fallen prince pumped his tiny legs faster and began shouting.

“Look at that,” Charlie said to Ron as he opened the car
door. “It’s Mini-me at a full gallop.”

Jeremiel looked at Michael and shook his head. “Matters just
became a lot more complicated.”

“Maybe not,” Michael smiled. “Gabriel pulled me aside before
we left and told me, that if Baal takes possession of the coin, Jeremiel has
full authority to retrieve it by any means necessary. Gabe wants to do you a
solid, buddy. Any means necessary.”

Jeremiel watched the little man running up the street. An
almost sinister grin spread across his face. “Any means necessary.” He repeated
to himself.

T
he
tiny man slowed to a walk ten or fifteen feet from Ron’s car and relied heavily
on his cane to make it up the rest of the steep drive. He stopped halfway and
dropped to one knee, panting and mumbling something about sending Gabriel to
hell.

“Are you going to live?” Charlie asked, stepping around the
car to get a better look at the man. “What in the fuck is your hurry?”

Ron walked over; reaching down to help, but Baal quickly
waved him off. “I need to ask you a question about the man who lived here,” he
panted. Using both hands on his walking stick, Baal pulled himself up. “My name
is Mr. Baal. The man, who lived here, was a friend of mine. He and I were in
the midst of a business transaction when I learned of his passing.” He paused
to gulp some air. “Were you related to Mr. Nolte, perchance?”

“I think you probably want to talk to the woman in the
house, her name’s Daisy, looks like a retired hooker, you can’t miss her.” Ron
offered. “We were just leaving.”

“Yes, well I’m sorry to detain you, but I’m quite sure it’s
you, with whom I need to speak. You see...” The little man paused for another
gulp of air and to mop his forehead with a handkerchief, he had produced from
his breast pocket. “You see, Mr. Nolte received an item from me, and I’ve yet
to receive the payment, which we had both agreed upon, so I have come to
collect the item and erase the debt.”

“Like I said, you need to take it up with the retired hooker
in the house there.” Ron glanced over his shoulder to see Alice watching the
conversation through the back door. There she is now.” Ron said, throwing her a
wave. “Tell her Ron sent you and maybe she’ll give you a freebie.”

“Yes, well the thing is, I believe that you two are in
possession of the item I seek.” Baal looked intently at each of the men.

Charlie exchanged a suspicious look with Ron. “Hey kid, I
think I hear your mom calling you. Now if you’ll excuse us, we gotta scoot.”

“I can’t imagine why you would think we have your ‘item’,
but whatever the fuck you’re after, that hillbilly up yonder is who you need to
talk to.”

Baal’s face grew red and he stepped closer to Ron. He
reached out and placed his hand on Ron’s inner thigh. A crushing pain swelled
in his chest, causing his mouth to fall open in a silent scream. “Give me the
fucking coin,” Baal growled, trying to make his petite, effeminate voice sound
evil.

“Hey, Ron?” Confused by the sudden expression of pain on
Ron’s face, Charlie leaned around the car, so he could see what was going on.
Ron appeared to be frozen solid. Other than squeezing Ron’s balls and he knew
Ron’s junk didn’t hang to his thigh, Charlie was unable to imagine what the
child-sized man could possibly be doing to his brother to incapacitate him to
the point he could neither speak nor move. Charlie quickly closed the distance
between himself and the munchkin. The tiny fucker appeared to be killing Ron
with a palm thrust, straight out of an old kung fu movie. Charlie was going for
the little man’s throat, when the midget exploded in a flash of light, knocking
Charlie back against the car.

Through the white globs that dotted his vision, he could see
Ron lying on the ground beside the front tire. He was rubbing his eyes with his
palms. The mini-me was right where he had been standing and applying the Palm
of Death to Ron, only now he was sitting, his stubby legs poked out in front of
him. A man with a beard and shoulder-length hair stood over Mr. Baal, laughing.

“Baal, what have we told you about keeping your hands to
yourself and playing nice?” The man looked over his shoulder at another man, in
a suit and tie, standing a few feet behind him. A fucking cop, Charlie assumed.
Undercover cops. They must have used a flash bang on the little fucker.

“Did you see that Jerry? His head lit up like a firework
when I popped his onion.” He directed his attention back to Baal with a light
kick to the small of the little man’s back. “You were really putting the juice
to that poor fellow, Baal, you’re lucky you didn’t dismantle at the quantum
level when I hit you.”

Jeremiel walked over to Ron and helped him to his feet,
never taking his eyes off the small man sitting in the driveway. Ron looked
quickly to the house. Alice was no longer looking out the door. He assumed she
had run for cover, as soon as she saw the fireworks. The hotdog idiots were
gone as well. “Are you two, cops?” Ron asked, taking the words out of Charlie’s
mouth. “Whatever degenerate shit our old man was into, has nothing to do with
us.”

Jeremiel shook his head. “We’re not the kind of cops, you’re
thinking of.” He looked down at Baal, who was glaring at back at him with a
look of pure hatred. The mental image of the tiny man trundling down the
street, waving his cane, returned to him. “How’s the new legs treating you?” he
grinned. “Your speed was dazzling.”

The bearded man turned and walked out into the grass to
retrieve Baal’s walking stick. Charlie immediately noticed the man wore a Sons
of Anarchy motorcycle cut. “SAMCRO fan, are you?” Charlie called out after him.
The man picked up the small cane and held it up, turning it in the light. The cop
disguised as a biker ignored him.

“What’s this made of Baal? Gopherwood? Where in the hell did
you find gopher wood? This stuff hasn’t existed since the flood; did you find
Noah’s boat?”

Jeremiel kicked a small stone from a crack in the drive. It
ricocheted off Baal’s forehead and landed by Charlie’s hand. Charlie got
himself up from the cement; he didn’t want the cop kicking rocks at him.
“What’s with Jax, is he too cool for school?”

“Ssh.” Jeremiel shook his head, “He’s been wearing that
thing since the first season. He quit watching the show after Otto died, but he
still wears the cut.” He whispered, knowing Michael could hear every word.

“What’s with the munchkin here?” Charlie asked. “Three
minutes ago, he was all assholes and elbows and now, nothing. Did the flash
bang fuck him up?” Charlie moved closer to Baal looking for damage or injuries.
Ron was keeping his distance. “Maybe you should call this in and get the little
guy a tiny ambulance.”

Jeremiel and Michael both laughed. Michael walked up behind
Baal and tapped him on his bald head with the walking stick. “Our little friend
here is all ears right now, he wants to know how we came to be here and what
this physical indiscretion is going to cost him.”

“There was no physical indiscretion of any sort.” Baal lied,
as he tried to roll into a standing position. Michael struck him sharply with
the stick, returning him to a sitting position. “There is no need for that,
Michael.” Baal scolded. “As I was saying, there was no physical indiscretion of
any sort. I was simply giving the man incentive to return my property to me.”

“Did you hear that?” Michael asked looking to Jeremiel, “He
didn’t refer to himself in the third person?” For millennia Baal had only
mentioned himself in the third person. Michael even thought that it was Baal
who had introduced it into human language.

“Is that Gabriel’s doing, Shorty?” Jeremiel asked. “Did he
fix it, so you could speak normal?” He kicked another small stone into Baal’s
forehead. “Well, you can roll dog shit in powdered sugar, but that doesn’t make
it edible.”

“Doesn’t make it a jelly doughnut.” Michael corrected,
smiling at Jeremiel. In a thousand years, he had yet to hear Jerry use a folksy
saying correctly. He screwed them up in every language, not just English.

 
“The way I said it,
was just fine,” Jeremiel said defensively.

“Well, I’m glad you apprehended your perp, suspect or
whatever the fuck he is.” Ron interrupted. “And thanks for saving my ass, you
should frisk him for a stun gun, by the way, but we’re kind of in a hurry here.
I have never met this man before in my life and I damn sure don’t have his
property. We can come by the station and give you a statement and shit,
tomorrow.” Ron stepped carefully past Baal and opened the door to his car.
“Jerry, Michael, Mr. Baal, it was a pleasure meeting you all, but we have to
roll.”

“We know you have a Shekel of Tyre in your possession,”
Jeremiel said, as he kicked at another stone, bouncing it off Baal’s head. “We
need to know what your plans are.”

“Well officer, unless you plan on arresting us, we’re going
to bounce,” Ron said as he eased his still-sore leg into his car.

“We’re not the police,” Jeremiel said, stepping over Baal
and closer to Ron. “What do you know about angels
----
”

“Whoa, pump the brakes there, Jerry. These two probably have
a lot on their mind, without you adding a bunch of unauthorized mumbo jumbo
into the mix.” Michael spoke up. Usually, he was the one who talked too much.
“We need to take care of our perp, anyway,” he said, trying to send Jerry a
message with the tone of his voice. “We can swing by tomorrow and get a
statement from these guys.”

Jerry flashed Michael a hot look but stepped away from the
car.

“Swing by tomorrow, anytime,” Charlie called out as he got
into the passenger side of the car. “We’ll be here all day.” He felt it was his
civic duty to lie to cops.

The three entities watched the car back out of the drive and
pull away. Jeremiel turned and looked coldly down at Baal. “What the freak?
They’re not coming back, Michael. We’re going to lose the shekel. Why? Because
you want to deal with this piece of shit?”

It tickled Michael when Jerry used profanity, it always
sounded disjointed coming out of his mouth. “Nah, fuck this piece of shit,
we’re going to follow them.” He tossed Baal’s short cane into the fallen
prince’s lap. Baal looked up at him, puzzled, but remained silent. “You do
realize you can’t substitute freak for fuck, it’s still fuck.”

“No, it’s not, I’ve said fuck before. It has a completely
different feel to it.” Jeremiel had defended his position on this a thousand
times already. “What about the coin? We can’t fly outside this dimension and
still keep an eye on them. Without knowing where they are going; we can’t head
them off outside of time. How do you propose we follow them?”

“We’re taking Shithead’s car.” Michael nodded at Baal. “You
don’t mind do you, your Highness?”

Once again, Baal tried to use his walking stick to help get
his stubby legs beneath him but was met with Michael’s foot, which planted him
back on his butt.

“You’re not coming with, Shorty and if we catch you with
your hands on another human, I’ll make sure that it’s Jerry who gets to you
first.” Baal’s eyes darted to Jeremiel, whose eyes suddenly seemed to twinkle.
“The results of that encounter would be most unpleasant, wouldn’t you say?”

“Jeremiel, I apologize for my rash behavior,” Baal said
sheepishly. A little ass-kissing was never beneath Baal.

“Stick it up your ass,” Jeremiel said, he kicked at the
crack in the drive and another small stone bounced off Baal’s forehead. The two
angels turned and trotted off toward the limo.

“Fuck you, shorty!” Jeremiel shouted over his shoulder.

***

B
oth
of the brothers watched behind them as they made their way out of town. There
was enough gas in the car, so they could wait to refuel and maybe put some
distance between them and Shorty. Neither one of them had any doubt he would be
looking for them. Charlie watched over the back seat while Ron’s eyes remained
glued to the rearview mirror. They had crisscrossed and zagged around town, on
their way out, which was probably ineffective, considering there were only two
main roads leading to the next towns, one north, and one south. The zig-zagging
had given the sun time to set so recognizing a car behind them wasn’t going to
be easy, but headlights would indicate a vehicle much further back. So far the
road behind them remained empty.

“I didn’t see what the cops were driving, but the short
fucker with the stun gun came running up from a black limo,” Ron said,
absentmindedly rubbing his thigh. He was more than a little embarrassed, a
person not much bigger than a toddler had completely incapacitated him with
such apparent ease. Couple this with the fact that he knew the small man had
not used a stun gun on him, and he actually wanted to crawl into a hole and
hide.

 
“He didn’t have a
stun gun. It was just his palm. It must have been some fucking kung fu move.
The Vibrating Palm.” Charlie’s tone was serious. “I read somewhere that Bruce
Lee died from that shit. Some motherfucker put their hand on his chest and a
few hours later his heart stopped.” Charlie glanced down at Ron’s leg. “How
does your heart feel?” he asked.

“That’s bullshit, he died because someone put a curse on the
Game of Death movie. He revealed ancient kung fu secrets, so they had him
killed. Keep your eyes peeled.”

“Who are they?”

“What do you mean, who are they?”

“The ‘they,’ that had Bruce Lee killed? Who are they?”

“Hell, I don’t know, ancient Chinese masters
---
look
it up on the internet.”

After they had passed the town’s last streetlight, the sides
of the road fell into darkness, they were now safely into cow country. Charlie
relaxed and faced forward. “We’ll be able to see any headlights in the
mirrors.”

The two rode in silence, both trying to work out what had
happened back at the house. Why were the cops involved? What had they gotten
themselves into? Was it going to be worth it? A million five said it was.

Charlie was the first to crack under the deafening quiet.
“Who do you think the sawed-off fuckstick was?”

“The Trumpet Maker, or some shit. The crazy witch in New
Orleans told me about him.” Ron glanced at the rearview and then at Charlie. “I
think he’s the one that sold the coin to Nolte’s dumbass. I think Nolte sold
his soul to that guy.”