Holy Socks And Dirtier Demons (2 page)

your bike?” A scooter really, but saying the word scooter aloud sliced at my

manhood.

She nodded, and reached inside for a single brass key. It shone like

the Star of David in a Christmas pageant against her tanned skin. “The clutch

sticks and the plates expired last Tuesday, so don’t get pulled over.”

“Thanks.” I pocketed the key and kissed her cheek. She smelled like

sunshine and roses. I wished things were different. That we’d met at another

time, in another life.

“Nemamiah, is it your time of the month?” the angel’s voice

reverberated inside my head. “Quit pining and find the child.”

I ignored him and smiled at Mary. “I’ll fill it up.”

She grabbed my arm as I started to turn away. “Be careful and wear a

helmet.”

“Don’t worry I’m untouchable.” I flashed her a quick grin.

~ * ~

Whisking along the avenues on a pale pink scooter with an angel in a

white flowing gown riding bitch might have seemed gay, but my black

aviator sunglasses and the rakish tilt of my skullcap boasted my masculinity.

“I swallowed a bug.” The angel picked at his teeth with a long

fingernail.

“Poor baby,” I yelled over the angry buzz of the tiny engine. I revved

it, forcing the scooter into third gear as we rounded the corner of 10th. The

engine whined in response much like the angel.

“You do not understand. Every living creature has its own lifecycle.

A time to live and die. I cannot affect that timeline.” He spit a pea-sized gob

of partially digested bug from his mouth. It flew forward, regenerating into a

living creature. Two seconds later, it smashed against the grayish lens of my

sunglasses.

9

“If you can’t cross that line—” I wiped at the gooey-guts. “—what do

you call that?”

He shrugged. “His time to go.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but before I could comment further,

we’d arrived at our destination. I pulled the bike to the curb and ignored the

laughter and catcalls from the transients and transvestites trolling the street.

Like they’d never seen two men riding a pink scooter before.

I jumped off the bike and ran into the storefront, hoping the angel

would take the hint and stay outside. He didn’t, instead he followed me

through the door of the Underworld Bar and Lounge.

Men and women seated around the bar burped hellos. The room was

crowded, packed with unemployed Gods and Goddesses waiting for a call

back or natural disaster. For some reason, mythological figures picked one of

two career paths—actors or insurance salesmen. Either way, they spent a lot

of time sitting around waiting.

I first stumbled into The Underworld a year ago, right before the kid

showed up on my doorstep. Call it fate, or fucked up misfortune. Either way,

I’d spent many a night drinking away the smell of diapers and putrid angel

breath.

Hades, the owner and sometimes bartender of the Underworld, set a

Heineken on the bar top. “Jace, nice to see you. Are you here to pay your

tab?”

“Nope, but soon. Don’t set the leg breakers on me yet.” I took the

beer from his outstretched hand, ignoring the stench of rotten flesh. No

amount of Irish Spring covered the fact that Hades was the Lord of the

Underworld. It was written on his face. Literally. He had a small tattoo under

his right eye with that exact phrase, not to mention snake-lined dreadlocks,

and a reaper robe and sickle.

“How’s business?” I took a fortifying sip and glanced around the

room, noting the new red-laced curtains hanging across the ruby colored

windows. Everything inside the Underworld was red, from the thick carpet to

the plastic shot glasses. Hell had nothing on Hades.

The angel harrumphed to get Hades’s attention, but Hades ignored

him, and instead said to me, “Business is good. You know how it is. People

are
dying
to get in.” He waggled his tweezed eyebrows.

I gave a polite laugh as the jukebox kicked in. Fuck. The chorus of

Come Sail Away
burst from the speakers. The regulars stopped drinking and

joined in.

And there it was, the other reason I hadn’t spent much time at the

Underworld lately. The fucking jukebox played one, and only one band.

God, I hated Styx.

“Turn that fucking song off,” Persephone, Hades’s wife of the past

two millennia, screamed from the back office.

Hades laughed and flipped the volume higher. Singing at the top of

10

his withering lungs, Hades danced around the oak bar. I put my hands over

my ears, and begged God to kill me now. Anything was better than this.

“‘A gathering of angels appeared above my he—’” The jukebox

screeched to a halt cutting off the next verse. Boos echoed around the room

causing Hades to flush a dull red.

The angel rose from his seat and in high falsetto finished the song.

Cheers met his final note. I picked up a moldy peanut from the bar and

chucked it at his glowing head. It hit him mid-nose and bounced off with a

ping. He ignored me, took a bow, and sat back down on his barstool.

“What can I get you?” For the first time, Hades addressed the angel

directly. The angel beamed, basking in his momentary acceptance. Being an

angel must be hard, I thought, especially when you are so fucking bad at it.

“Do you have any Zima?” The angel brushed a feathery hand across

the sticky bar top.

The respect in Hades’s eyes faded. “No, but I can piss in a glass if

you want.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said to Hades. “We aren’t staying long.

I have a favor to ask and then we’re out of here.”

He nodded, motioning for me to continue with a polished fingertip.

“When your wife left, you used a PI to track her down. I want to hire

him.”

A few years back, Persephone had shacked up with a younger and

much shorter man. Well, not a man exactly. A cherub. Cupid to be precise.

Hades hired a detective, and within a few days, Ms. Lord of the Underworld

was safely back at home. Since then, Hades had kept her locked in the back

office. But what relationship didn’t have problems?

I figured that if the PI could track Persephone to a doublewide trailer

on Mt. Olympus, he’d be able to find the kid. Oh God, I hoped he could.

With each passing minute, I was one-step closer to the grand finale and the

end of the world. A whisper of voices, dark, crazed voices, flickered in my

brain.

No pressure.

Hades scratched his head, snakeheads rattled with anger. “Let me

make a few calls.”

11

Three

I sipped my beer and tried to eavesdrop on Hades’s telephone

conversation. It wasn’t working. Next to me, Zeus and Hera, the ultimate odd

couple, argued at top volume. Their shouts drowned out whatever Hades was

saying.

“I can’t leave you for a minute,” Hera said. “I turn my back and

you’re off flirting with some bit of Goddess fluff.”

Sparks crackled around Zeus. “She means nothing to me.”

Stupid thing to say, I thought. A shattering of glass and flying beer

bottle proved my words true. I’d said the same thing to one of my exes once,

and she hit me with a chair.

Ah, true love.

Hades tapped me on the shoulder. “Do you own a suit?”

“No.” I looked down at my moth-eaten Levis.
Did I look like the type

of guy who owned a suit?

He shook his head and went back to his phone call. “No... yes... not

bad...” His face grew grim as he listened for a few more seconds. “Yeah,

okay.” Hades cupped the receiver and motioned to me. “What do you know

about accounting?”

What was going on?
I shrugged. “Not much. Two plus two equals

four, but after that my knowledge goes downhill.”

He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the phone. “The

Core? Are you insane?” He lowered his voice, and I lost the rest of his words

when the angel started singing again.

“Okay, here’s the deal.” Hades hung up the phone and leaned over

the bar, his hellish breath fogging my eyeballs. “Go to the Core tonight at

ten.”

The Core, a dance club downtown owned by a semi-famous bad-boy,

catered to the city’s elite. “The Core. Got it.” I nodded as if I had it under

control but what I was really thinking was, how the fuck am I going to get

inside?

“Take a seat at the third table from the bar on the north side.” Hades

glared at the angel. “Go alone and wear a suit.”

12

“Suit. Got it.”
A suit? Shit.

Hades smirked, showing sparkling canines. “You might wanna

shower too. You smell pretty ripe.”

Nice. The God of the Underworld said I stunk, as if being around

him was a picnic. I sniffed at my sweatshirt. Yeah, I could use a shower. A

haircut too, I thought, glancing at myself in the rose-colored mirror behind

the bar.

“I know a great hairdresser,” the angel said, reading my mind. “Oh,

and I have the perfect style in mind.”

I closed my eyes. This was going to be a long day.

~ * ~

Hours later, I realized how right I’d been after spending the afternoon

scouring the neighborhoods for the kid. I questioned addicts, dealers,

hookers, and pimps. No one had seen anything.

The angel wasn’t helping either. He was busy flipping through a

Men’s Health magazine. Research, he told me, when I smacked him in the

back of the head and asked. I shook my head. The end of the world neared,

and he wasted time reading about four ways to check his prostate.

By nine, I just wanted to find the kid and take a long nap. Instead, I

found myself dressing in a borrowed Armani suit. I tugged at the collar and

stared into the mirror with disgust. The sleeves of the suit jacket were about

an inch short and stained with a greasy, wax-like substance.

The angel stood next to me rubbing at the spot with a look of

repulsion. “There are a thousand places to rent a suit in this city and you have

to go to Bob’s Bargain Barn.”

“He gave me a good deal.”

The angel closed his eyes, probably praying for patience. “A deal?

This suit is off a dead man. He rented you a funeral suit. God knows what

this stain is.” The angel’s hand flew to his mouth.

I laughed, yanking at the collar. “Bob swore it was strawberry jam.”

“And you trusted him?”

I shrugged, not caring one way or the other. “As long as it gets me

inside the Core, I don’t care what’s on the sleeve.”

13

Four

Shifting from one foot to the other, I waited in a never-ending line

outside the club. The doorman, an ape looking guy with a ridged brow lines

and a flat forehead, inspected desperate patrons. With a raised eyebrow and a

sharp word, he turned away fashionably dressed rich people. I glanced at my

scuffed boots and too short slacks. I had no chance in hell of getting in.

Plan B.

I caressed my nine-millimeter, concealed in a shoulder holster

underneath my jacket, and waited my turn. If he wouldn’t let me in, I’d shoot

either him or myself.

“Hilton. Paris,” a cheap looking blonde two people ahead of me told

the doorman. Ape-man checked a clipboard in his hand and nodded. “Top of

the list, Ms. Hilton. Enjoy your stay.” He unhooked the velvet rope and

gestured for her to go inside. She entered, disappearing in a burst of fake

flames and smoke.

I turned to the angel, who had taken my advice for the first time and

stayed invisible. “Put me on that list.”

“No.” The angel huffed, still angry we’d left before the O.C. ended.

“Do it or else I’ll stop stealing cable from the neighbors.”

The doorman allowed the couple in front of me inside. I stepped up

to the plate. “Jace Miller.”

The ape searched his list and shook his head. A single coarse hair on

his clean-shaven chin jiggled, mocking me. “Sorry, if you ain’t on the list,

you ain’t gettin in.”

I glared at the angel. “How about…” I lowered my voice.

“Nemamiah.”

The bouncer froze. “Did you say Nemamiah?”

I nodded.

“Sorry, nope.”

My muscles coiled, ready to spring. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?” Ape-man flexed his overly

developed physique. He outweighed me by forty pounds, and had four inches

on my own six-feet, but I wasn’t worried. I needed to get inside that club and

14

nobody would stop me.

Grabbing his forearm, I pressed my thumb into the soft flesh of his

elbow. He flinched, his body tensing. It wasn’t lethal force, but from past

experience, I knew it hurt like hell. “I’ve had a really bad day. So either let