The Demon Deception (14 page)

Father Moretti held up his hands, “I don’t
think I need to know what you’re traveling with or where you’re
traveling to.”

Lazarus nodded, “I agree, better you don’t
know.”

Father Moretti looked at Lazarus, “You still
sleeping with the angels there, Eli?”

Lazarus spread his hands wide, “What do you
think, Michael?”

Father Moretti stared intently at Lazarus,
then nodded. He turned to Sam, “This guy helped my sister out when
she had some pretty bad problems. Not only did he save her life,
but he also convinced me that there was a better way for me to
spend mine. I didn’t run with a good crowd back in the day. Some of
them were mobbed up. So now, not only do I have my family, but I
get to help people every day.”

He turned back to Lazarus, “I have a better
proposition for you. I still have a few cousins that may be able to
help you out if you want to go that route. But, I think I have a
better solution for your problem.”

Sam spoke up, “I’d appreciate it if I could
come back and get my Dodge back after we’re finished.”

Father Moretti nodded, “yeah, I think I can
help you out with that.”

----------------------------------------------------

Sam wasn’t happy at all. Still, as a
solution, it wasn’t bad. It was a white, Ford, Econoline van. It
wasn’t a panel van, but one that was set up for fifteen passengers,
with windows on the sides. The windows behind the driver and
passenger seats were tinted very dark, which would help hide their
cargo. They had to take out the back two seats to have room for
everything, though. Still, it had the two seats up front, and a
bench seat, with plenty of room for everything else in the back. It
wouldn’t be as comfortable as Sam’s truck, but it wouldn’t be too
bad.

Lazarus pointed at the radio, “Look, at least
they have satellite radio.”

“You ain’t helping much, Eli,” Sam
groused.

They were at a garage for local Catholic
charities. Vans for the Diocese operated out of the garage for the
parishioners of the Catholic churches in Indianapolis. Sam could
park his truck inside the garage, which was a plus because it kept
inquisitive minds out of their business, and gave Sam’s truck some
security as well. They took the seats out of the back, and
transferred the pelican cases from the truck to the van. The rest
of their luggage and equipment was quickly passed over as well.

Sam got into the van and fired up the engine.
Lazarus hit the button on the wall and the metal door began rising.
Sam pulled the van forward, and Lazarus shut the door behind it. He
walked to a side door, opened it, and walked out to the waiting
van. Lazarus hopped inside. Sam was playing with the satellite
radio on the dash. He punched a few buttons, and music fired up,
but Sam didn’t look too pleased.

“What’s wrong?” Lazarus asked.

Sam poked at buttons on the radio, “Well,
you’re right, it has satellite radio. Problem is, there isn’t a
subscription.”

Lazarus looked at him, “Are you going to
grumble about this all the way to Arizona?”

Sam had a frown on his face. Lazarus got the
hint.

“Okay, what do I have to do to activate the
subscription?”

Sam smiled. He rattled off a phone number,
and the number on the radio. Lazarus called the number, and pulled
out a credit card to charge the subscription.

“What do you mean, a whole year? I don’t want
it a whole year. I can’t get a subscription for a month?”

Sam’s smile grew bigger as Lazarus argued
with the sales representative.

----------------------------------------------------

The next stop was an old, run down gas
station outside of Terre Haute, Indiana. It was daylight, the land
was flat, and there wasn’t any available cover for shooters. The
only shot was from an overpass two miles away, which, while
possible, was extremely doubtful. This made it unlikely shooters
could try to reach out and touch them. Lazarus did a sweep for
explosives, and didn’t find anything. They looked inside and found
two pelican cases. There were lots of ammo cans as well, with
7.62mm written on the side in yellow ink. There was a thousand
rounds of ammunition for each of the weapons.

Sam opened up the pelican cases, and showed
the contents to Lazarus, “So, what do you think?”

Lazarus whistled, “I haven’t seen those for a
while. I didn’t know they still made them. Last time I used one was
in Vietnam.”

Sam smiled, “They still make them, but not as
many since the Department of Defense went with the M249 and the
M240B. But I figured, since we have big problems, we might want to
use these.”

They were looking at a model based off of the
WWII German Maschinengewehr 42, and would later inspire the M249
5.56 Squad Automatic Weapon. It was a 7.62 M60E6, with bipod and
vertical hand grip.

Lazarus nodded, “Big problem, big gun. I
agree. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to hold it while I shoot it,
though.”

Sam was very happy. He was like a kid in a
candy store, “Yeah, and notice, this is the special operations
configuration. They only made a few of these things before the DoD
switched over to the SAW.”

Sam was happy, so Lazarus was happy. He hoped
they wouldn’t need to use them, but you never knew.

Lazarus frowned, “I hope we don’t get caught
with this in Illinois. We’ll never get out of prison.”

Sam nodded, “Well, you have to figure it this
way. If they catch us with any of this, in any state, we’re going
straight to federal court. States won’t be prosecuting until after
the Feds are through with us. You’re gonna see the FBI, the
Marshalls, and the ATF.”

Lazarus took a deep breath, “On through
Illinois.”

They put the cases in the back of the
Econoline, and covered them with tarps and blankets. Sam drove down
the secondary road to the main Highway, “So, where we goin’
now?”

Lazarus pointed west, “That away.”

----------------------------------------------------

They began driving
again, and quickly entered Illinois. A few hours later, they
crossed the Mississippi River, and they were in Saint Louis. They
stopped, and Lazarus sprung for rooms at the Ritz Carlton. The van
would be parked in a parking garage with twenty four hour security.
They made sure the tarps and blankets covered everything.

When Lazarus got to his room, he made a phone
call. He talked for a few minutes, and got a telephone number. He
called the number, got an address, and wrote it down. He hung up.
He was hungry, and he decided to go down to the restaurant. He
called Sam, but Sam had already ordered room service, and wanted to
stay in to watch TV.

Lazarus made his way to the restaurant, and
waited to be seated. He followed the hostess in, and did what he
did everywhere. He evaluated the situation. Cautious men lived
longer. He looked around the room as he walked. There were two of
them, a couple. He recognized them as soon as he saw them. They
were not hard to notice. To everybody else in the restaurant, they
probably looked like they were on a date. He saw right through it
though. They were on the job. He didn’t know who they were, or who
they worked for, but they were too casual, trying too hard not to
look at him.

He looked at the clothes. Comfortable shoes,
relaxed dress, but not
too
relaxed. He could see the man’s
sidearm, discreet, but noticeable if you knew what you were looking
for. He assumed that the lady had her sidearm in her purse. They
were police, but he didn’t think they were local. No, these were
Feds. He just didn’t know what agency they were with.

They weren’t DEA. DEA wouldn’t be in a
restaurant in the Ritz Carlton. Too upscale for most of the people
they dealt with. Not FBI, no master’s degrees or accountants here,
they looked like regular people. They might be US Marshal Service,
but he wasn’t an escaped felon, and had no priors. He was thinking
they might be ATF, or, more properly BATFE. His mind flashed back
to what Sam had said about the machineguns.

He walked to his table, and took a seat, once
again sitting to face the room. This had the added benefit of
facing their table. He sat there, looked at the menu, and told the
young, pretty waitress that he wanted the turkey club, sweet tea,
and white chocolate cheese cake for dessert. He looked around the
room. He didn’t see any others, so he pointedly looked at them and
smiled at the agents, letting them know that he had made them. This
immediately pissed them off. Still, they either had him, or they
didn’t. He thought not. If they knew what he had in the van, he’d
already be in handcuffs. So, they were back up.

“
Who for?”
he wondered.

He shrugged it off. He just hoped nothing
happened until after he was finished eating. He didn’t like the
idea of spending the night in jail without eating first. He knew
that at this time of evening, he had already missed any meals that
would be served in lockup. The agents didn’t do anything, so he
sipped the sweet tea. A few minutes passed, and still nothing
happened. His turkey club arrived, and he began eating.

The turkey club was good, though the bread
was toasted a bit much for his taste. He soaked the French fries in
ketchup, and took his sweet time eating them. He knew something was
coming, but he waited for them to make the first move. The agents
didn’t move, however, apparently satisfied to watch him. He
finished, and the waitress took the plate away, promising to bring
his dessert over right away.

The cheesecake arrived, and the waitress
asked him if he wanted anything else. He asked for a cup of coffee
to go with the cheesecake. She hurried away to get it for him. He
waited for her to bring the coffee back before he started eating
his dessert. Still, the two federal agents sat, doing nothing,
keeping an eye on him. The waitress came back with the coffee, and
he motioned for her to come close. She leaned in, and he whispered
in her ear. She walked back to the kitchen. She walked out with two
more pieces of cheesecake and sat them in front of the agents, then
pointed over at Lazarus. They glowered in his direction, all
pretenses gone. He smiled and motioned for them to eat up. They
didn’t look happy.

“
Well, there is just no pleasing some
people,”
he thought.

Slowly, he made his way through the
cheesecake, taking dainty bites and sipping small sips of coffee.
He knew that if he got up to leave, one of the agents would attempt
to stop him, and then it might truly get ugly in the restaurant. He
didn’t want that, not with all of these people around. Plus,
hurting federal agents really had no upside. He waited. He didn’t
have to wait much longer.

Mephistopheles came strolling into the
restaurant as if he owned the place. He was quite dapper, black
suit, black shirt, blood red tie. He waved at a few people, chatted
with a couple, and leaned over and said something in an attractive
blonde’s ear that made her blush. Mephistopheles, like most demons,
attracted attention wherever he went, from men and women. He had
that modern, metro-sexual look to him. His hair was perfectly
groomed, mustache and goatee trimmed to exacting standards, his
nails meticulously cut and polished.

He waved at, and started towards Lazarus. He
ignored the agents as he passed, but Lazarus knew who they were
working for. A minute after he walked into the restaurant, two more
agents, both men, walked in and sat closer to the door. Lazarus
looked, and he was able to identify one of them. Special Agent
Jerry Johnston was definitely on Lazarus’ to do list. He hoped he
would be able to check that one off sometime soon.

“
Too bad, Jerry, you missed the
cheesecake, you should have been here sooner,”
he thought.

Mephistopheles walked over, and held out a
delicate, effeminate hand to shake, “Hi, how are you, Eli? Long
time no see. Mind if I join you?”

Lazarus lightly held the hand, shook it, and
motioned towards the chair on the other side of the table, “I was
wondering when you’d show up.” He motioned towards the agents, “I
didn’t know who they were working for, but I assumed I would find
out eventually.”

Mephistopheles sat down and casually motioned
towards them, “yes, I know, they’re good muscle, and the threat of
the federal government behind them is often as good an incentive as
the threat of violence.”

Lazarus looked around at the agents, “Still,
your lap dogs should probably learn a little bit about the word
‘clandestine’ or ‘covert.’

Mephistopheles shrugged off the criticism,
“No, I think they’re quite good at what they do. For instance, they
made sure that you stayed in place until I arrived. Now we can have
a little chat.”

Lazarus nodded, “As for minding, well, yes I
do. I mean, come on Mephis . . Mephista . . .”

Lazarus stopped as if he was having trouble
pronouncing Mephistopheles name, “Damn, have you ever considered
something a little shorter than five syllables?”

Mephistopheles face darkened and he frowned
as Lazarus went on his tangent.

Lazarus continued, “Let’s see, Meph, no
sounds like Meth. How about phis? No, sounds like a venereal
disease. Staphal? No that just sounds like a weirder venereal
disease. Oh, wait, I’ve got it. Les, I’ll call you Les? How’s that?
Better than having to stumble over all five syllables.”

Mephistopheles was not amused, “If you’re
finished with your attempt at humor, can we start talking about why
I’m here?”

“Sure Les, but first, let me say, I do mind
that you join me. Not that I am going to do anything about it,
because, let’s face it, too many innocents here.”

Mephistopheles nodded, pleased with himself.
He was fussy with his outfit. He pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves
as he listened to Lazarus, brushing the lint off of his jacket,
“Still, I know you won’t be disappointed with our chat.”