The Devil Will Come (14 page)

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s true. Community property, and all that.”

“Besides, how you gonna hit him up for half of your share from this score? You can’t tell no judge about
that
.”

“God, I hadn’t even thought about it, but you’re right,” she said, frowning. “So, what’ve you got in mind?”

“Well, there’s all kinds of divorce, you know. There’s the kind we was just talkin’ about, with judges and lawyers and all that crap.”

She nodded for him to go on.

“Then there’s the other kind,” he said. “The one where hubby lies down one day and don’t get back up, on account of being dead.”

Marilyn Bright let a slow smile spread across her face. “Now, that’s an idea with possibilities. I like the way you think, Steve.”

He tried to look modest. “Well, I didn’t go to no fancy college like you and Danny-boy, but that don’t mean I’m a dummy, neither.”

“Of course you’re not,” she said. “You’ve got natural smarts, like a fox.” She pondered for a while. “We’ll have to be very careful, the way we do it.”

“Yeah, I know. But we got time to figure something that’ll look right, like a accident or somethin’.”

“Absolutely. Then it’ll be just you and me. You and me and all that money….” She let her voice trail off, then said, “Listen, I’m wondering if maybe we shouldn’t leave a knife on the nightstand, just a little extra proof of how you forced me. Maybe you could even cut me, just a little. I can say you did it to scare me into lying still while you tied me up.”

He shrugged. “We can do it that way, if you want.”

“Tell you what, take a look in the kitchen. There’s a set of chef’s knives on the counter, in one of those wooden block things. Bring one in here, would you, honey? Get a big one.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “Yeah, I already knew how you like them big ones. Okay, just a sec.”

She held her smile until he was out of the room, then quickly dropped her right hand down the side of the bed, reaching for something wedged between the mattress and box spring. Keeping the hand and whatever it held out of sight from the doorway, Marilyn Bright lay back again and listened for the sound of Steve’s returning footsteps. She did not have to wait long.

* * *

Rick Shartrelle took one hand off the steering wheel and removed his Panama hat, which he dropped to the floor of the van. The sunglasses remained in place, however, even though the day was cloudy. Shartrelle no longer needed them for disguise, but he liked to look at his image in the rear view mirror, and he thought the shades made him appear mysterious and dangerous.

That’s how he had thought of himself all through the time spent in the bank: a silent, menacing figure, like one of the characters in
Reservoir Dogs
, a movie that he had seen several times. The tellers had apparently seen the same film, since they had been scared green by his brooding persona. Rick Shartrelle had loved every second of it.

Turning to his passenger, he asked, “You got it counted yet?”

“I’m almost done,” Dan Bright said.

A couple of minutes later, just as Shartrelle was turning onto a secondary road that looked to be all uphill, Bright said, “Looks like 284,960 bucks. Approximately.”

Shartrelle broke into a grin, pumped his fist a couple a times and gave voice to a rebel yell. “Yee-haw!”

As the van begun its climb of the pothole-strewn road, Shartrelle asked, “You usually have that much cash lying around at the bank?”

“No, we don’t, as a matter of fact,” Bright told him. “But every other Friday is payday for about half the firms in the area. Most people who deposit their checks want some cash back to get them through the weekend. That adds up, when you consider the number of depositors we have.”

“When in doubt, ask the expert,” Shartrelle said with a grin. “So, half of that comes to what?”

“About 143,000 dollars. Keep in mind that my count could be off a little. It’s best to do this kind of work with a calculator, and I forgot to bring one.”

“Well, we can count it together, once we get to the mine.”

“Good idea,” Bright said, nodding. “Slow down, you’re going to turn right up here, just past the sign. See it?”

Shartrelle applied the brake. “Sign says
Road Closed
, man. Are we gonna be able to get up there?”

“Sure, no problem. They’ve just got a couple of sawhorses up at the top, probably to discourage kids from going parking. Easy enough to move them— I did it myself when I was there last time.”

A few minutes later, the van came to a stop in a big, open area, near an old, weather-beaten sign that read “Knoxville Mining Co., Shafts #7 and #8.” Parked nearby was an old Toyota Corolla.

The two men got out of the van. Shartrelle looked at the car and said, “When did you leave this heap up here?”

Bright thought for a moment. “Nine days ago.”

“How the hell’d you get home, after?”

“Brought a bicycle with me. I broke it down and stowed part in the trunk, the rest in the back seat. Only took me ten minutes to reassemble it.”

“Bicycle, huh? That’s pretty slick.”

Bright shrugged. “I have my moments.”

“Well, what say we spend some moments countin’ all that lovely money again, so we can make the split?”

“Weren’t you going to call Steve, first?”

“Shit, that’s right. He’ll be wondering how everything went.” Shartrelle reached into a pocket and pulled out the Tracfone he’d bought for 25 bucks at Wal-Mart.

“While you’re doing that, I’ll make sure this junker is going to start for me.” Bright produced a set of car keys and walked over to the Toyota.

Shartrelle switched the phone on and began to tap in numbers. From behind him, he heard the squeal of rusty metal as Bright got the Toyota’s door open.

* * *

Marilyn Bright, three of her four limbs still bound, was smoking another cigarette when the Tracfone on the mattress next to her started buzzing. She took one last drag and stubbed out the butt before answering. “Hello?”

After a pause, Rick Shartrelle’s voice said, “What the hell’re you doin’ answering Steve’s phone?”

“He’s in the bathroom, Rick. Can’t the poor guy even take a leak?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“I figured if nobody answered you’d get all bent out of shape, so I decided I’d better do it, okay?”

“Oh.” Another pause. “How come he didn’t just take the phone into the can with him?”

She let impatience show in her voice. “Gee, I don’t know, Rick, why don’t you ask him yourself? The toilet just flushed, so he ought to be out here in a second.”

“Damn, I told him not to—”

She heard it then, the sound from the tiny speaker that she had been waiting for— the sound of the shot.

There was a clatter in her ear, as if someone had dropped the other phone onto hard ground.

When she heard Shartrelle’s voice again, it seemed distant, and the words sounded like they were being squeezed out through tightly clenched teeth. “
Bright, you bastard, you fuckin’
—”

Another shot stopped the obscene tirade.

Dan Bright’s voice came on the line. You still there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Sounds like you got it done.”

“Yeah, even if it did take me two bullets. How’d it go on your end?”

“Perfectly.” She let her eyes rest on Steve briefly. “Ligature marks, semen, and his fingerprints on a nice, sharp carving knife.” She made her voice sound panicky:
“Honest, officer, after he raped me he said he was gonna kill me anyway. I managed to get one hand loose and reach our burglar gun just as he was coming at me with that big, big, knife. I had to do it!”

“Okay, Ms. Streep, save it for the Grand Jury.”

“Oh, I will, believe me.” She worked a fresh cigarette out of the pack one-handed. “So, how much did we get?”

“About 285 K.”

“Nice! That’s even better than we hoped.”

“I know, I know.” The grin on his face was evident in his voice. “Look, I’d better go. There’s a lot of cleaning up to do, yet.”

“Which shaft are you going to use?”

“Number eight. That’s the deepest, according to the records.”

She lit her cigarette, took a deep drag. “So, the earliest the
gendarmes
are likely to come busting in here is…?”

“Three hours minimum. It’ll take me at least that long to finish here and drive over to Clark County, so I can come stumbling out of the woods looking suitably disheveled. But don’t worry if it takes longer.”

“All right, I won’t. I’ll practice looking traumatized and sick with worry.”

“And be sure you’re not holding that .38 when the cavalry gets there. Some of these SWAT guys will key in on the weapon, without thinking about who’s holding it. We don’t want some trigger-happy rookie opening fire before he knows the score.”

She expelled smoke in a soft laugh. “Stop worrying, babe. The tough part’s over, and in a few more hours we’ll be home free.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Actually, I’m surprised it’s gone so well. I mean, I checked Rick and Steve out pretty thoroughly before we approached them, and those two are not exactly virgins. They’re supposed to be good at this stuff.”

“Well, they were.” She looked again at Steve, who lay on his back in a puddle of blood, eyes staring at nothing, his face frozen in an expression of shock that was almost comical.

A broad smile grew on Marilyn Bright’s face, the kind of expression you might associate with a lioness standing over the body of a fat zebra whose neck she has just broken.

The smile stayed in place as she said, “
But we’re better
.”

* * * * *

Devil to Pay

I heard a small sound, and glanced up from the claim form I was processing to see that a skinny double latte had appeared on my desk, as if by magic. Well, okay, it wasn’t magic, exactly. The cup had just been placed there by our new claims adjuster, Suzanne, who stood in front of my desk, looking down at me.

I stared back, and it wasn’t exactly a chore. Suzanne was tall, and slim without being in any way skinny. Above her long, elegant neck, shortish brown hair dipped below one eye, in a face that was saved from conventional beauty by the wire-rimmed glasses she wore. The utilitarian frames conferred an air of erotic sternness typical of an actress who’d be cast to play the warden in one those “women in prison” movies. Suzanne’s face promised that same combination of sensuality, coldness, and cruelty.

I smiled thanks and reached for my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

The grin that she gave me could only be classified as evil. “Your soul, of course.”

My hand stopped halfway to my hip pocket. “Excuse me?”

“I said, I want your soul.” The sardonic expression was still in place.

I studied her for a second before saying, “I never sell my soul on a first date. What would you say to four bucks, instead?”

She showed disappointment that may or may not have been genuine. “Well, okay, if you insist. But this isn’t a date, you know.”

I handed her four singles and said, “You’re absolutely right. We’d better hurry up and have a couple, then— so you can find out if I come across, the second time at bat.”

She stepped back from the desk and regarded me for a moment with her head tilted a little to one side. “We’ll see,” she said, then turned and walked off. Her firm ass wiggled a little in the semi-tight skirt she wore, but I didn’t stare at it. Not for very long, anyway.

Suzanne had only been working in the Claims Department for a couple of weeks. I’d noticed several guys hit on her, with no apparent success. When she’d told me, and me alone, that she was making a run to Starbucks and asked if I wanted anything, I thought what any red-blooded guy would have thought:
she wants
me
!

Turned out, I was right— she did. But not in quite the way I’d imagined.

After that encounter, I started paying more attention to what Suzanne was doing. I didn’t stalk her, really— I didn’t need to. It was a small office, and none of us was usually very far from anyone else. I didn’t exactly eavesdrop, either— but if I was in Suzanne’s vicinity and she was talking to somebody, I’d focus my hearing to pick up the conversation. I have
very
sharp ears.

I overheard her say some interesting things.

To Charlie, our intern: “You know, you could have a great career in this business, if only you’d sell me your soul.”

To Doreen, one of our secretaries: “You’re ex-husband’s an asshole, all right. But if you sold me your soul, I’d help you get back at him, big-time.”

And there was the time I heard Phil Tompkins, the office manager, ask her if she could work later on Monday nights, to help handle the backlog of claims that always came in after the weekend. I was close enough to hear Suzanne, with that same wicked lilt in her voice, say to him, “I’ll be happy to— and it will only cost you a little piece of your soul.” They’d both laughed at that, but I’d thought that Phil’s contribution to the merriment had sounded kind of forced.

I did some thinking over the next couple of days. Then, when Phil announced that he was looking for another adjustor to work late on Mondays, I went to see him and volunteered.

Next Monday evening around 6:30, Suzanne and I were the only people in the office, and I decided to make my move. I walked over to her desk and plopped down in the visitor’s chair.

Suzanne looked up from her computer, said “Hi” with a low-wattage smile, and went back to work. She wasn’t going to make this easy.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, Suzanne, what you were saying the other day about wanting me to sell my soul— were you, uh….” I let my voice trail off.

She regarded me for a few moments before clicking the mouse, to save what she’d been working on. She slowly swiveled her chair to face me.

“Was I
what
, Marty— serious?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.”

The smile she gave me wasn’t her usual wicked grin. It was something almost gentle. “Is your soul on the market now, Marty? Is there something you want, you
need
so badly, that you’re willing to trade that insignificant bit of ectoplasm for it?”

“I guess, maybe.” I swallowed. “Yeah, there is.”

She nodded sympathetically. I bet a $500-an-hour shrink would have given a lot to be able to produce that nod just the way she did. “What do you have in mind? Just generally— we can talk about the specifics later.”

“Well, see, it’s my Mom. She got… pancreatic cancer. The docs think maybe they can save her, but she’s gonna need at least three operations, and I don’t know how much hospital time in between. A
lot
. My health insurance doesn’t cover her, and as for Medicare….” I made a disgusted wave of my hand.

“So you need a lot of money, and pretty fast, I’m guessing— to save your Mom’s life. How much? Give me a ballpark figure.”

“The lady at the hospital business office said 200 K, maybe more.” I covered my face with one hand, but I did not cry. I’d left tears behind a long time ago.

“Well,” Suzanne said pensively, “why not cut out the middleman and just get your Mom cured?”

I looked up and stared at her. “You can
do
that?”

This time the smile contained a small measure of pity, a quality I never thought I’d see on that beautiful, cold face. “Marty, you’re willing to accept, for the sale of argument, that I can get you two hundred thousand dollars, just like that” — she snapped her fingers imperiously — “but you have trouble believing that I can arrange to have your mother cured of cancer?”

“Yeah, well, when you put it like that….” I sat up straighter. “So, you’re saying you can do it?”

“Oh, yes. Most definitely. And if for some reason we didn’t come through, any contract you sign with us would, of course, be null and void.”

“
We
?” I said. “
Us
?”

“The parties I represent.”

“Who
is
that, exactly?”

“Oh, come on, Marty. Who do you
think
would be interested in acquiring your soul? The Boy Scouts? The SPCA, maybe?”

“So, you mean….” Eyebrows raised, I jabbed my forefinger toward the floor a couple of times.

All I got in response was the evil smile, and a shrug.

“Okay then, that’s all I need to know.” I gathered my strength and threw a blast of power at Suzanne that knocked her out of her chair. It sent her tumbling, beautiful ass over teakettle, to end up on the floor, her back against the wall behind her.

I stood up then, and quickly assumed my natural form. I grew to twice my human size, the scales quickly covered my skin, black wings grew from my back and spread wide, and I could feel the horns sprout from my forehead and grow to their proper length of nine inches.

Suzanne was gaping at me. Her stupefied look may have been due to the impact of her head against the wall, or to seeing my true nature— or more likely, both.

“
Transform
!” I growled, my voice sounding nothing like Marty, my human facade.

When Suzanne continued to sit sprawled there, staring, I said, in a voice that rattled the windows, “
Transform yourself, fledgling! Let me see your true nature!”

Suzanne scrambled to her feet and quickly abandoned her human guise. Within seconds, I saw her as she had been before being sent forth from the bowels of Hell. I thought she was sexist demon I had ever encountered in my long existence, but I kept that opinion to myself.

“
Who sent you to poach on my territory, wretch
?” I thundered. “
Who is your Liege Lord
?”

Eyes downcast, she said, “
I serve my Lord Baal, sir
.”

Baal. I should have known. That ambitious schemer was no respecter of territories, and no ally of my own Master.

“
Know you, then, that I am in the service of the great Lucifuge Rofocale, you miserable creature. By what right do you hunt in this territory, which has been mine for decades, as humans reckon time
?”

“
My Lord Baal sent me to this place, sir. He did not say that another, greater, demon already sought souls in this city
.”

No, of course not. He wouldn’t— the impudent prick.

“
Well you understand now, interloper. There will be consequences in Hell for this, once my Lord Lucifuge Rofacale is informed. But as for you, you will cease to hunt in this territory forthwith. Your Lord Baal’s successor will assign you a new area, in time. But unless your pathetic, technique, which
is about as subtle as a pitchfork in the eye, is improved, you will bring very few souls to your new Master, and will suffer accordingly. Do you understand me?”

She kept her eyes downcast. “
Yes, sir, I do sir
.”

“
Return now to human form, as shall I, lest some janitor come in here and die of heart failure. I do not wish the inconvenience of disposing of a body tonight
.”

Soon, we were, to all appearances, Suzanne and Marty again. I looked at her for a long moment, then said, “Now, there is one more thing I wish to know.”

“Y-yes, sir?”

I took in a breath I didn’t really need, and let it out. “‘Black Sabbath’ is playing a reunion concert at the Coliseum this Saturday night. They’re part of a triple-bill with ‘Judas Priest’ and ‘Iron Maiden’. A minor imp got me tickets for a couple of
great
seats. Would you like to go?”

* * * * *