The Minor Deities of Doomed Men
Part Five
Smaller Miracles
To Hell and back was a matter of heartbeats. Even when introducing the screaming Plasmus to the pain factory, this was a quick trip, more of a mental journey than one of actual steps. The Demon hooked Plasmus to a thrasher machine and flashed back to terrorize the tall man and the floating woman but found no one. Not even a midnight stroller. How had this happened? Instead of seconds, hours had passed as if someone had bent the very fabric of time. His senses picked up no sign of threat. His foes had fled into the city. The Demon narrowed his eyes and concentrated. There. A distortion in mortal time. But it didn't seem powerful enough to explain the chronological gap. No attempt to cover it up, a sloppy job, without finesse and already drawing ghost. Time distortions always attracted spirits of the restless dead and this one had caught the attention of two gun shot victims. The Demon snarled, there were no clues here. He was about to leave, but there was something else in the distortion. It was a woman, out of cinque with the others, from another era. The Demon squinted. The woman's ghost was less vibrant than the howling spirits of 20th Century crime and totally oblivious to them. The Demon smiled. The sloppy time distortion was hiding a smaller, neater one. An expert's handiwork, the rare and deep timewalker's loop. Someone less sensitive to the spirit world would have missed it. The Demon smiled again. He loved a challenge.
***
Bad Grit knelt by the alter and made the sign of the Cross. His hand ached in anticipation of his revenge. He had no interest in whatever the Carnival had planned. He would seize his moment and kill the witch. And anyone who tried to stop him. It really didn't matter. He was touched by God.
***
Andy's Any Time was an old man's bar. Working class oak without any desire to become more than what it was. A shot and beer place with a framed and faded picture of John F Kennedy over the cash register. Mixed drinks were few and far between and never more complicated than a rum and coke. Davie Mack was the guy who drank screwdrivers and after he died in 1997 Andy stopped buying orange juice. No sense in wasting it. Andy still worked the afternoon bar, with his son Andy Jr taking the longer night shift. It was getting close to retire and rethink things. His patrons were dying off and the guys who came in to watch the football games kept getting younger louder and stupider with every year. The tv had been Andy Jr's idea and it worked in keeping the business going, but no one talked to each other the way they used to. That probably bothered Andy the most. The tv was great for business but murder on conversation.
An unescorted woman was as rare as a screwdriver at his bar. The woman, mildly attractive but way too thin for Andy's taste, was staring at the tv as if her life depended on it. She was nursing a beer but twitching her fingers nervously. Oh well, he had a lifetime of observing humans to realize that what she wanted was to be left alone. She had picked the perfect bar for that, the six other customers barely registered her existence. Like her, they stared at the tv as the lottery drawing was being shown.
Victoria Powerstone, tapped the beer bottle in front of her absently. The lottery. Why hadn't she thought of the lottery? She hadn't even bothered to buy a ticket. The Daily Game would be her favorite number, 207, which stood for her February seventh birthday. She shut her eyes as the numbers were called. "Two. Zero. Seven." Right in order. Perfect. A dollar play on that number would paid off $520. She could buy the "winning" number in three or four different places a day if she wanted and show up and collect her money in cash without having to fill out a tax form. That would be $2080 a day, if she wanted. She could wait - even make sure that the big lottery weekly draw went without a winner for weeks on end to inflate the jackpot. Then cash in on millions. Millions. Easy as pie. Why hadn't she thought of it before? She felt dizzy and sick.
"It's only money," a voice said besides her.
Victoria jumped in her seat and spun about. A man with dark glasses and a white suit was standing by her. It took Victoria to second glance to notice the white cane. She tried to speak, feeling goosebumps on her arms raise up. The bar was silent. She looked about. All the people were unmoving as frozen in place. She looked at the tv, the screen was a blur of dots and lines. Then nervously she looked back at the blind man.
"You have a power greater than money. I can teach you to use it."
"Who are you?" Victoria managed to say.
"A friend."
"I doubt that," Victoria said.
"I'm a true friend," the blind man said. "I know you have the Philosopher's Stone and I
want you to keep it. But I want to make sure you don't waste its powers on the shadows of wealth."
"And you know what I should do, right?" Victoria said. She felt the heat of the stone on her. "Why should I trust you?"
"You have Power Absolute at your fingertips." The blind man started shimmering, growing brighter. "Why settle for gold when you can have kingdoms? Why settle for youth when you can have immortality? Why settle for anything when you can have everything?"
Victoria turned her head, the blind man was too bright to look at. His voice suddenly was whispering in her ear and she smelled his breath upon her, hot and dry and as stale as forgotten history. "I am the answer to your questions. Do you want to see me?" Victoria grimaced, her eyes tightly closed from the burning light. She felt something, a hand? a claw?, stroke her head, pulling at her hair. "Do you want my help?"
"Yes!" Victoria said. The light was gone. She straightened up in her bar stool, noticing the sounds of the bar had returned. The bartender and the other patrons were giving her odd looks. She smiled nervously, fumbled a twenty dollar bill out of her purse and fled the bar.
"I wonder what that was all about," Andy said to no one in particular.
"Dames," shrugged Steve Kroger. "Can't live with them and ain't that the truth?"
And while there was some minor chuckling coming from a tiny bar in Gotham, not far away and yet a world apart, Mister E straightened up in his chair and faced Jinx and Hougan.
He held up his hand and showed them a single strand of red hair.
"The woman is ours," he announced.
***
For the first time in days, Tom Taskil fell into deep and dreamless sleep. He was laying across some cardboard over a broken pallet in an abandoned building next to a crazy Mexican and he felt utterly at ease and comfortable. It was even possible that he was happy, an emotion he rarely felt without a couple of beers.
The peaceful slumber was disturbed by a hard popping sound. And another. A couple of excited voices in the darkness brought him fully awake. Felipe was already up, squinting into the darkness a gun impossibly large and shining in his hand.
Sweat broke out over Tom's body. He heard someone screaming in pain followed by another loud hard pop and silence. Feet were hurrying towards them. Felipe turned to Tom, touched him lightly on the shoulder and motion for Tom to follow. Tom's eyes, growing accustom to the darkness were noticing details he had missed earlier. His panic was aiding his vision wonderfully.
Although Felipe was a poor farmer from a insignificant village, he had seen enough gun fights to mark him a veteran of war. He had followed Mexico's bloody politics for years and every election day was a general uprising as the Army made sure the voting booths only contained loyal party members. The abuses in the Southern States went unreported because it was unhealthy for reporters and editors to mention them. And then came the arrival of masked Subcommander Marcos and his Zapatistas, promising more freedoms and bringing more Army brutality down upon the people. Felipe armed with only a stick had knocked a soldier down and rescued the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His bravery had won Benita's heart and thinking of her, he redoubled his resolve.
The running feet came to scrambling halt on the other end of a long hallway. There were four other ways the feet could turn before running into Felipe and death. Felipe cocked his head,
listening. The men were breathing hard with terror. The hallway made their panic echo down through the building, signaling their pursuers. They were being chased by a greater force and Felipe's heart went out to them. He understood their fear.
"Caw caw, Crows." a distant voice mocked. "Caw caw!" The voice was getting closer
and the men at the end of the hallway were breathing harder than before. Tom felt their panic match his own. Felipe motioned him to be still and Tom froze in place. The men at the end of the hallway slowly back their way towards Felipe, then finding a doorway to their left, they took it. Perhaps to find life.
"Caw caw, you Crows." The voice was closer now. Felipe nodded to himself. The voice was that of a man who liked to cause fear in others. The voice was moving with a steady pace,
unhindered by darkness or by a strange surrounding. Felipe did not understand such things, but he had heard that there were glasses that allowed men to see at night. "Caw caw, Crows. Caw caw." Very close now.
Felipe looked over at Tom who was trembling. Felipe smiled at Tom and let out a shriek.
The sudden noise caused Tom to scream. Two sets of feet rushed into the hallway and paused.
Tom stumbled backward and crashed into Felipe's makeshift kitchen. And Felipe cocked his gun,
and pressed against the wall. The foot steps raced right into Felipe's room.
"Who the hell is this guy?" one of the pursuers said as they pointed their guns at Tom. There were two shots, so close together and loud they sounded like one and both the pursuers fell to the floor with large chunks of their heads missing.
Tom was still getting to his feet when Felipe finished going through their pockets. He smiled at Tom as he held up the car keys. Felipe didn't know how to drive, but he was sure the American did. All Americans could drive.
Dino Perrino was taking a leak against the wall when he heard the car start up. His shoulder was still tender and it was difficult to move quickly. Also he had a suitcase filled with money, most of it twenties, and small backpack with home brew metamphetamines. No sense in wasting everything. He put his pecker away and raced outside of the (mostly) deceased Crow's meth lab. What the hell were Tony and Angle Eyes doing? Those pricks! He made it outside in time to see a crazy white man and smiling wetback zoom off. Damn! The car had been stolen! He was looking forward to chewing out Angle Eyes, put him in his place. Time for some major payback for all those 'chrome dome' remarks. He felt less sure of himself twenty minutes later when found their bodies. Uncle Vincent would have kittens over this. He would bite off both his legs. Unless Dino could somehow make it right. He would get the Big Fat Diamond. He would get his car back. He would make everything okay before Uncle Vincent ever found out. Or his chances of living another week were as good as none.
***
For the most part, being a partner with Diego Klaus was okay. But when Klaus started jabbering in Spanish, it always got under Ryan Osoda's skin. He didn't like being left out and he was never sure what Klaus was saying. It could be anything. The real question was how far could he trust Klaus? Side by side while kicking in the door of a some slimeball was one thing, and possibility of splitting one hundred and seventy million was another. Osoda wanted to get the hell out of Gotham. He fancied himself a tough guy, but the war on crime was too long and hard and he had enough. The pay wasn't very good and forgot when he started supplementing his pay in shakedowns and theft. Of course, stealing from thieves wasn't really a crime, was it?
The Big Fat Diamond represented an entire new life. Sunshine, warmth, clean sheets everyday. Waking up late and going to bed whenever the mood struck him. Freedom to do as he pleased. At one point, he thought a million dollars would be enough, but as he realized the scope of what he wanted, he knew he would need a vast fortune. It had been out of reach until now.
And now Klaus was jabbering on his cellphone with some mook from the Sangria Azul.
It was Klaus who was setting up the deal. It was Klaus who had the connections and spoke the lingo. Would Klaus also decide he needed a bigger share? Oh sure, he needed Osoda now and during the buy, but would he after? How much could Osoda really trust Klaus? Look at him. Speaking faster and faster jibber-jabber. Rocking on his feet like one of them damn toys people put on the dashboards of their cars. Trust him? You got to be kidding. The only person Osoda totally trusted was himself. Diego flashed him a thumbs up and Osoda grinned and repeated the gesture. Yeah, yeah, Osoda thought dropping his grin and thumb. Adios amigo.
***
"I thought it was understood I was pressed for time, Mr Fence," Frank 'Magic Act' Allen said. "This does not bode well." He vaguely like a deeply tanned beach bum but he spoke flawless English without a trace of accent. He stood roughly five feet from Simon Fence in an old warehouse near the docks.
Simon Fence rubbed his beard. "It's best to have patience with these people. They don't understand the nature of business the way we do." He smiled and shrugged, but could not hide his nervousness. Two of Allen's men were slowly moving around behind him. Fence couldn't help thinking they were acting like sharks. The other two that he pegged as Eastern Europeans were behind Allen, staying the shadows, guarding the door. One them kept rubbing his hand.
"Time is money, Mr Fence," Allen said checking his watch for the umpteenth time.
"Patience is a virtue, Mr Allen," Fence countered, keeping his voice light and airy.
"My virtue is not open for discussion, Mr Fence." The look in his eyes chilled Fence to his bones.
"I really don't know what's keeping her," Fence said. His voice quavering ever so slightly. "It could be anything. It's not my fault."
Allen let out a long sigh. "I know. But appearances must be maintained. Fortunately, I have a back-up plan. Do you have a back-up plan, Mr Fence?"
The men behind Fence stopped moving. Fence smiled weakly. "Five more minutes? Please?"
"It's only business, Mr Fence," Allen said. "Don't take it personally."
Judging from the feel of the body, Batman knew the killers were only fifteen minutes away. He recognized Simon Fence, now with his throat neatly cut, as an illegal small arms dealer. Checking quickly through his pockets Batman pulled out a silver cigarette and studied it for a minute. Then he grasped the enormity of what he was seeing. Fifteen minutes was too wide of a gap.
***
John Constantine crushed out his cigarette. This was a total mess. He didn't really want to burst in like John Wayne, but options seemed few and far between. He was a little disappointed on how quickly he picked the lock, as if he might be expected. Okay, then he wasn't going to burst in, more creep in and if his luck held, not have to burst his way out.
He moved carefully forward. The air was fairly crackling with magic. By the loading dock, Victoria Powerstone stood straight and still. Mr E was moving about her, whispering, and waving his hands around her. Jinx was floating in the air, as usual, and Hougan was standing off to the side with something in his hand. He needed a distraction.
The distraction arrived in the form of the Demon smashing his way through the roof.
"Prepare to meet your fate!" The Demon cried. Jinx flew out of the way of the falling debris and Mr E stood up and smiled.
"Too late! You're too late!" Mr E shouted. From his hiding spot, Constantine froze in thought. It might look like E, but it no longer sounded like him. That would have to wait. His main concern was to somehow get to Victoria.
The Demon stood facing E with his back to Jinx. The Hougan started a chant of his own,
and Victoria slowly opened her eyes. Jinx fired a blast of green flame at the Demon's back. The Demon spun, caught the flame and threw it over his head where it struck Mr E with full force.
Mr E fell to the floor of the loading dock without a sound, but then a hellish laughter came forward. Stepping out of the greenish flame consuming the still body of Mr E was another figure, thin, slightly stooped and dressed like an 17th Century country vicar. "I was getting so cramped in there, it's good to be out again!" the figure said.
"You!" the Demon shouted.
"Sleep, sleep, Etrigan, return again to form of man!" The newcomer raised his hands and the Demon dropped to the floor. "Sleep, sleep, Etrigan! Return again to form of man!"
Constantine watch shocked as the Demon transformed to a man.
Jason Blood looked up, dazed. "Impossible...Impossible.."
"Not at all, dear 'Uncle', not at all. Klarion the Witchboy is back!" He held out his hand, and Victoria took it. Klarion smiled. "I'd like you to meet my betrothed, 'Uncle.' This is Victoria, the Demiurge. She's giving me this planet as her dowery, isn't that sweet?"
"A spy!" Jinx shouted, blasting Constantine from his hiding spot. He landed near the dazed Jason Blood.
"Ah!" Klarion beamed. "Constantine! So pleased you could make it. I've heard so much about you, I do look forward to your death."
"Let me kill him for you now!" Jinx said. She looked at Klarion and Victoria and quickly added, "Master."
Constantine wasn't sure if he had broken any ribs or not in the fall, but he wasn't about to let a twisted pixie hit him again. He grabbed a handful of sand from his pocket. "Jinx. I notice you don't touch the ground. Gained your powers by rejecting nature, have you? I was wondering.."
"Wonder no more, little man, " Jinx smiled as a ball of green flame grew in her hands.
"I was wondering what happens," Constantine said as he threw the sand into Jinx's face, "when the ground touches you."
Jinx screamed as the sand hit her. Her green flame shot wildly off, exploding on the side of the building. Still screaming, Jinx started to fall upward, through the hole in the roof the Demon had made. She screamed and screamed as she tumbled helplessly into the night sky, rejected by the very Earth.
Klarion laughed. "Well done. Marvelous. Super. That's one less I have to get rid of."
"No!" Shouted the Hougan. He held up a doll of Victoria. "I control her! I control!"
Klarion frowned. "Fool." With a wave of his hand, he turned the Hougan into a pillar of salt. He smiled and looked at them again. "I want you both at full strength when I destroy you."
Jason Blood struggled to rise, but fell back panting. "What happened to your cat?"
A look of rage crossed Klarion's face but quickly the calm facade was restored. He smiled. "Victoria, dear, why not show them a little something of what you're all about?"
"Yes. Klarion. I would... Like that." Victoria smiled drunkenly. Klarion laughed and they disappeared. Through the hole in the roof it started to rain little black frogs.
"Oh this is bloody wonderful," Constantine muttered. He couldn't find his cigarettes. "This is down right Shakespearean."
"It may come to that," Jason said.
"Don't just sit there, Constantine," said Mr E. "We've got work to do."
Constantine looked over at Jason as the little black frogs landed upon them and let out a groan.
It all comes to a conclusion in part six: