The Minor Deities of Doomed Men

Part Three

Church of Broken Glass

Sorcery. Witchcraft. Bad Grit swallowed hard. He stood in Edith Ash's bedroom, or what had once been a bedroom. In the center of the room, right where it had no reason to be, was a spiral staircase that lead up to a suite of lavish rooms that comprised the entire eighth floor. It appeared to Bad Grit that the only way to the eighth floor was through Edith's apartment. As a trick of architecture it was either very clever or totally inane It might be clever as an escape route or to nerve center, but the suite was a combination of school girl fantasy and whorehouse.

Bad Grit tried to breathe carefully on the magical floor and he tucked his injured hand into his coat. It was puzzling. More than puzzling. He looked slowly through the suite again, not touching anything, just soaking things in. Americans were spoiled with things and their women were spoiled with idiotic ideas. But this suite was on the level of parody. An explosion of laces and pinks and bubbles and all manner of useless items. One room was devoted to stuffed animals. There was a large purple hippopotamus in a ballerina outfit that Bad Grit found the most disturbing. It was a childish, pointless thing for an adult to have. For a witch to have it was an insult to all innocence.

Bad Grit fled the room; the wound in his hand burning to match his outrage. He stopped suddenly. Downstairs he heard a voice. He retreated back to the room of stuffed animals, his heart pounding and his body tensed for anything. Bad Grit silently unsheathed his blade.

"Not everybody can pee soup! Get it? Back at you, man. Yeah. Later." Marty put away the cell phone. The spiral staircase had taken him by surprise. He clumped upstairs whistling, looking around, enjoying himself. Marty couldn't help smiling and he walked blissfully toward his death.

***

Tom Taskil felt like crying. The fear of being beaten to death by the fat cop kept the tears in, but they gnawed at his heart. Tom had spent a good deal of his life frightened; but that had seldom lead to tears. The pain in his head and heart was the result of betrayal. Edith Ash had shown him a glimpse of wonders, given him a taste of power and then tossed him out with the trash. Over and over in his head, he could hear her saying; "No one cares about you."

Everything had been going super. He had taken a zig zag route to Edith's apartment, sure that he shaken any tail. Then as he approached the building he saw the cop; a dumb looking guy

dressed in an old leisure suit. One of those creeps who thought he was a ladies man. It had to be the spic cop the jeweler warned about, although this guy looked more like a wop.

Tom made a quick about face and scurried back down the street. A fat guy in a bad suit pushed him into a parked car. "I'm sick of following you, you goddamn yo-yo!" The fat man said, "you're under arrest."

And before he fully realized what was happening, he was in the back of a car that smelled like cigarette smoke and wet newspapers. It didn't dawn on him until the third red light that he didn't know who these guys were, although they fit the description of the cops the jeweler had given. Who the hell was the disco boy? Another cop? Were these guys really cops or had he just been kidnaped off the street?

"What's the charge?" Tom said through a throat that had become too sizes too small.

"What was that?" Ryan Osoda said to his partner.

"He wants to know what the charge is," Diego Klaus said grinning.

"Dealing in stolen goods for starters, wise guy," the fat cop said, glaring into the rearview mirror. "And you're a murder suspect too."

"Murder!?" Tom sputtered. "You got the wrong guy!" And then he thought of the man that Edith had killed on the beach. The blood left his face.

"You don't look so good," Klaus said grinning at him. "Better confess now."

"I need a lawyer," Tom replied weakly.

"Screw that. Lawyer's are for guilty people, and you're not guilty are you?" Osoda said.

"If you tell us everything, then maybe the judge will go easy on you," Klaus shrugged.

"That's your choice. Some guys get snotty and wet their pants and call for a lawyer. You know what we call those guys? Convicts!" He smiled at his joke. Tom stared back him, unblinking.

"You don't want to do hard time, man," Klaus continued. "Skinny little thing like you would be loved to death inside a week."

"Yeah, a lawyer would hand you a bunch of advice and mumbo jumbo, but you'd still be in jail waiting for trial. You know how long that could take? Hey! Tell him about the Ferigo kid." Osoda said.

"Oh, geez. Ferigo," Klaus shook his head slowly. "Ferigo was a guy like you. Bad luck all over him. We picked him up on a narcotics charge and wanted to sweat him a little, you know? Find out if he had bigger connections. But he got dumb and called for a lawyer. Had to stick him in jail. Had to. Them are the rules. So why he's waiting for his lawyer to show up, some animal takes a fancy to him. To cut to the chase, Ferigo got himself drowned in the toilet. Can you imagine? What a way to go." He smiled at Tom and then continued. "Six hours later his lawyer finally shows up not knowing jack about it and wanting to know if bail was set. You see? Lawyers will get you killed faster than spit. Ferigo, man... Drowned in a toilet." Klaus shook his head sadly, allowing the story's lesson time to sink in.

"We're here," the fat cop said.

"Where?" Tom asked, his mind reeling.

"At the alley where you stashed the stuff," Klaus said. "You're going to tell us everything. Everything."

Tom stumbled forward toward the dumpster where he and Edith had tossed the diamond and gold fryng pan. It didn't take a lot of prodding before he was knee deep in garbage. Cardboard and coke cans and pizza boxes and all the assortment of filth generated without thought by people everywhere. But no frying pan. Edith had tricked him. She had insisted so strongly that he get rid of the gold but what she really wanted was to get rid of him. And here he was; tossed out with the trash. It was hard to breathe.

"What's taking so long?" The fat cop said. "Hurry it up!"

Tom kept digging, not sure what to expect. His left hand struck a plastic bag that felt soft and hot. Something foul decomposing in the there. And his right hand struck something smooth.

It was the diamond. Right. The jeweler had made a good case for the diamond being worthless. Only the gold was gone. But was the diamond really worthless? Would the cops know that?

"I got it!" Tom said. He stood up and raised the diamond high. The cops glared at it, their eyes wide and mouths open. Tom lifted up his left hand slightly, gripping the sack of foul garbage. The cops were still looking at the oversized gem, transfixed. Tom braced his feet. He would have to move very fast. He got to the edge of the dumpster and as the Hispanic cop reached for the diamond, he dropped it. Both cops looked down at the falling diamond, acting as if it might break on the ground.

Jumping from the dumpster, Tom landed on the Hispanic's back, smashing him flat.

With his left hand he swung the bag of soft garbage onto the head of the fat cop where it broke open and spilled out a mass of maggots and the remains of tuna salad well past its prime. Tom bounced down the alley as fast as he could, running for his life. He had to be very careful now, and very quick or he would be dead. He thought of Edith's betrayal and his heart turned to stone.

Both cops had been robbed of breath and by the time they caught it back and were done cursing the universe, Tom was gone.

Diego Klaus had skinned his hands in the fall, but he held the gem tightly. Ryan Osoda smelled like Satan's own vomit. He was bright red in rage.

"I'll rip his throat out!" Osoda vowed. "I'll hunt him down and chop him into dog food!"

"But we still have this!" Klaus said, holding up the diamond. "Don't blow it!"

"I'm going to kill him, got it?" Osoda snarled. "And everyone he ever loved." He pulled another maggot from his collar and crushed it between thumb and forefinger.

***

Reinventing herself had been more fun than she thought. A total make over from inside and out. Edith Ash tried to stop catching her reflection in store windows, but it was too much of a thrill to be as good looking as her. And while she moved toward the destination the man at the pawn shop had given her, she saw a Victoria's Secret boutique. Victoria became her new first name. She gently touched the warm smooth surface of the wish-come-true in her pocket and was hit by an inspiration. Victoria Stone. No, it didn't really fit. Victoria Powerstone. Perfect!

The man at the pawn shop had been most impressed by the silver rods she had handed him. She had turned three cigarettes into silver while digging into her purse. It looked very natural as if the silver had been there all the time and the pawn shop owner didn't suspect a thing.

And more importantly, he had given her three hundred dollars right there on the spot. It suddenly occurred to Edith that while she may have had to walk everywhere, Victoria Powerstone would live in style. Smiling at her new found wealth, she hailed a cab.

The taxi driver asked twice if she was sure she wanted to go the address. He then shrugged it away and headed into the area known as the Cauldron. It had been a war zone of low life scum for years. The cabbie took his time getting there and left in a hurry.

Unafraid and without hesitation, Victoria Powerstone entered the old office building that sported a first floor bar called "The Powder Keg Inn." The elevator was out of order and she climbed up four flights to stairs to the office of Simon Fence and Crystal Clear Imports Inc.

He had lived under several names, but for the last ten years he was known as Simon Fence. Fifteen arrests and no convictions in his sixty odd years of dubious activity. Simon was a pleasant, avuncular fellow; quick with a joke or amusing tale and willing to cut off your thumbs for fifty cents. A few years back, he had almost been killed by Sterling Silversmith over a "simple misunderstanding" but lucked out when the Batman put Silversmith out of business. This made Simon somewhat of a rarity in the Cauldron in that he liked the Batman a great deal.

Crystal Clear Imports Inc had been investigated twice as a source of power weapons that came into Gotham's underworld but the records plainly showed that Crystal Clear was doing a scrape by even business in the importing and distributing of near useless oriental paper goods and tiny bamboo toys. If your drink needed an umbrella, Simon Fence was your man. The police knew Simon was dirty, but he was so low key and small time he was hardly worth the effort. It was his genius for living hand to mouth that made Simon so successful. If the police realized he had an off shore account fairly bursting at almost two hundred million, their opinion and scrutiny of him would have increased.

He greeted Victoria warmly at the door and sized her up in a heartbeat. She was a money

grubber, and if his information was correct, she was the chance for the final score before he retired and bought himself a kingdom in a sunnier clime.

"Here at Crystal Clear," he said brightly, "we try to bring unusual people together for a common good. We get the hard to find for the hard to please. I've heard some wonderful reports from you and a young couple -"

"That young couple," Victoria broken in, "exceeded their authority. They are no longer in my employ." She needed to distance herself from the jewelry stores. She needed to cut Tom Taskil out of her life completely, and with him, Edith Ash. She suppressed a smile. Victoria sounded so much smarter than Edith.

"Oh, I understand. I do understand." Simon said, nodding his head.

"My problem is really rather simple," Victoria said. "I require cash. I have several objects that I wish to sell but I don't want to bother drawing attention to myself through official channels."

"Say no more. I understand well." Simon smiled. "I was most interested in any metals that you might have. I have some clients who will pay top dollar."

"How much gold do they need?" Victoria said. She's so calm, Edith thought! A perfect business woman.

"Gold, while pleasant, is not what glitters for them," Simon said. He smiled. "What my clients require must also come outside official channels. Money is not a concern. Would you be able to provide ten pounds of plutonium?" He smiled again. He could have been asking for sand.

"I don't think that would be a problem," Victoria said. Her mind raced. Wasn't plutonium the radioactive stuff? "But there might be a few days for me to find the right... packaging." Good move!

"Yes, splendid." Simon said. "Now comes the matter of price." Simon paused; he would allow her to make the first offer. It would be either ridiculously high or laughably low.

"Considering the amount of plutonium, " she said, trying to grab a good number out of thin air, "I don't think five million is unreasonable."

"A fair and exacting bid," Simon said. He paused again as if in deep thought. "Five million it is." He would tell the buyers he had talked her down to twelve million. And thus are profits made.

They shook hands. "Oh one more thing," Victoria said calmly. "I was forced into action because my former associate, Edith Ash, had been attacked by Joshua Rip. Would it be possible to remove Mr Rip from the scene? I don't want him spoiling anything else."

"Let me write the name down." Simon said, frowning slightly. "And I'll see what I can do."

"You can deduct the cost from the --"

"Oh, let me look into this first." Simon smiled again. "It's very possible that this can be done on the house. A trifle. A trifle."

After they arranged a second meeting, she left and Simon sat heavily down in his padded chair. Always something. He did a little checking and came up with puzzling news. Joshua Rip was a minor figure, not thought bright enough to be given anything major. His main function was baby sitting Dino and Marty, the idiot children of Niccolo "Two Finger" Perrino, who was currently disgraced and in prison. Rip could be easily replaced by any dozen of abler men. So why have him killed? Victoria Powerstone was obviously a fake name; who was she really? He didn't want to be dealing with some disguised demi-god although he felt sure the lack of intelligence and petty greed guaranteed she was human.

He gave Swaxbee a quick call. The jeweler had already met with the pawn shop man as planned. The three silver rods had indeed at one point had been Brite Lite cigarettes. Swaxbee had cut off the silver paper and uncovered a intricate web work of shredded silver tobacco leaves.

There was no doubt that the woman could indeed deliver the goods, the only question was if she was smart enough to do it safely. It might be better if she did whatever she did under closer supervision. But first a show of faith for his goose who laid plutonium eggs. He picked up the phone.

"I need a special. I have a COD with no return address. The package is for Joshua Rip."

***

Joe Bosco, building maintenance man, found the body in the unusual apartment set up of Edith Ash. The body was identified as Martin "Marty" Perrino, son of Niccolo Perrino and under the protection of the Vespucci family. The Medical Examiner report stated that someone had grabbed Marty by the hair, pulled his head back and slit his throat. The curious point was that the assailant had bled into Marty's hair, as if wounded in a struggle that was not found. The connection with Ash, remained unclear until a report came in that Eugene "Dino" Perrino along with his caretaker, Joshua Rip, had been gunned down outside of Rip's club, where Ash worked as late shift bartender. Dino Perrino had lucked out. Two bullets hit his left shoulder and a third slug grazed his skull, knocking him unconscious, where the gunmen had left him for dead. While in the emergency room, Perrino told a police officer that he and Rip were hit by "those Columbian bastards." After the arrival of Perrino's attorney, the story was changed to "a botched robbery by some kids."

Police Commissioner Gordon cancelled all vacation time. It was indeed possible the Columbia mob in Gotham, known as the Sangria Azul, were breaking a long held truce with the Vespucci family. Gordon had also just received word from Interpol of a "high probability" that three international terrorist were in Gotham on a spending spree. A more detailed report was on its way. Terrific.. The last thing he needed was a gang war on top of everything else. Once again, Gordon hoped he could count on some outside help.

Far away from where Gordon sat brooding, a laughing gunman tossed his murder weapon into a condemned building. The gun landed with a thud among the scraps of wood, broken glass and pieces of gold in the makeshift workshop of Felipe Juarez. Felipe fell to his knees and thanked the Blessed Virgin for this latest gift.

***

Victoria Powerstone looked at herself in the barroom mirror and smiled. She lifted her drink, a vodka on the rocks with a twist of lime, and saluted the fading past. Good Bye, Tom.

So long, Edith. Adios, Mr Rip.

"Hello, love, have you got a light?" a man said, sliding next to her.

"Hey, you're English, aren't you?" Victoria said smiling. This wasn't her first vodka.

"Am I? I am at that," the man said smiling. He was good looking, but not too good looking. There was something rough and dangerous about him.

"Name's Constantine, John Constantine."

"I'm Ee- I'm Victoria Powerstone, John. What brings you to Gotham?"

"Right now, I'm glad to have found the last pub in Gotham that allows a mate a smoke with his pint. Have you got that light?"

"Oh, sorry." She lit his cigarette and then one of her own. "Yeah the smoking bans are getting nuts. Soon they won't let you smoke anywhere at all."

"Things have a way of changing though. You never know." He smiled at her. It was sly and sexy and full of hidden meanings. Was this really happening? Edith Ash had never had anyone this handsome flirting with her.

"Right. And maybe someday I'll give up smoking too." Victoria said. "But things do change, don't they? They can change a lot."

"Change the world," John agreed. He tried not to show anything in his face, but there was something wrong with the woman's reflection. It would be a simple trick to see her real appearance but his instincts told him to wait. It was even possible that she was unaware of the glamor spell she had on. A novice in magic with a powerful item can be more dangerous than a highly skilled wizard. But maybe soft talk and liquor would do the job for him. Novice or not, she was a major threat.

Suddenly there was a bright light around him. Constantine was standing naked in front of Victoria. So much for the gentle touch, he thought. Bloody hell. She must have the Philosopher's Stone on her to do this. His thoughts scrambled. The bright light was gone and he was back in the pub, fully dressed. Why was he here again?

"Sorry about that," Victoria said nervously. "I've sobered myself up. It won't happen again."

Constantine shrugged, not sure what she was talking about. He hadn't been with woman this beautiful in ages. He was deeply aroused, feeling a teenager's lust.

"I've got a place nearby," he said. Oh that was smooth. Pour the charm on now, why don't you? Idiot! This is a lady of this quality, not some back alley tumble out for a few giggles. "Sorry, I ..."

"That's okay," Victoria smiled at him. She took his hand "I like you fine just the way you are."

Constantine tried not to blush. She was so beautiful. He smiled and let her lead him out of the bar and into the warm night. Where was his hotel again? Of course, the Gotham Grand Essex. Where else would a wealthy foreign businessman stay? He felt like he was forgetting something vitally important, but there was nothing in the world more important than Victoria.

They walked toward his hotel, another pair of young lovers out on a warm Spring night. He felt so incredibly lucky to be with her. Everything looked soft and gentle. There was a homeless man wrapped in a tattered coat, clutching a brown paper bag but instead of looking pathetic, Constantine thought him somewhat noble. They walked on by. Magic in the air. The homeless man followed softly behind.

Constantine had to smile at the blind man in the white suit panhandling up the block. There was something familiar about him. The blind man moved in their path with a sudden purpose. A flare of green flame erupted in front of the blind man. The blind man staggered backwards, alarmed by the burst of unnatural heat. Constantine pulled Victoria behind him, protecting her. He felt confused and frightened. He looked up and gasped. Hovering in the air was woman with in a strange costume with a headdress with ram horns. She grinned maliciously.

"What was lost is returned to us!" the floating woman shouted.

"Well done, Jinx," came a booming voice behind them. Constantine turned. The homeless man shed off his coat and stood up right revealing a powerfully built black man with ritualistic scars on his chest and face. "I am the Hougun. Did you think you could destroy the Brotherhood? Death to the unbelievers! Death to the killers of Immortus!"

From the green flame arose an obscene mockery of human flesh. A golem of steaming poison, the creature known as Plasmus possessed a lethal touch and reached toward Constantine. "Who killed Phobia? Who dies first?" Plasmus bellowed.

Constantine fell back, tripping over Victoria and pulling her to the sidewalk with him. He didn't know what to do, but at least he would die next to the woman he loved.

Next: A Beta Version Eternity.

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