The sky above town was a deeper shade of blue than it had any right to be. The sun, already beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, hung in the heavens, a pure golden orb showering the plain below with light and heat. The grass, which might have been vivid green under more forgiving conditions, leaned to brown. In spite of the lack of healthy vegetation, the colors were so vibrant, it was as if a layer had been pealed off reality to reveal the true nature of the universe, lying just underneath. And no human being had ever seen it.
The town was named Destiny and the denizens that wandered its sun-baked streets were of all shapes, sizes and colors. They dressed as they willed, for heat had little power over creatures such as these. The men wore suits or denim, the dames dresses or slacks. Some were naked, but no one paid them any mind.
The main street of Destiny, which they had never bothered to name, was an area of great activity. If there was anything unusual about the town, it was the number of garages, which, by the laws of probability, should have been fewer.
At one end of the broad avenue was a small wooden building, slightly separated from the strip. Three faded wooden steps lead up to the porch area, upon which sat an empty bench. Beyond, was an outer door with a ripped screen and a second one that remained opened, leading to a seldom used office. Raphael preferred his garage. All of the angels did.
Today however, he sat leaning over a wooden desk that many years before might have been considered a valuable antique. He ignored the uncomfortable way his wings felt, folded as they were around the back of the chair. Before him, standing almost eight feet tall, stood a humanoid figure. He was muscular, yet perfectly proportioned, in spite of his massive build. He stood inflexibly, his brownish-red skin standing out in stark contrast to the faded wood backdrop, a pair of large leathery wings folded neatly behind his back.
Raphael spoke, his voice the blare of a trumpet, though it was a normal tone for him. "Then you still want to go through with it, Asmodeus?"
The Demon roared with laughter. "I care? Why should I? If I lose that miserable piece of land, will it stop the spread of evil? I think not."
Raphael sighed, an imitation of humanity so perfect, that sometimes, it was hard for Asmodeus to remember he was an archangel. "You are correct, of course. It is tomorrow's contest that holds my attention."
For a moment, two flames appeared briefly in the demon's eyes. He snorted and shook his head. "As well it should. But that territory has been ours by tradition. You have no driver that can compare to my Lilith." He leered at the angel, displaying a row of pointed teeth. Raphael was not impressed.
"Perhaps. But I may yet have a surprise for you." Raphael had not wanted to tip his hand so early, but that damned demon was just so smug. "I can't wait for you to meet him."
Asmodeus looked thoughtful, but did not reply. For a few moments, he stared into the face of the archangel. It was only when he did this, that he could see that Raphael had no eyes. None of the angels did. Yet their other senses were so sharp, sight was unnecessary for them. At last, he smiled. "Well, I best be off. If I leave them for too long, they start rutting like animals. You know how demons can be."
Raphael smiled in acknowledgment. He did know.
Just before sunset, when the orb in the sky was almost orange, the street began to empty as it always did. At the opposite end of town from Raphael's office, Lilith, the Queen of Evil herself, watched as a small crowd began to gather. On the north side of the avenue half a dozen angels, most wearing denim coveralls, stood in a tight group, speaking in whispers. Across the way stood a knot of eight demons, all awaiting the arrival of the drivers. As soon as the first car entered the street, conversations came to a halt.
Often there were more spectators attending the nightly races, but tonight's match was for a small area in the north of Texas. The population of the territory was so trivial, it almost wasn't worth competing over. Still, if it weren't for this type of contest, many of the greats would have never gotten their start. An '75 Ford Torino, camouflage green, rolled out of the garage. The demons strained to see who was driving, but only one of their number recognized him. "Well if it isn't Saint Theodore," he exclaimed, loud enough for all to hear."
The driver turned to regard him. "Is that you, Barbariccia? I thought I saw the last of you in tenth century England. And a merry chase you lead me on, let me tell you."
The demon's eyes sparkled remembering. "Ah, were those not the days? So many more virgins in the world, just ripe for the taking." This comment was met with many howls of approval from his compatriots.
Saint Theodore shrugged. "Of course, in the end I did win. Just as I shall tonight."
That was enough to silence the opposition, until a garage door opened and a royal blue '63 Chevrolet Nova pulled into the street. The Demon behind the wheel stuck his head out the window. "Not if I can help it." He smiled, showing his fangs, though it would not intimidate an angel, of course.
"Go get 'im Cagnazzo," yelled one of the demons. Soon they picked up the chant. "Satan, Satan, Satan," louder and louder until nothing else could be heard.
The angels, not to be outdone, summoned celestial music to drown out the evil cheer. It was then that Lilith chose to make her entrance. She walked out onto the street and silence ensued. She moved slowly, languorously, as if she had all the time in the world. The demons leered at her and the angels averted their gaze, only barely immune to her inhuman charms. Occasionally, she had succeeded in seducing one of them, which pleased Asmodeus greatly.
When she reached the center of the street, she stopped. She was stunning. She wore a leather thong that covered little of her red lithe body and only the thinnest strip of material held her voluptuous breasts in place. Her long black hair fell loosely about her shoulders. The corners of her full lips shifted into the slightest of smiles, just a shade redder than her skin. Her eyes sparkled with the demonic mischief for which she was famous. "Tonight's bout is to the end of town and back." She looked at the angel. "Are you ready?" Saint Theodore nodded, sharply. She turned to the demon. "Are you ready?" Cagnazzo smiled assent. She held up her index finger and spoke a word. A small fireball shot into the air and the race was on.
She turned to watch, though her mind was not on it. She was only vaguely aware that the angel was pulling ahead, but it was tomorrow's race that tugged at her mind. Archangel Raphael had told Asmodeus that he had a surprise and angels never lied. The cars had already turned and were on the way back. She noticed that the demon was now in the lead, but only by a hair. The angel slammed into him, trying to run him off the road. For a few moments, Cagnazzo was able to control the vehicle. Then, the Chevy went into a spin. The Ford shot around him, winning the race with ease.
The hoots of angelic victory did not disturb her. In fact, if they'd asked and it were up to her, she'd have given the forgotten tract of land away, for all the good it will do them. Cherubs, flying above, recorded the conquest, as they always did, but there would be no celebration for such a small victory. Already the angels had parked the Torino and were walking away into the setting sun. Lilith considered following them to test their angelic resolve, but decided against it. Tomorrow would be a big day for her.
Eddie October pulled his collar closed against the wind that had suddenly risen. His short jacket was too thin for the season as was most of his wardrobe. It did not surprise him that he often had the sniffles.
Not far away, the sound of a passing train invaded his thoughts. His mood was not lightened by the fact that it was probably his. He stopped at a newsstand to buy a quart of Colt 45. He never acknowledged the fact that he was a drinker. He was just trying to stay warm.
He reemerged on the street, feeling more comfortable after his first few swallows. Perhaps, he'd pick up a slice on the way home. At least, he always thought he would. Yet, strangely, by the time he reached his neighborhood, in New York's south Bronx, he was never all that hungry.
He made his way to the train, already feeling the effects of mild inebriation. So what if he got drunk. Who cared? The cops didn't. Certainly not his ex-wife. He thought about her then, half longingly, as he often did during periods of melancholy. He'd would have called her, talked to the kids, if only he knew the bitch's number. She hadn't exactly left a forwarding address.
If he missed nothing else, it was his kids. The way she ran off with that other guy, you'd think he never gave her nothing. He heard a train coming and increased his pace, out of breath before he got ten steps. He fumbled in his pocket for a token he knew was there, while the screeching of brakes informed him that his time was running out. At last he found it, dropped it into the slot, pushed through the turnstile and ran for the stairs. By the time he made it to the platform, he was huffing and puffing. Across the tracks, the downtown train pulled out. It hadn't been his after all. He collapsed on the dilapidated bench and shivered. He took a pull from his bottle.
Two teenage girls came down the stairs, then. He smiled at them, thought about saying something, but didn't. One of them, probably the older, tugged at her friend's arm, leading her in the opposite direction. He was so lonely, he wanted to curse and cry at the same time, but it would do no good. If ya didn't have money, ya didn't have pussy. That's all there was to it.
It wasn't long before the 4 arrived. Like most trains, it was so covered with graffiti you couldn't see into the windows. He stumbled through the doors, ignoring the disdainful glances from the handful of respectable workers, who had stayed late at the office. Apparently, he was the problem with the Transit Authority that they were always bitchin' about. He sneered back at them, turned and sat.
He stretched out his tired muscles and took another swig from his bottle, no longer feeling the individual warmth of each swallow. A middle-aged woman sitting nearby rose and moved away from him. He raised his drink and saluted her. "Probably religious," he mumbled under his breath.
He almost slept through his stop, but awoke just in time. He lurched off, just a moment before the doors slid shut. After the heat of the train, it was suddenly cold again, in spite of what he'd consumed. He walked passed the pizza parlor, never giving it a glance and made his way down the block.
The area looked like he felt. Rundown, forgotten and not worthy of rebuilding. Large cars, Pontiacs, Fords, Chevys and an occasional beat up Cadillac were parked on the street. Across the way, one of the buildings had been condemned by the city council as being uninhabitable. Now only heroin addicts lived there. He wasn't certain that it was much worse than his own abode.
The glass on the front door of his building had a spider web of cracks running through it, that had been in place when he first moved in five years earlier. The concept of heat must have been unknown to the landlord, for he certainly never gave any. He walked up two flights to his third floor apartment, trying, as he slowly climbed the stairs, to ignore the smell of urine. Finally, he reached his door and, after only the third try, managed to fit his key into the lock.
He flicked the switch that turned on the single bare bulb, illuminating the hallway. He made his way to the living room, where he knelt down to plug in an old lamp. One day, he vowed, he have someone fix it, so he could turn it on the right way. As he got older, it became harder to bend. He wasn't home long, before the phone rang.
Bleary eyed, he searched, until he located the cord under a pile of dirty clothes. He followed it, until he found the device and lifted the receiver. "October," he said.
"Eddie, man, listen, it's me, Hector. It's all set up, ju hear me. Tomorrow, after the boss leaves, we're gonna hit him. You know he always makes the deposit on Thursday and he always asks you to go with him."
Eddie nodded, too stoned to realize the other man couldn't see him. "I'm a security guard," he mumbled.
There was a pause on the line. "You been drinkin? I need you sober for tomorrow, man. Don't fuck this up. We've been waiting a long time for this. All you have ta do is nothing."
Eddie's vision swam out of focus. "Do nothin'. Got it."
"All right. I gotta run. See ya." And the line went dead.
Eddie stared at the phone until it started to blare, informing him that he'd yet to hang up. He replaced the receiver, almost hard enough to crack the phone. Fuck. He hated that shit more than anything. He didn't want to be a bad guy, but society had left him no choice. It wasn't his fault.
He lay down on his torn sofa, but no longer felt high. Tomorrow, he'd back off and let his boss get beaten, if not killed. And he had agreed to stand by and watch. Shit.
It was a long time, before he drifted off to sleep.
Archangel Raphael stood in the desert, ten miles south of Destiny. He had made his exit only when certain no one was watching. He really did want to surprise Asmodeus. For a time, he waited, until, farther away than any human eye could see, he sensed the approach. He did not have long to wait. A large figure, looking much like him only smaller, descended, folding his wings as he landed just a few feet away. Raphael smiled. "Gabby, baby, how was the flight?"
The smaller angel smiled and they hugged. "Nothing like first class," quipped Gabriel.
Raphael put his arm around the newcomer. "Well, I'm glad you could make it. You'll be up to it later?"
Gabriel seemed surprised by the question. "Are you serious? After a decade of fighting on horseback in Europe, I can't wait to get behind a wheel. Who in hell am I racing?"
"Lilith."
The newcomer chuckled. "I always liked her. Too bad I have to leave her in the dust. You have a good car for me."
The archangel nodded. "Nothing but the best."
The two elected to walk back to town, rather than fly. It would give them time to talk about old times.
In Asmodeus' office, Lilith was furious. "That dirty son of a bitch. Who does he think he is?"
Asmodeus looked at her strangely. "He's God's right hand. Who did you think he was?"
She returned his gaze, eyes cold. "You know what I meant. I wasn't prepared to face an opponent of his caliber."
"You are not up to it? Satan does not like to hear that."
"I didn't say that. The bastard just didn't give me much time to get ready, that's all. I'll still wipe the road with him."
To Asmodeus, she didn't look as certain as she sounded, not that there was anything he could do about it at this late date. Raphael had certainly one-upped him this time. "Well, stop complaining and do what you must. And let's see if we can't come up with a surprise for Gabby. To tell you the truth, I'm almost looking forward to seeing that old prick."
Lilith studied her superior, before replying. "I've seen it before and it isn't worth a second showing."
Asmodeus looked at her thoughtfully, as she strutted from the room.
Across town, Archangel Raphael, wrench in hand, was working on an engine. He thought back, across the span of years. It had not always been this way. Long ago, the supernatural forces got together and decided that they would no longer directly interfere in human affairs. It was getting too crazy. All the possessions, exorcisms, miracles...and for what? Did performing a miracle help bring people to goodness? Not from his experience.
So they divided the world into territories. From the beginning, each dominion, good and evil, took turns laying claim to one area or the next, but it only worked for a time. It wasn't good enough. No matter who had what, no one was ever satisfied. Eventually they decided that each territory would have to be defended.
Several arenas had been created in the guise of small towns, Destiny among them. Each continent had one. The type of contest varied between locations, but it was always an Angel and Demon that competed, winner take all. The controlling Dominion influenced the atmosphere of a territory, which is not to say that the area became good or evil. It simply became more conducive to the inhabitants to choose the dominant side.
Throughout history, when downtrodden neighborhoods turned themselves around, it was usually because Heaven had taken control. Likewise, an area might suddenly fall from grace, should it find itself under Satan's sway.
Gabriel had just come from Avalon, in Europe. There were legends about the place, though how the humans had gotten wind of it, Raphael had no clue. In Avalon, they still jousted on horseback. The first warrior to unseat his opponent would win the match and thus control the locality. The whole concept was very European.
At first, there had been a big debate on what contest would be most appropriate for North America. It was God himself who decided on drag racing. He really loved the sport. Raphael enjoyed it as well and it gave a soul something to do.
He was just finishing up, when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He reached out with his consciousness and found Gabriel. The smaller angel had stopped to take a brief rest after his long flight, but that was all he needed. Now he felt refreshed and ready to work.
Gabriel moved slowly, expanding his senses to examine the vehicle. There was something about a fine American made car that he really enjoyed. It was a Ford, of course. All angels drove Fords, just as all demons drove chevys. There was no rhyme or reason to it, that was just the way it had been decided.
The car was a beautiful powder blue '79 Ford Mustang Mach One. From the moment he saw it, Gabriel was in love. "Hello, beautiful," he said, as he slowly approached.
Raphael smiled. He remembered feeling the same way, the first time he laid eyes on his own 1941 Willies Gasser. He wouldn't trade it for the world.
Gabriel turned to look at his superior. "Raphael, what can I say. She's gorgeous."
The archangel's smile broadened into a grin. "I knew you'd love her. I upgraded her myself. Fully blown 429 big block engine, Hurst four speed shifter and fifteen inch slicks. In honor of your transfer, I even threw on a set of Cragar Mags. What will you name her?"
Gabriel replied without the slightest hint of hesitation. "Demon Slayer."
Archangel Raphael nodded approval.
It was approaching sunset when Gabriel, dressed in traditional racing attire, drove the car to the end of town. He sat there, comfortable in spite of the late afternoon heat. The crowd was already huge, but he had expected that. No one in Destiny would miss this one.
Soon, a garage door opened and a white Chevy Corvette pulled up beside him. He looked over expecting to see Lilith, but was surprised. The driver's seat was occupied by a much younger, almost unknown Demon. Even Raphael could not recall his name.
The driver opened the door and stepped out, leaving the motor running. It was only two minutes till sundown. Then Lilith appeared. If anything, her black leather outfit was more revealing than the day before. She slithered onto Gabrielle's hood, pulling herself up, until her breasts were pressed firmly against the windshield. Gabriel caught his breath, but did not move. Then she was gone. She had rolled to the side and entered her own vehicle, while Gabriel, caught totally off guard, still stared. He turned to look at her. She smiled at him, licked her lips and spoke. "Remember Egypt?"
He did remember. He found it hard to keep his mind on the race. Damn the cheek of her. He was an angel, god damn it.
He didn't hear Raphael ask if he was ready, but responded out of habit. When the starting flare erupted, Lilith pulled out in front immediately. Gabriel cursed, something he rarely did and floored the accelerator. The Ford screeched into motion, but did not immediately begin to gain.
There were hoots and hollers from both sides, as Lilith neared the end of the track. She maneuvered her car into a roll out, spinning, so that, when she stopped, she faced the opposite direction. Gabriel was first reaching the turnaround point.
He was angry at being so easily outmaneuvered and decided to do something about it. Years of jousting had taught him a trick or two. He turned his car, until he was heading directly for the Corvette. At first, she couldn't believe his daring. She tried to swerve, but he stayed with her. The two cars raced toward each other, until even Asmodeus thought an accident was inevitable.
At the very last moment, Lilith cut her wheel to the left, propelling her car out of control. Gabriel put on the breaks and turned a perfect one eighty. Lilith was closer to home, but now facing the wrong way. Gabriel sped towards the finish.
Lilith screamed profanity, something at which she excelled. She tried to back her car into his as she came around, but he just edged passed her. She pressed her foot down on the gas so hard that she felt the floor beneath begin to give. Gabriel was already well ahead.
She gave it all she had, but had already lost too much ground. When the angel crossed the finish line, a holy symphony began to play in the background. Raphael, followed by a gaggle of angels, were already rushing forward to congratulate the victor.
The south Bronx was theirs.
Eddie October awoke that morning with a hangover. He didn't know how much he'd consumed, but he must have gone back out, if the number of empty bottles around him were any indication. He rose unsteadily, stared at the clock for a long time, before he could make out the numbers, and again for another few minutes as he tried to calculate the day of the week.
He shook his head, attempting to shake the cobwebs. Then he remembered the call. "Oh shit," he said aloud. He was already late. He didn't take the time to shower or even change. He just ran out the door, stopping only to lock it behind him. Had he been younger, he'd have taken the stairs two at a time. In his current condition, he was lucky he was able to traverse them at all.
Once on the street, he flagged down a yellow taxi. The driver, an islander complete with dreadlocks, looked him over. "You got money, Mon?"
"Relax," said October, as he opened the door and climbed in. "I have enough fucking money to buy your Jamaican ass. Now you gonna drive, or what?"
Eddie knew that the driver wouldn't lose his temper. That sort of thing would be too dangerous with so many gun-toting madmen running around. Better to be insulted than dead. "Where you gone, Mon?"
"One forty ninth, Grand Concourse, Mon," mimicked October.
While the car lurched through traffic, Eddie leaned back and relaxed. A short time before they reached their destination, at a red light, Eddie flung open the door and ran into the street. He ignored the driver's angry curses and ducked into an alley. He knew the area well. Even if the Islander tried to follow him and there was a good chance he wouldn't, he would never catch Eddie in this part of town. Eddie didn't like to pull that kind of shit, but he couldn't afford to be late either. Not today. It was only a few minutes later that he reached the store, right on time.
It was a ninety-nine cents store. A place where cheap people could buy a lot of stuff that they didn't really need. Thousands of similar establishments had been opening all over New York City. Eddie didn't see the appeal of them. Perhaps there were enough people who couldn't afford to shop anywhere else. Sometimes it seemed that way. Eddie had only one objection to the store. They didn't sell beer.
That day, he found it hard to concentrate on his work. The owner, a small Jewish man, always made his largest deposits on Thursday, when he stayed opened late. Lots of folks got paid on Thursday and Mr. Goldstein got rich, one dollar at a time. Sometimes, Eddie thought about what it would be like to have all that money. Tonight, he was going to find out.
The day dragged on until, finally, it was time for lunch. He waved to one of the cashiers, so that she knew there'd be no one on the door. Then he entered the street.
The Grand Concourse was bewildering to behold, even for regulars like him. There were hundreds of people, scurrying in every direction. Kids cutting school, mingled with business people, mostly black or Hispanic. Thieves worked the avenue, whether they were pickpockets, shoplifters or purse snatchers. And, of course, the bulk of humanity were shoppers. Older women who went from store to store, sometimes just to get out of their chilly apartments and into a place where the heat actually worked.
Normally he had no problem with the street, but today it bothered him. So much humanity. So much waste. Why go through it all? Disgusted, he turned down a side street and began to walk. Though he was hungry, he didn't have money for lunch. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets, but it did little to warm them. After a time, he became aware of people singing. As he continued, it grew louder. He looked around to determine the source of the sound, until his eyes fell on the church.
He didn't remember there being a church here, but he never did notice things like that. The sound was beautiful. He walked to the entrance, which seemed to be packed with people. Now why would that be? He didn't think it was a holiday. Without realizing it, he joined in the song. He had a nice voice, everyone always told him so. Why, if it weren't for the drugs and booze, he might have been a singer. Maybe his wife wouldn't have left. As the thought entered his mind, he sat down by the side of the curb and cried. She hadn't left. It was his behavior that had driven her and his children away.
For a long time he sat, head bowed, knees encircled by his arms. At last, he rose slowly and made his way back to the store. It was wrong, all wrong. He shook his head at the very thought of the actions he had been contemplating. No more. It was enough. When he reached the store, he went right to the owner's office and told him of the plot. Mr. Goldstein was so pleased with his employee's loyalty, that he gave him a raise on the spot.
Eddie October returned to his post by the front door, a changed man.
Lilith sat in Asmodeus' office. She did not often find herself nervous, but she was so now. The south Bronx had been Satan's for so long, that it was hard to remember a time when the angels had owned it. The boss did not tolerate failure.
Asmodeus had been berating her for a long time now and would no doubt continue, perhaps until hell froze over. She hated that expression. Partly because there were areas in hell that were well below freezing and, many centuries ago, she had been imprisoned in one of them. Finally, he began to wind down and Lilith began to relax. What she needed, if she were to improve her status, was a conquest that would put her back on top, so to speak. Recently, the angels had taken Beverly Hills. Perhaps, if she could get it back, it would be sufficient. The trick was timing.
She had to broach the question at the right moment. She was good at her game. Within two weeks at most, she'd be back in the driver's seat. She settled down to enjoy the remainder of Asmodeus' tirade.
Peaches Johnson was beautiful. She had always known so, even as a child. For all her life, Peaches knew that her future would be a special one. She wasn't going to settle down, marry, cook, clean and raise kids. Lord no, not her. She was going to be an actress. And not just an actress. She was going to be the most breathtaking, heartbreaking performer to ever set foot on a stage.
It didn't matter that she grew up in the small city of Spokane, Washington. Nor did it matter that her parents were dead set against it. She firmly believed that she could do anything she chose. No one would stand in her way.
As soon as she was old enough, she left home, much to her parent's dismay. She moved to Los Angeles and immediately found a job as a waitress. She found a furnished room and began to plan her career.
There really was no place like LA. Though it was a large city, the people were friendly and there was so much to see and do. Everyone in LA seemed to be either an aspiring actor, writer or director. Like moths to a candle, so had they been drawn to the light. There was something about the city that fostered creativity.
On her days off, she signed up for tryouts. It was frustrating, standing in line with hundred of other people, knowing that you would always be either too tall or short, busty or flat, blonde or fair. Either your nose was too big, or your voice too high. After a time, she began to grow discouraged.
Her first break came three months after she'd first arrived. She was waiting on a table and happened to overhear the conversation. It seemed that one of the two women was an agent, looking for new models. Shyly, she approached, waiting for them to notice her. Her heart pounded in her chest. She tried to remain calm. She leaned over, placed a hand on the empty plate and spoke. "Are you through with this?"
"Yes, thank you," said the short, chunky brunette.
Peaches cleared her throat. "I couldn't help but hear that you were looking for a model."
The woman looked up at her and smiled. "We're always looking for talent, dear. Just a sec." She reached down and lifted the glasses that depended from the chain about her neck. She carefully slid them onto her nose. "Oh my, you are a pretty thing aren't you? Tell me, dear, do these barbarians give you a day off?"
Peaches couldn't believe her luck. "Uh-huh. Friday."
The woman removed a card from her bag, took a pen and wrote on the back of it. "I'll see you at noon then."
"Hey, Blonde," yelled the chef, "when you're done fraternizing with the customers, you wanna pick up this burger?"
Peaches jumped and ran back to the counter. "Sorry, Fred."
"Yeah, well, don't let it happen again."
She returned to work, but for the rest of the day, remained in a fog.
The day before her interview, Peaches left work early to go shopping. She didn't have anything to wear that would show off her best attributes and she was quite secure about her attributes. She spent the rest of the day going from shop to shop, but everything was either the wrong size, the wrong color, or most often, the wrong price.
Finally, at a shop on Sunset Boulevard, she found the dress. She had to dip into the rent money to buy it, but it would be worth it. She regarded her reflection in the dressing room mirror, more certain with each passing second that this would be the one.
It was a one piece, crimson affair that reached almost to her knees, with no sleeves and a plunging neckline. The back was open, so she had to also purchase a strapless bra. The rest of it clung to her hips, as if it were painted on. If this didn't get her a modeling job, nothing would.
She was so nervous that night, she hardly slept. She woke before the alarm rang, turned it off and got out of bed. She gave herself plenty of time to apply her makeup and do her hair. Fortunately, she'd had it cut only the week before.
It took her almost two hours to prepare. It is hard to explain what happens to a woman, when she applies makeup. It's almost a Zen thing, not very different from meditation. You never think about what you're doing then, only what will happen later or what occurred yesterday. Perhaps that is the reason why it takes so long. It is one of the few times in a woman's day, when she has time to herself. When she was finally done, she studied her reflection closely, but could find no flaw. Even the bags under her eyes were not visible. Satisfied, she whirled, flicked off the bathroom light and, pausing only to retrieve her handbag, headed for the door. This was it. Her one chance. She'd spent most of her money. If this didn't pan out, she didn't know what she'd do.
Lilith stretched, first arching her back, then spreading her wings. It had been three weeks since she'd lost to Gabriel, and she'd avoided him ever since, the pompous ass. After much cajoling, she finally convinced Asmodeus to give her a second chance. He thought long and hard, before he assented. She knew that, if she failed this time, she would be banished from Destiny. It was a sobering thought.
On the other hand, Saint George was hardly the competitor that Gabriel had been. She didn't think that he'd be a challenge. Still, she schooled her certainty. She didn't want to fall victim to overconfidence. It was only shortly before the race. Lilith realized that, for the first time in a very long time, she was afraid. She did not relish the use Satan would make of her, if she lost this heat.
Slowly she made her way into the garage and looked the car over. Her opponent, she knew, would be driving a '33 Ford Vicky three window coupe. It would not be easy, but she would take him. She had no choice.
She slowly opened the door and slid into the seat. There was no key in the ignition, but she didn't need one. She positioned her finger next to the keyhole. Her nail grew longer and narrowed, snaking its way into the crevice. She turned it and the nitrous assisted, 427 big block rat engine roared to life. She revved it, enjoying the feeling of power beneath her, vibrating her ass against the leather bucket seats. Lilith almost purred, as she withdrew her finger, put the car into gear and tore out of the garage, a look of fierce determination on that inhumanly attractive face.
George checked his 520 cubic inch Ford big block engine for the fourteenth time. He had always been anal, but he couldn't help himself. He knew that he was up against a whole new class of opponent and though the Demon Lady lost her last race, that would only make her more dangerous now.
He had spoken of his fears to Raphael, who had not been all that reassuring. What had the archangel said? "If you lose Beverly Hills, your next race will be for New Jersey. Even the Demons shied away from there. He shuddered at the thought of such a fate. Still, as good as he was, he was in for the race of his life.
He waited until the last possible moment, before slowly backing his car into position. Lilith and her supporters were already in place. At the sight of his vehicle, the angels broke into a cheer that did little to relieve his tension. He wished that no one had shown up.
He didn't turn to look at his opponent, remembering her race with Gabriel. He kept his eyes straight ahead. He didn't have to worry about it. Today, Lilith was all business.
This time, Asmodeus started the race. After checking that both participants were primed, he extended his right index finger and shot a column of fire high into the air. The cars passed on either side of him at the same exact instant. He turned to watch, hoping that Lilith would win. She was a pleasant addition to Destiny. It would be a shame to lose her.
Raphael stood by the side of the road, eyes intent on the match. Indeed not an eye wavered from the action. This is what they lived for.
Saint George had fallen almost a car length behind Lilith. He tried to pass her, but she expertly shifted lanes, blocking his advancement. Then, suddenly, she put on the brakes, while he was right behind her. He spun the wheel, attempting only to avoid collision, but when he looked up again, she was way ahead of him. Apparently, she had only put enough pressure on the pedal to light the brake lights. He fought to turn to car back on track, but was already quite a bit off course.
Lilith had already turned and was heading back. He slowed almost to a stop, waiting for the demon to approach. Then, as she neared, he pushed the gas pedal down hard. The tires whined and spun for just a second, before catching and propelling him recklessly forward. Lilith saw what he was about too late. She tried to brake, but momentum propelled her forward, into his path. He slammed into the rear of the chevy, turning it around. He put his car in reverse, backed up and again moved in to ram her.
The crowd was astonished. No one present could ever remember a time, when an angel had resorted to such tactics. Running someone off the road was one thing, but all out destruction another entirely. George shifted into first and again accelerated, screaming a battle cry as, once again, he relived the conflicts of years long past. Lilith watched the approaching catastrophe, totally detached, as if, when the cars collided, it would not affect her, which, in fact, it wouldn't. Her body would be painfully crushed, but her essence would, over the course of time, find its way back to hell. It might take decades for her new form to grow, but that was not a long time, when placed next to eternity. If only she didn't feel pain. She braced herself for the impact that never came.
Just before the two vehicles were about to strike, Saint George and his Ford faded from sight. A deep voice boomed down from the heavens. "George is disqualified. Lilith is the victor."
It was the first time any of them had ever seen, or indeed heard tell of such a happenstance. After a moment of stunned silence, the demon's began to scream, an eerie sound that soon rose to a horrible crescendo. Beverly Hills was now theirs.
At first, Peaches had been excited about the audition, but as the day passed, she grew less hopeful. The woman from the coffee shop had not even been there. By the end of the day, she felt like a piece of meat. Finally, dejected, she stopped into a bar on the way home. She wanted only a little privacy and a little company. She made her way through the smoke filled interior until she reached the bar. She chose a seat next to a pretty brunette, who glanced at her in passing , as she climbed up on the stool. The woman was beautiful. She found herself wondering if she were in the same class. "Whatever you've got on tap," she told the bartender, as he approached. He turned away to comply.
She only noticed the man after he'd already been seated. He was staring at her. "Tough day?"
She nodded, trying to hold back tears. There was no money. There was nothing, except perhaps returning home and admitting defeat. She abhorred that option more than any other, but what choice did she have? Before she could stop herself, she started talking. "I came here to make it as an actress, but it's not going to happen. Now I have no more money and will have to go back to Spokane and face my parents. I know them. They'll gloat incessantly over my failure."
The man nodded sympathetically. "Perhaps there are options that you haven't considered."
She looked at him puzzled. "What do you mean?"
He studied her closely and leaned forward. She could smell the beer on his breath. "How much money do you need?"
She shook her head, not understanding the reason for the question. "I need at least a hundred, just to make my rent."
He smiled. "Is that it? A hundred dollars. I'll give you that much, if you want it."
At first, she was surprised, but her wiser self prevented her from being immediately elated. "What do I have to do to get it?"
He leaned even closer. As he whispered his desires in her ear, she closed her eyes. She felt a little sick, because she knew that she'd do it, do anything, just so that she didn't have to hear her parents say I told you so. She wanted to cry, but instead just nodded. The man rose and held out his hand. After a slight hesitation, she took it. After all, it would only be this once. Just to pay the rent. She would never sink to such depths again.
It was at that moment that they passed a mirror, hanging on the wall and she caught sight of her reflection. Gone was the confident, beautiful aspiring actress. The bags had returned under her eyes and her mouth was tight. She was not beautiful, not pretty at all. Even as she stared at the reflection, she could almost see it change into a face that wore too much makeup to hide the lines of fatigue. Who was she kidding? She had no future, no home and only one commodity to sell. Or she could spend the rest of her life waiting tables.
The man was impatiently pulling at her hand and after another moment, she allowed herself to be led away. After all, a hundred dollars was a lot of money. She knew she would have to earn it. As she followed him into the parking lot, she realized that there would be no escape. At least, someone found her attractive. She allowed herself to be guided into the car. She almost cried several times that night, but always the thought of upsetting her benefactor, who then might not pay, stopped her. Peaches Johnson did everything that was required.
Since the day of Saint George's disqualification, there had been talk of little else. Even angels and demons were motivated to compare notes on the matter, but no conclusion was reached. The event did spark a number of interesting points. If there were hard and fast rules, what were they? Did the same rules apply to both sides? What happened to George, after the fact? Speculation ran rampant and, if archangel Raphael knew anything, he was certainly not sharing.
Raphael and Gabriel stood on the street, watching the activity around them. Soon, after this brief rest, they would continue working on the engine, but not yet. Raphael had much on his mind. "Hey, Gabby, how're we doing on the south?"
"As a whole? Poorly. I mean, there has been some progress, but not enough. Most towns are still owned by them. Worse yet, they try to disguise bigotry under a blanket of religious devotion, just like it was back in the days of the inquisition. How I hated that."
Raphael nodded, remembering. What better way to justify your prejudice than to call it the will of God. Come to think of it, God wasn't all that pleased either. "We have a big match coming up. We've only recently acquired the city and we can't afford to lose it."
Gabriel looked at the archangel closely. "Which one?"
"Montgomery, Alabama," replied Raphael.
Jason Spade walked proudly toward the black section of town. Montgomery had always been a city divided. During the civil war, it had been the capitol of the Confederacy. Alabama had been one of the first states to succeed from the Union. Much later, it was the sight of many civil rights battles, fought with wisdom and foresight by Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. And still, after all was said and done, Jason Spade attracted more than a few stares, as he crossed the unofficial boundary into, what the whites still called Niggersville. Needless to say, it was not easy to go through life in Alabama with the name Spade.
Though Jason looked like a white man, he never considered himself such. He was at least half Navajo, though he didn't often point that out. In these parts, it would have been a grave error in judgment. Still, he could relate to the plight of black Americans, who had thus far managed far better than his own people. The fact was, white man took what white man wanted. And there was nothing to be done about it.
He was on his way to see his friend Lyle. Both he and Lyle had attended Alabama State University. During his years there, Lyle had been his closest friend, which had been hard. There had been much abuse. Many times, Lyle had suggested ending the friendship, but Jason would have none of that. He would be friends with whomever he chose, black or otherwise, and to hell with anyone who tried to stop him.
As he walked, he'd failed to notice the group of white teenagers following, only a block behind. Had he turned, perhaps he would have aborted this visit, but he remained oblivious. It wasn't until he was standing before Lyle's door, that he noticed his unwelcome entourage. He had already knocked. He hoped to hell his friend was out.
Down the block, half a dozen angry white teenagers stood and watched him.
Lilith smiled softly, as she gyrated her pelvis, while sitting on Asmodeus' lap. The head Demon loved this. A growl rose in his throat. She stopped and rose, knowing that doing so would drive him crazy. He reached for her and the door opened. Asmodeus looked at the intruder.
"Don't you knock, Calchabrino?"
The smaller Demon swallowed, but, in spite of his nervousness, still managed to leer at Lilith. "It is done, great one."
Lilith eyed Asmodeus. "What is done?"
Asmodeus regarded at the lesser Demon. "You may go now. You have done well." The Demon smiled at the compliment, but left quickly, not wishing to further disturb the boss.
Lilith was still looking at him. She repeated her question.
"Must you know everything, Demon wench?"
She smiled at him, calculatingly. "Uh-huh," she crooned, dropping to her knees. "Everything."
Asmodeus smiled, recognizing the new game immediately. "And I say that it is not necessary."
"I see," she replied, unzipping the fly of his white slacks and reaching inside.
Asmodeus tried not to move, but as she skillfully manipulated him, he found himself unsuccessful. He began to thrust against her. She smiled, stretching her long neck until her mouth was next to his ear. Still stroking him, she whispered, "What is done?"
For a time, there was no reply, except an increase in the Demon's breathing. Finally, he spoke. "I had an imp placed in Saint Jude's gas tank."
Lilith, who had been about to whisper again, choked. "You what?"
But Asmodeus didn't answer. She watched his face, as she loved to do, whenever she brought him to orgasm. The only problem Lilith had with this game was she always won.
It was a hot sunny day in Destiny, but then again, it always was. Raphael stood back from the black '78 Ford Maverick, listening to the engine. Inside, Saint Jude tapped impatiently on the wheel. "It still doesn't sound right."
Raphael nodded, absently. It didn't sound right to him either. He'd been over the motor again and again, but could find no reason for the anomaly. "I'll look again, but..."
He didn't have to finish. Whether they found the problem or not, Montgomery's fate would be decided that night. Raphael sighed and returned to working on the engine.
It was shortly before dusk and Raphael still had yet to find the problem. At last, with sunset approaching, they had no choice. Saint Jude coasted forward onto the street. Baal's silver '55 Chevy Bel-Air was already in place. The Maverick rolled up next to it.
Baal was the largest of the demons, only barely able to cram himself into his vehicle. His brick red body was beyond muscular and his long fangs protruded more than two inches from his mouth. Baal still couldn't understand how so many mortals could confuse him with Asmodeus.
Raphael took the starting position this time. He met Saint Jude's eyes and then turned away. The one thing the angels didn't need was an uncertain driver. Not for a race this important. "Are you ready?" Jude nodded once.
"Are you ready?"
"I am always ready," Baal roared.
Raphael raised his hand, pointed his finger and the race was on.
Baal wasted no time in turning his wheel sharply to the right, sideswiping the Ford with great force. Saint Jude, distracted by possible engine problems, turned away from the assault, but off the road altogether. He almost collided with a garage door.
Baal pulled ahead, laughing so loudly, that even the chants and jeers of the spectators could not entirely drown it out. He was half the strip ahead. Saint Jude was struggling desperately to control his car. The angel seemed to be wrestling with the wheel, which suddenly seemed to have a mind of its own. Lilith and Asmodeus laughed with the rest of them, though they had more reason for mirth.
The Maverick rolled a little further, before the motor died altogether. By the time Jude had raised the hood, the race was lost. Angrily, he reached into the motor and extracted the tiny demonling. He looked over at Raphael.
"There was an imp in the system," he called out.
Raphael walked over to Asmodeus. "You cheated."
Asmodeus shrugged. "Is that so? Then why hasn't God come down to disqualify me, hmm?"
Raphael held his temper. "I don't know."
With those words the Archangel turned and, followed by the others, walked off the field. The Demons, laughing hysterically, stood and watched until the last angel was hidden from sight. Montgomery had fallen.
Jason Spade didn't stand a chance. Unfortunately, Lyle opened the door, just as the gang reached it. Both Jason and Lyle were beaten severely. Lying there, too weak to even lick his wounds, Jason Spade thought about revenge. "Those bastards. I'll track everyone one of them down and make them pay for this." He looked toward Lyle, who was watching him, but said nothing. "I'll make certain that their deaths are slow."
"Jason, listen to me. Now I'm a black man. I have more reason to hate those bastards than anyone, but I want you to think about this. What are you going to accomplish by going after them?"
Jason tried to sit up, winced in pain and laid back. "They're evil. Can't you see? They don't deserve to live."
Lyle shook his head sadly. "Same thing Hitler said about the Jews. Listen to yourself man. Is that what you want? To be like them?" He stared urgently at Jason, hoping his friend could see the point.
For a few moments longer, he lay there, blinded by hate. Jason closed his eyes, trying to envision what his new life would be like. The endless stalking. The battles that could never really be won. "It's about hate, isn't it. It's about personal decisions. No matter what they do, I'm only responsible for myself. And if I act as they do, I become them. Is that what you're trying to say?"
Lyle smiled, proudly. "That's why Jesus said to turn the other cheek. It's not the easy way, it's the right way. In my experience, there's never been a situation where the two were the same."
Jason forced himself to his feet. He stumbled to the window and pulled it open, gulping the fresh air greedily. Outside, in the distance, for just a moment, he thought he saw a figure. Then it was gone. He searched for a few seconds, until he became convinced that it was only a shadow, cast by a cloud before the moon. That's what it must have been, though for a second, it had looked like an angel. And everyone knew, there were no such things as angels. Jason made his way to his friend to help him up. He must have been hurt pretty badly to be seeing angels. He laughed at his own foolishness. At least he hadn't been foolish enough to give into hate.
Back on the streets of Destiny, Raphael and Asmodeus were busy preparing for the next day's race. The contest was of supreme importance to both sides and much rode on success. What the angels and demons had failed to realize was that none of it really mattered.
Territories could change hands. Evil or good could triumph, but in the end, man had free will and there would always be a percentage of people who would use it. Not a large percentage, but enough.
Darkness settled, lowering a veil upon that too vivid town. Tomorrow at dusk, there would be another race. There would always be another race.
After all, the angels and demons needed some way to pass the centuries.
Steve Lazarowitz lives in Brooklyn, New York with his wife, his ten year old daughter and enough animals to shake a stick at. His writings have appeared in Dragonsclaw, The Little Read Writer Hood, Titan Ezine, Exodus, Jackhammer, Twilight Times, Dream Forge and in Net Novels Athologies. His anthology A Creative Edge will be available from Net Novels by the end of the year.
E-mail: nagennif@worldnet.att.net
URL: www.sff.net/people/nagennif
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