Sympathy for the Devil - By Tim Pratt Page 0,118

said the Devil.

I reached back and shook a hand that was a tree branch with the power to grip. “Name’s Jeff,” I said.

“I am Legion,” he hissed.

Then he stuck his head in the space between us and shot a little burp of flame into the air. Christ doubled over with silent laughter. “I got a bag of Carthage Red on me, you got any papers?” the Devil asked, putting his hand on Christ’s shoulder.

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” asked the Son of God.

The Devil got the papers and started rolling one in the back seat. “Jeff, you ever try this shit?”

“I never heard of it.”

“It’s old, man, it’ll make you see God.”

“By the way,” Christ said, interrupting, “what ever happened with that guy in Detroit?”

“I took him,” said the Devil. “Mass murderer, just reeking evil. He hung himself in the jail cell. They conveniently forgot to remove his belt.”

“I thought I told you I wanted him,” said Christ.

“I thought I cared,” said the Devil. “Anyway, you get that old woman from Tampa. She’s going to make canonization. I guarantee it.”

“I guess that’s cool,” he said.

“Eat me if it isn’t,” said the Devil. They both started laughing and each patted me on the back. The Devil lit up the enormous joint he had created and the odd pink smoke began to permeate the car.

It tasted like cinnamon and fire and even with only the first toke, I was stunned. Paranoia set in instantly, and I slowed the car down to about thirty. I drove blindly while in my head I saw the autumn afternoon woods of my childhood, where it was so still and the leaves silently fell. I thought of home and it was far away.

When my mind returned to me at a red light, I realized that the radio was on. New Age music, a piano, some low moaning formed a backdrop to the conversation of my passengers.

“What do you think?” Christ had just asked.

“I think this music has to go,” said the Devil. His fingers grew like snakes from the back seat, and he kept pressing the scan button on the radio until he came to the oldies station. “Back seat memories,” he said.

Somehow it was decided that we would go to Florida and check out the lady who was going to become a saint. “Maybe she’ll pop a miracle,” said the Devil.

“No sweat,” said Christ.

“My wife’s expecting me home around nine,” I said.

The Devil laughed really loud. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “I’ll split myself in two, and half of me will go to your house and boff your wife till we get back.”

Christ leaned over and put his hand on my knee. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said to me with a smile. “I have to be in New Egypt by eight.”

“You can do things?” I asked.

“Look,” said Christ, nodding toward the windshield. “We’re there. Just make a right at this corner. It’s the third house on the left.”

I looked up and saw that we were in a suburban neighborhood with palm trees lining the side of the road. The houses were all one-story ranch styles and painted in pastel colors. When I pulled the car over in front of the house, I could hear crickets singing quickly in the night heat.

Before we got out, the Devil leaned toward the front seat and said to Christ, “I’ll make you a bet she doesn’t do a miracle while we’re here.”

“Bullshit,” said Christ.

“What do you want to bet?” asked the Devil.

“How about him,” said the savior and pointed that weird thumb at me.

“Quite the high roller,” said the Devil.

As we were walking up the driveway to the front door, the Devil lagged a little behind us. I leaned over and, in a whisper, asked Christ if he thought she would perform.

He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Have faith, man,” he said. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.”

“I heard that,” said the Devil. “I don’t like whispering.”

We walked right through the front door and into the living room where a woman was sitting in front of the television. At first, I thought she was deaf, but it soon became clear that we were completely invisible to her.

The Devil walked up behind me and handed me a sixteen-ounce Rolling Rock. “There she is in all her splendor,” he said, as he handed a beer to Christ. “Doesn’t look like much of an opportunity here unless she’s gonna get better looking.”

We stood and stared at her.