“It’s too bad you killed your patron, Azazel. I would have enjoyed torturing him to death for creating you.”
“So, even without the Druj, Mason has a backup plan he thinks will still get him into Heaven. How?”
“I don’t know. It’s the#x2019; one thing he’s kept secret from everyone, including his generals.”
It’s hard to read Hellions, but the angel and I agree that Mammon is telling the truth. Damn Lucifer for not being here. He might be able to figure out Mason’s secret.
The Kissi stole the Druj thousands of years ago and dropped it on earth just to see what would happen. They like to create amusing chaos. It’s their main nourishment. But Kissi are hit-and-run types, not known for their long-term planning. We always thought of them like a bunch of ADHD kids with superpowers. Always playing games and breaking things for the dumb joy of breaking them. But when they stole the Druj and dumped it on earth, did they have a secret of their own that no one ever considered? Maybe we’ve underestimated them this whole time.
Mammon finishes the wine and I set the bottle back on the desk.
“You’re being awfully cooperative,” I say.
“You’ve already crippled me. Torture is the next logical step. Why shouldn’t I skip all the messiness and tell you what you want to know since none of it will help you?”
While we’ve been talking, Mammon’s enslaved soul has been creeping over to the desk.
“We’ll see. The truth is, the war isn’t the main reason I’m here. I want you to take me to Eleusis.”
He raises his eyebrows slightly.
“Don’t be stupid. I don’t drive, and even if I could . . .” He holds up his one working arm. “I’m not in racing shape.”
Drive? In the Hell I remember, Lucifer’s generals have their own private barges for getting around Hell’s five big rivers. I guess a nice luxury car is about the same as a barge in L.A.
I turn my head and find the soul staring at me. He’s a medium-size man with dark hair and brown eyes. He has rough workman’s hands and his cheap shirt and thin black pants say he wasn’t all that high in whatever trade he was in.
I point to him.
“Can the gimp drive?”
Mammon brightens at that, getting back some of his old high-and-mighty look.
“And dust and sing songs, too. All the menial things humans are so good at. Isn’t that right, Mr. Kelly?”
Kelly nods.
“Give me the keys,” I tell Mammon.
He opens a drawer, takes them out, and tosses them thtosses on the desk. I hand them to Kelly.
“You’re the wheelman, Kelly. I’m riding shotgun and Dr. Strangelove here can sit in the back and navigate. Got it?”
Kelly just stares.
I look at Mammon.
“Does he speak English?”
Mammon nods.
“Quite well. He needs my permission before speaking to you.”
“Give it so we can get moving.”
“You may talk to him, Mr. Kelly, but be careful not to get too friendly. He’s a monster. Isn’t that right, Sandman Slim?”
I look at Kelly.