Hell Cop Page 11

  Destiny watched us with a serious frown and amused eyes.

  When we gave up and looked at him, he said, “This is for you only. You will tell no one, and no thing. Sneaker, I know you. Getter, how is your word?”

  “My word is damn good,” I said.

  Destiny glanced at Sneaker for confirmation that I could be trusted. Sneaker opened her mouth, but I spoke first.

  “I don't need her to backup what I say. My word is good, whether in Hell or otherwise. If that's not acceptable to you, I'll find my own way out.”

  “Getter,” Sneaker said, taking my arm.

  I shrugged it off.

  “Sneak,” I said, “I know you two have a history. That's fine. But I have a history, too, and no Hell Cop, soul, demon, or civilian Lifer has ever had cause to doubt my word. If he didn't trust me, why bring me here in the first place?”

  “Getter, please. I know he doesn't know you. He knows your reputation. Just—.”

  “Oh, I do know him, Sneaker,” Destiny said. “He's me.”

  The older Hell Cop cocked his head, as if listening to voices nobody else could hear. Then he said, “We will discuss this over some hellfire pudding. Now, pay attention.”

  He faced the blank rock, activated his Find, and pressed it into a natural looking depression near the right edge. “Rookbaku fetmac,” he said. Without a sound, a five foot section of rock six inches thick swung outward. Destiny showed us the setting on his Find and made us repeat the words several times.

  Behind the door was a smooth face similar to a Nexus entrance. He changed his Find setting, showed it to us, then held it to the blank stone.

  “After you,” he said.

  Sneaker looked at me, shrugged, and stepped through.

  I shrugged, too, and followed close behind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I don't know what I thought would be on the other side of the ersatz Nexus entrance, but more steps wasn't it.

  “Sneak,” I said, low and quick before Destiny came through. “Is this guy for real? Do you trust him?”

  She stared past me up the stairs.

  “I trust him,” she said. “I owe him everything. But he shouldn't be here. Why isn't he with his wife. He's retired, for Christ's sake.”

  I had a pretty good idea why he was bopping around Hell instead of improving his shuffleboard game. Sneaker wouldn't understand yet, she'd only been a Hell Cop for a few years, but if I was right, it could be a sad thing for her.

  Destiny led us up the steps. We rounded a corner and came out in a high ceilinged chamber about fifty-feet long by thirty wide. On either side arched doorways led to other rooms. Except for a low stone wall, the end of the room opened into the main cavern. The lava river hissed a hundred feet below. Fairy Falls was visible in the far distance to the right.

  The room showed signs of long use. Parts of the floor around a stone table and raised fireplace chiseled out of the stone, were worn smooth. A lantern hung over the table and clothes hung from steel spikes. Long horizontal grooves cut into the wall held cans and bags of food. A yellowed picture of a mountain pond hung by the table. Water trickled into a stone catch basin then flowed through a channel in the floor into the first room on the right.

  Destiny stopped in the middle of the main room and turned to us. He pointed to our left.

  “That's your room. That's my room,” he said, pointing to the other side. “The next one's the bathroom. There's a shower rigged up, help yourself. Don't forget to flush.”

  He went to the rough archway into his room.

  “Destiny,” Sneaker said. “What is this place? Who made it? How'd you find it?”

  He said, “We'll eat in a little while,” and went into his room, drawing a black curtain across the entrance.

  Carefully, we inspected our room. About ten by fifteen and rough-hewn out of solid rock like the rest, it had an irregular window that looked out on the main cavern. A large straw-stuffed pallet took up one corner. In the opposite corner were a crude wood table and two stools.

  Sneaker sprawled on the mattress, I dropped onto a stool. We were quiet for awhile, then I said what I'd been thinking.

  “I thought I knew Hell pretty well, but now I don't know. I've never even heard rumors of this place. And what's with Major Molas? He helped us back there. Did you know about him?”

  “No,” Sneaker said, staring at the ceiling.

  “What about the friendly Flyers he mentioned?”

  “No.”

  “Well, what'd he teach you, then?”

  After a long silence, she said, “How to survive.”

  “He left out a few lessons on safe places.”

  She threw her arm over her eyes.

  “He didn't want to retire,” she said. “His wife made him stop. He has a bad heart.”

  “He must've got a new heart, then. Christ, he didn't even break a sweat.”

  “He can go for days and not stop.”

  “Maybe he's gone around the bend,” I said carefully. “Hell is not exactly a retirement haven. Do you really trust him?”

  “You asked me before.”

  “I'm asking again.”

  “Do you trust him?” she asked back.

  “No. Yes. I don't know. He obviously knows how to survive down here. I guess, on your say so, and his reputation, I'll go along. But I'm keeping my skepticism dusted off.”

  She nodded under her arm, and we were quiet again.

  I got antsy after a few minutes.

  “I'm going to take a shower,” I said.

  Sneaker lifted a finger in acknowledgment. I picked up my pack and left the room.

  The bathroom was about ten feet square with a rough circular window that looked out along the cavern wall. A five gallon bucket rigged with a string-actuated shower head hung under a crack in the roof. A thin stream of water kept the bucket overflowing. I squatted over the drain hole in the corner for a few minutes then, still in my tattered jumpsuit, stood under the bucket and pulled the string.

  Sneaker came in after a few minutes. She washed her suit while it was still on, then stripped and came into my arms. She felt so good, a piece of softness in a world of rock. Without speaking, we washed each other. Still wet, and without exchanging a word, we had intense, serious sex against the wall with the window. Though we both came, there was little joy in the act. It was as if we did it because we thought we should. There's little enough softness in Hell. If something touched you, it was usually trying to kill you. You had to take your tenderness when you had the chance.

  In our room we dressed in clean jumpsuits. I was gazing out the window at the passing lava when Sneaker asked me what I was thinking about.

  “Brittany Hightower,” I said.

  “The soul you came to get?”

  “Yeah. All this sightseeing is great, but the reason I'm here is to retrieve her. I figure I'll eat, sleep a little, and then go find her and take her to the Gate.”

  Sneaker hugged my arm and rested her head on my shoulder.

  “Me too,” she said. “Little Bobby Johnston needs to go to Heaven. He died rescuing his brother. I don't know how they could screw up on a kid hero like that. Come to think of it, three of my last four retrievals were kids.”

  “Three out of five for me.”

  “That's unusual.”

  “Very,” I agreed.

  “Think it means something?”

  “Yeah, I do, but I have to focus on my kid first. If Destiny will leave, I hope he'll lead us out of here.”

  “What do you mean, ‘if he'll leave?'”

  I shrugged and said, “I'm wondering if maybe he's Hell Crazy.”

  “Hell Crazy? I've heard the term, but I don't really know what it means.”

  “I've only heard of a couple of cases myself and they were a long time ago. Some Cops spend a lot of time in Hell, interacting with demons and all. Well, sometimes they begin to think they are demons. They forget they're Lifers and don't go back.”

  “And you think
Destiny is Hell Crazy? You're crazy.”

  “Come on, look at him. He's supposed to be retired, but he's practically moved in here. He has something going on with Molas. He talks about friendly Fliers. That's nuts in my book.”

  “He must have a reason,” Sneaker defended. “I know him. He's not Hell Crazy.”

  “She's right,” Destiny said from the doorway. “I'm not Hell Crazy.” He cocked his head and shrugged. “At least not completely. Dinner's about ready.” He turned and left.

  Sneaker shot me a look then punched my shoulder. I followed her out at a discreet distance.

  * * * *

  “This stew is terrific,” I told Destiny after the first two bites. “It's got blackweed in it. What else?”

  “Spit Lizard and blackweed,” he said as he set down a bowl for himself. He went back to the rock oven and took out a square steel pan. “And one of Sneaker's favorites, Blind Fish eggs in Lavaflower sauce.”

  “Oh, Destiny, it smells wonderful,” Sneaker gushed.

  “Man, I haven't had Blind Fish eggs in years,” I said, hungrily eyeing the pan. “Did you collect them yourself?”

  “Yes, I did,” he said and held up his hands so I could see that he still had all his fingers.

  Blindfish live in scummy, black water pools all over Hell. They build their nests in shallow water. They're found by looking for a steady stream of bubbles from the methane they give off as the eggs suck in and break down the scum. The adult fish have wide mouths with piranah-like teeth. They are blind, yet have no problem identifying a hand reaching down to pluck the eggs from their woven nests.

  The eggs are a disgusting doughy, gray when fresh, but cooked in Lavaflower sauce they turn a bright sky blue. I carefully lifted one out with my spoon. I didn't want to puncture it and lose any of the sweetyolk inside. The barely sour sauce flowed over my tongue. Some of the eggs inevitably break during cooking, adding a subtle tang to the sauce that anticipates the exquisite flavor to come.

  I couldn't wait. I crushed the egg with my front teeth. My body jerked as the flavor burst onto my tongue like a hit of high-grade crack. My eyes closed so as not to be distracted. The taste filled my mouth, then slowly seeped into my head, filling it like smoke fills a bottle. When I opened my eyes, Sneaker, sitting across from me, had her eyes shut also, as she savored the near addictive taste of Blind Fish eggs in Lavaflower sauce.

  We ate in silence for awhile, all of us experiencing the delicacies in our private way. The chunks of Spit Lizard meat were large and tender and did not taste like chicken. I wiped up the last of the stew with Destiny's Hellbaked bread, made with flour imported from the real world. For dessert we had coffee and hellfire pudding with berries from 257 that tasted like chocolate.

  Destiny refilled my cup with Beelzebub decafe. He sipped from his own crystal mug, stared into its depths. “So Sneaker, how are you?”

  Sneaker also tried to see something in the bottom of her cup as she rotated it with her fingertips. But when she spoke she looked right at Destiny like a daughter about to reprimand her father.

  “I'm fine, Destiny,” she said, biting off each word. “But that's not the question, is it? The question is, What the fuck are you doing,” she swept her arm out to indicate the chambers, “setting up housekeeping in Hell, in the cavern, in these rooms? You are retired. That means you stay home with Barbara and do things with her, for once. Not gallivant around the secret cavern playing Boy Scout. You have a bad heart, Destiny. 911 does not come into this neighborhood.”

  I had to look away to get rid of the lump in my throat. I could take the cocked-head, chin forward, doe-eyed look she gave him, but that one tear glistening on her cheek got me. She loved the guy and was really worried about him. She was already too independent and too hardened by the suffering she'd witnessed to ever say so.

  “Are you finished?” he asked gently.

  “No. Yes. Just tell me what's going on.”

  She brushed the tear away, then gave me a tight lipped, squinty look as if I'd done something.

  Destiny reached out his stubby fingers for her slender ones. She pulled away, with little conviction. He gathered her hands in his.

  “Sneaker, what are you really angry about?”

  Her mouth worked, and she bit her lip to stop it.

  “Destiny,” she finally said. “You know what the other Hell Cops say when they see me? ‘Oh, it must have been great to work with him.’ ‘Man, he was the best.’ ‘Jeez, forty years and now he gets to retire. I envy him.’ The other Cops admire you. You're a hero to them. Even to Getter here, though he'd never admit it.”

  I kept a neutral expression as they searched for an admission. Sneaker was right for the most part. I did admire the guy. I mean, you had to. But as far as being a hero, I wasn't ready to admit that, although some of the stories about him certainly painted him as a heroic figure.

  She sort of humphed at me, then said, “The point is, you're their role model. You had your adventures and then you retired. It's what they want, what they look forward to. Now you're back in Hell. If you die here, instead of being a legendary hero you'll be a legendary fool.” She took his hand in both of hers and the lump returned to my throat. “I don't want that to happen. You don't deserve that, and I couldn't stand it if it did. Do you know what I mean?” She pulled back and brushed another tear. “Oh, Hell.”

  Sneaker stared into her coffee, Destiny stared at the cavern, and I just stared, sneaking an occasional glance at them.

  “Getter was partly right,” Destiny said, breaking a silence that had lasted a little too long. “I guess I am a bit Hell Crazy, though I don't think I'm a demon. During the forty-two years I was a Cop I spent twenty-eight and a half in Hell. I kept track, and so did Barbara. I made a good living, and she never wanted for anything, except a husband. It was inevitable that we'd drift apart and she'd have her own life.”

  “But you always seemed so close,” Sneaker said.

  Destiny wore a tender smile, whether for Sneaker or Barbara, I couldn't tell.

  “Oh, we didn't fall out of love. We still enjoy each other's company, just not on a full time basis.”

  “So you decided to retire in Hell for, what, six, seven months a year?” I asked.

  “Something like that. Besides, life in the real world is so boring. You can't tell me you haven't noticed.”

  I shrugged agreement.

  “Also, it's not like I bask in the lava glow all day. Hell has some interesting stuff if you look for it.”

  Somebody had to ask. “Like what?” I said.

  His eyes lit up as he stood.

  “Come, I'll show you.”

  Sneaker and I looked at each other and stood to follow. As we walked toward his chamber, Destiny put his arm around her shoulder, though he was several inches shorter.

  “Sneaker,” he said. “I know you like Barbara, as well you should. She's a wonderful woman, and she likes you, too. I said I made a good living as a Hell Cop, but not good enough to buy the house on the beach, and the house in the mountains and the condo by the university. And what about the cars and her private research observatory?”

  “I guess I thought she made good money at the University and you made some good investments. I did wonder though.”

  “As well you should have.”

  He brushed aside the heavy curtain that closed off his bedroom. Though the light was dim the fabric sparkled as if reflecting light from a huge chandelier. His room was slightly bigger than ours with the same front window. The side window, though, was a good six foot square with a rock platform jutting out three or four feet. Hanging tapestries covered much of the wall space. At first, the patterns looked vaguely Oriental or Indian, but as I looked closer the patterns became more alien and resolved into scenes from Hell. Devils and demons tormented souls that were not quite human, as if woven by Bosch or Signorelli on LSD. The tapestries were old, faded and frighteningly different from the Hell I was used to.

  Behind me, I heard Sneaker say, “
Destiny, is that what I think it is?”

  “Yesss,” he said, drawing out the word in a whisper as if experiencing an intense pleasure.

  I turned and stared. He had lifted the covering from his bed, revealing an orderly, two foot high by six foot long stack of metal ingots, glowing with the unmistakable sheen of gold. The old man gently slid an ingot off the top. I could see the heft of it as his arms dipped with the weight. He held it to his chest, then offered it to Sneaker.

  “Gold? Where'd it come from? Why is it here? There must be millions of dollars worth here.” She handed the twelve-inch long brick to me. “Getter, look at this, it's all gold.”

  Without thinking, I began calculating—about ten pounds, a hundred and sixty ounces. The price of gold was about two hundred and eighty dollars an ounce—the metal that lay hot in my hands was worth about forty-five thousand dollars. Imprinted into the ingot was a design. A circle with a curved line ending in a triangle inside, like a devil's tail. There was a lightning bolt opposite the tail with five squiggles in between. Destiny gently caressed the pile. I turned the design to him.

  “The Lost Devil Mine?” I asked.

  Destiny nodded, his face wearing a self-satisfied smile.

  “It's here, in the cavern?”

  He nodded again.

  I handed the gold bar to Sneaker and inspected the room. Once I knew to look, it was obvious. I went to the back of the room and drew a tapestry aside. A faint smell came from the black cave entrance, brimstone mixed with electricity, ozone, as well as other unfamiliar scents.

  “Ozone?” I said.

  “The Lost Devil's Mine?” Sneaker asked. “That's just a legend, isn't it?”

  “All legends have a basis in fact. You know that,” Destiny said, sitting on his pile of gold. “Actually, ‘Mine’ is a bit of a misnomer. Factory is more correct.”

  “Factory? Destiny, what are you talking about?”

  Destiny looked at me with a quizzical smile that made me feel dumb. All novice Hell Cops had heard of the Lost Devil's Mine. Satan's private mine where he got the gold to build the Central Palace when he first arrived in Hell. It was an ancient joke that when a Hell Cop retired he'd found the Lost Devil's mine. Apparently, Destiny really had.