VI: Johnny Descending
It was 6:45 in the morning in the kitchen of the main house at Brooklyn Heights Ranch. Sweaty Mulligan had not yet been to bed. He sat at the kitchen table, typing furiously on the keyboard of some kind of homemade computer. Parts of it were made of wood, and it smelled like it was overheating. Beside him, Chichay Milano sat with a very dangerous looking weapon laid out on the table. She carefully cleaned and oiled each piece. Chichay wore an old mechanics jumpsuit. It normally drove Sweaty to distraction when she did, but he had taken a handful of expired ADD meds that he’d swiped from a kid at the restaurant last week and was now undistractable. Neither spoke. They both enjoyed this easy and companionable silence that so often accompanies true love.
A few moments later, Rex Ponticello appeared. He wore a torn evening gown and had two days worth of beard growth on his face. His hair had bald patches at the back. Both eyes were closed as he groped his way into the kitchen, hunched over like a very old man. He managed to make it to the coffee pot and poured hot coffee into the first thing he grabbed when reaching into the cabinet: a chipped measuring cup. He hobbled to the table to sit down, and crashed suddenly to the floor, as all of the chairs on that side of the table were missing.
“Mother of rock salt enemas!” he screamed, rolling over onto his stomach. Coffee poured off the table onto him. “Who moved the chairs?!”
“My guess is that they’ve been relocated to Tent Town,” Chichay said. She sighed and got up to help Rex. “Along with half the living room and Dixie’s whole bedroom.” Rex made it to his feet and Chichay pushed him toward her chair, then refilled Rex’s measuring cup. She placed it on the table in front of him, then dragged another chair in from the dining room.
“Thanks, Chich,” Rex said. He took a sip and leaned back in his chair. He cracked his neck. “What the fuck are they doing out there, anyway?” Chichay filled her own mug with coffee, then crossed to the kitchen window and looked out over the backyard of the ranch house. Out past the pool, a cluster of six or seven haphazardly constructed tents made of different materials were erected on the lawn. Tarps of various sizes were strung between them and dozens of orange extension cords ran from the house into the tents. Several garden hoses ran between the tents and the pool.
“Rex, I haven’t known Dixie and Johnny nearly as long as you have, and I know better than to ask that question.” She returned to her seat at the kitchen table. “The real question is who’s gonna bring all that shit back into the house when they get bored and go off on a bender?”
“I’unno, one of the Troubadours?” Rex asked. Sweaty looked up and shook his head.
“I sent them to the upper pastures with the cattle. I don’t know shit about running a ranch, but those guys do, and I know that they somehow get us money from those cows as long as we just keep ‘em focused on the cows and not treasure hunting. It’s like whenever those assholes spend too much time in that cabin, they get into the meth and start digging up the yard.” Sweaty turned off the computer and stretched. “And the yard looks bad enough on account of the CHUDs.” Chichay went back to cleaning and reassembling her weapon.
“They’ll probably just set Tent Town on fire at some point anyway. Then all we have to do is wait for the grass to grow back.”
7:00 am
Inside Tent Town, the shifty and eccentric Johnny Go awoke with a start as he did most mornings. He rolled off of the chair he had been sleeping in, landing on his knees on the floor.
“אני מרסק את נשמתך” he screamed, before sitting back and looking around. Across the tent, his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks murmured and rolled over. Johnny stood and made his way down a tent corridor to another tent that was functioning as a kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker, which was sitting on top of a mini fridge. He used a hose to fill the coffee pot, then set about throwing a can of frozen concentrate orange juice into a blender, along with a bottle of rum and a pack of gummy bears. He was about to blend (with the lid off, naturally) when Dixie stumbled into the kitchen tent.
“Morning, horseface,” she said, gruffly. “Coffee ready?”
“It’s brewing now,” Johnny replied. “And I was just about to blend up an encerrada dorada, you wanna get in on this?” Dixie walked over to the blender and Johnny hit the button, sending the contents spraying all over the tent. They stood there, trying to catch the drops in their mouths. After a few minutes they sat down in what looked like the other chairs from the kitchen of the ranch house and passed the pitcher back and forth in silence.
“What happened last night?” Dixie asked, finally. “The last thing I remember is the Mayor licking barbecue sauce off of some kid’s ferret.”
“Do you remember the part with the barnacles?” Johnny asked.
“Uh uh.”
“Prolly for the best. Plus, look at this,” Johnny turned to show Dixie his shoulder where the sleeve was torn off of his shirt. He had a substantial bite mark. “That asshole better not have given me werewolf.” Dixie nodded, then noticed writing and drawings all over her arm.
“I wonder what all this means?” she said, turning her arm.
“Mighta been somethin’ we’re sposed to do,” Johnny said, draining the last of the blender pitcher.
“Eh, if there was somethin’ we were sposed to do, I’m sure we’d remember. I’m gonna go take a bath. Will you bring me some coffee when it’s ready?” Dixie stood and walked down the tent corridor, shedding clothing as she went. By the time she reached the entrance to Tent Town, she was naked, and walked the remaining few feet before diving head first into the pool.
8:30 am
Dixie sat in a lounge chair by the pool, wrapped in what was obviously a shower curtain. Johnny was fully clothed, but floating in the pool on a pink raft. They both had coffee cups in their hands, and the coffee pot sat on a small table near the pool alongside a bottle of whiskey.
Sweaty Mulligan wandered out of the house and up to the pool. He sat down in a chair and faced the duo.
“Hey guys,” he said.
“What’s up, Sweaty?” Dixie asked. “Coffee?” Sweaty looked at the coffee pot.
“Uh, no thanks… I already had some and, uh, you guys made yours with water from the pool...”
“Cool,” Johnny said, nodding.
“So, big night last night?” Sweaty asked. Dixie nodded.
“You should have come out. The Archduke is really something once you give him a container of bees. And the Mayor! Don’t even get me started on the Mayor.” Dixie paused and looked at Sweaty. “Where were you guys, anyway?”
“Chichay was at the restaurant and I was working on my algorithm,” Sweaty replied.
“Well perv, if that’s what you’re into,” Johnny said from the pool. “You coming in for a dip? The water’s fine!”
“Yeah, about that,” Sweaty said. “Do you guys think you could stop bathing in the pool? It’s full of soap and shit now.” Dixie and Johnny looked at the pool water as if noticing it for the first time. It was a little on the bubbly side.
“Yeah, so it is,” Johnny said.
“How bout that?” Dixie mused.
“You’re like ten feet from the house. Why don’t you just come in and use the shower?” Sweaty asked.
“Uh, because it’s summer?”
“Yeah, duh.”
“But it’s September,” Sweaty reasoned.
“Ok fine!” Dixie said, exasperated. “No more soap. God.”
1:45 pm
That afternoon, Dixie and Johnny were still lounging by the pool. Dixie had a gigantic cocktail glass filled with something glowing green next to her on a little side table, and was reading a book from the Arnold Frankenheimer series called “Undercover Cartelligence”. Johnny wore a pair of cut off dress pants and the bib from a lobster restaurant. He was sitting on a towel next to the pool, shaving a badger that he held in his lap.
“Ol’ Frankie is really up the creek,” Dixie mused, more to herself.
“Which one is that?” Johnny asked.
“Ah, he finds out about this cartel running drugs through a used car dealership. They hide ‘em in the cars and use them to transport it around town. Frankie just got caught and they’re about to cut his nuts off.”
“Not a bad idea,” Johnny said.
“Cutting his nuts off?”
“No, running drugs in used cars. I’m gonna keep that in mind in case I ever have to get back into the life.” Johnny put his razor down and picked up a bottle of Boone’s Farm Fuzzy Navel and chugged half.
“That’d've worked for a funeral home, too,” Dixie said.
3:02 pm
Dixie and Johnny were both passed out by the pool. The shaved badger wandered around at their feet, sniffing an open bag of chips. Rex Ponticello left the house dressed in a bathrobe. He crossed the yard to the pool and surveyed the two drunken adventurers. Shaking his head, he dropped the robe and, wearing only a Speedo thong, took a running start and jumped into the pool.
“CANNONBALL!” Rex screamed. A wave of water washed over Dixie and Johnny. Dixie rolled off the lounge chair and onto the ground. Johnny sat upright and looked at the pool.
“Hey greasebag!” He shouted as he picked up the badger and tossed it into the pool. Rex ducked under the water and the badger missed him. It surfaced and frantically thrashed its way to the side of the pool, hauled itself out, and scampered off in the fields beyond. Rex surfaced a moment later and floated along on his back.
“Nice try, corn humper.”
Just then, Sweaty and Chichay left the house and crossed the yard to the pool. They surveyed the scene.
“Hey guys,” Chichay said. “We’re going to head over to the restaurant to get some stuff done before the dinner rush.” The group looked at her. Johnny took a long pull from a bottle. Dixie rearranged herself back on her chair.
"The what?" Johnny asked. Chichay sighed.
"Never mind. Johnny, there's a telegram for you on the kitchen table." Chichay and Sweaty turned and walked toward their car.
“Can you bring us some waffles?" Dixie called after them.
3:50 pm
Rex slept soundly on the lounge chair by the pool. He cuddled a bottle of rum under one arm. Dixie and Johnny were nowhere to be seen. From across the yard, the sound of an engine could be heard from one of the barns on the property.
A tractor emerged from the barn with Dixie steering and Johnny sitting behind her. They both had drinks in to-go cups that they were drinking through twisty straws. They clipped one of the barn doors while driving out, tearing it from its hinges, but kept on driving.
At the end of the driveway, they swerved onto the road and were gone. Rex rolled over, but didn’t wake up.
7:15 pm
The tractor roared up the driveway. It wasn’t fast, it was just loud, and sounded significantly worse than it did when Dixie and Johnny left the ranch a few hours earlier. They had two red children’s wagons tied behind it, laden with cases of beer and liquor, boxes of meat, and charcoal. Various pieces of debris were dragging along behind it as well, including a sign from a car dealership, and the kind of banner that a high school marching band carries in a parade.
As they passed the house, they both hopped off of the tractor, holding a bucket of chicken each, and walked toward the pool. Rex was still asleep. The tractor slowed down, but kept rolling forward until it hit a tree. Off balance, it tipped over onto its side with a loud crash. The engine died, and the contents of the wagons spilled out across the lawn.
“Wake up, tunaload!” Dixie yelled at Rex. She took a drumstick from her fried chicken container and jammed it into Rex’s mouth. He awoke with a start, at first looking turned on, then terrified. He took the drumstick out of his mouth.
“Where were you guys? What time is it?”
“Shut up and eat your chicken. The Archduke’ll be here in an hour and we need to get the grill fired up. We got moose!”
“But I’m supposed to go into town and meet… someone… tonight,” Rex said.
“Not if you want to live, motherfucker,” Dixie replied.
“But-”
“Oh come on, Rex. Invite ‘em over! We’re having a cotillion!”
12:01 am
Gathered inside one of the tents was a large group of people consisting of local jerks, foreign dignitaries, assorted spies, petty criminals, and Dixie, Johnny, and Rex. A bar, which looked suspiciously like the bar from the parlor of the ranch house, was set up in one corner. Everyone was gathered around a long track that had been laid on the floor of the tent, which looked like a combination of a drag racing strip and a bowling alley, and that was exactly how it was being used. A man dressed in a sharkskin suit circulated the crowd and took bets, while a woman dressed only in petticoats calculated odds on a chalkboard set up next to the bar.
Some guests held wads of cash and betting slips, drinks and plates of meat, while others took turns choosing an armadillo from a box on the ground. Two at a time, they stepped to the top of the track and as the crowd screamed a countdown, they bowled their armadillos toward the finish line. The armadillos sometimes stayed rolled in little balls, sometimes they unrolled and tried to escape, other times they played dead.
Johnny Go was on a hot streak and bet a man in a green accountant’s visor double or nothing on the next race. Dixie seduced the wallet away from the German Vice-Consul and bet all the cash in it on the ‘dillo she called “Lil Flo”, and when she lost, cast the creature out into the night. Rex Ponticello was enjoying himself, but kept glancing nervously toward the door. Eventually he blacked out.
When Chichay Milano and Sweaty Mulligan arrived home after a long night of running a successful deep fry restaurant, they could hear the commotion on the lawn even before they turned up the long drive. They looked at one another warily, but then decided to check it out. They entered the tent just in time for the last race. While Chichay would never gamble, Sweaty was persuaded to put a Green Giant down on Johnny’s armadillo. He was not disappointed.
4:25 am
The party had died down, and Dixie, Johnny, Sweaty, Chichay, and Rex sat by the pool. Everyone was drinking beer except Chichay. Everyone was drunk except Chichay. A few guests remained inside Tent Town, asleep or desperately trying to find their clothing. The German Vice-Consul walked slowly from the tent to the pool.
“Frauline…” he began, pathetically.
“Oh fuck off, Gunter,” Dixie said, icily. “You knew what this was.” He hung his head in shame and shuffled off to a waiting diplomatic limousine.
“Damn, Dixie,” Chichay said quietly. “Brutal!” Dixie smiled.
“Dix doesn’t fuck around,” Johnny said.
“Actually, fucking around is exactly what I do. I just paved the way in case we ever need to clean house in Germany,” Dixie said. She and Johnny raised their beer bottles.
“Clean house?” Chichay asked.
“Look, you might be willing to kill for a fee, Chichay, but Johnny and I live by a higher moral code.”
“And that code is…?” Chichay asked, suspiciously.
“We can’t kill anyone we aren’t intimately acquainted with,” Johnny said. There was silence from the group for a few moments.
“Well, I’m going to turn in,” Sweaty said, standing. He offered Chichay his hand and she stood.
“Oh come on, you guys! The night is still young!” Rex called.
“It’s almost 5 am,” Chichay said, as she and Sweaty started toward the house, hand in hand.
“You’re ruining summer!” Dixie yelled.
“It’s September!” Sweaty said as they reached the door to the house and went inside. Dixie, Johnny, and Rex looked at one another and each cracked another beer.
11:00 am
Dixie, Johnny, and Rex were all asleep on Dixie’s giant canopy bed inside the tent when Chichay entered.
“Assholes, wake up!” she yelled. Rex twitched, but otherwise no one moved. Chichay grabbed a nearby oscillating fan that was missing its cover and began to poke them with it.
“Rex, you have a lady on the phone for you,” she said. The exposed blades of the fan touched Rex’s shoulder and made a loud sound, which jolted him awake.
“Whaaaaaa!” he screamed. This woke Johnny, who jumped up on the bed and performed a series of karate-style kicks before realizing where he was. He sat down.
“Good morning, Agent Milano.” He said, smiling. Dixie still didn’t move.
“Ok now that we’re mostly all with it,” Chichay said. “Rex, get up to the house, your lady friend is on the phone waiting for you. Johnny, get Dixie up and get to the house, too. We have some business stuff we want to discuss.” Chichay turned and made her way out of the tent. As she passed one of the other tents, she glanced in and stopped.
“So that’s where my Pazyryk carpet went,” she said. Turning back to the bedroom tent, she yelled, “You dicks! That’s a really expensive rug that I got in exchange for doing a job for the czar. It shouldn’t be out here in your summer vacation fort. Bring that back to the house!” She stormed out.
Johnny turned to Dixie and rolled her off the bed onto the floor.
***
Inside the house, Dixie and Johnny sprawled out on the couches in the living room, each sipping directly from a container of instant coffee. Dixie wore her cowgirl shirt and shorts again, and Johnny wore his rumpled dress pants with a cowboy shirt under a tan blazer which was covered in badger hair. Rex sat in a chair in the corner, phone pressed to his ear. He twirled the cord around his index finger as he whispered into the receiver. Chichay and Sweaty took seats across from them and prepared their pitch.
“Ok,” Sweaty said, looking at both of them. “As you know, Certain Doom has been a huge success.” Chichay nodded, encouragingly. Johnny took a loud slurp from his drink.
“Virtually every demographic has been eating there, and we became profitable before our second quarter. When thinking about expans-” Johnny slurped his drink again. “What are you guys drinking?” Sweaty asked.
“An Up and Atom,” Dixie replied.
“It’s moonshine poured into a container of instant coffee,” Johnny said. “But it’s really fucking terrible if you don’t aerate it through your lips as you sip, like this.” He slurped again. So did Dixie. Rex gave them the side eye and stretched the phone cord into the other room.
“Uh, ok,” Chichay said. “So maybe we can just discuss this plan real quick and you can finish your drinks afterward?” Dixie shrugged, screwed the lid back on her container, and tossed it over her shoulder. Johnny was about to slurp again when Chichay stood up and grabbed the container from him.
“I’ll just hold it for you so you can focus,” she said. “Sweaty, go ahead and tell them the plan.”
“Well,” Sweaty said, beginning again. “As we said, we’re really successful with every demographic in the state of Texas except one.”
“CHUDs?” Johnny asked.
“No-”
“People who wear vertical and horizontal stripes at the same time?” Dixie asked.
“No, it’s-”
“Oh! I know!” Johnny yelled.
“NO!” Sweaty yelled. “Will you just let me fini-” And with that, Sweaty disappeared. All three looked at the spot where he’d been.
“Oops,” Dixie said.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Chichay. “It’s been happening a lot lately. He took those ADD meds so he could work on his algorithm, and they keep him really focused, but then it’s even harder to control when they wear off. Plus you guys were kinda being dicks and pissed him off. Anyway, he should pop back in a few-” There was a loud crash in the kitchen, and Sweaty Mulligan appeared again in the doorway of the living room. His hair was longer and his glasses were repaired with tape.
“Oh there he is,” Chichay said. “Everything ok?”
“The Srivijaya period was NOT a pleasant time to be alive. Where was I?”
“You were just about to tell Dixie and Johnny your idea to expand the restaurant.”
“Oh right, so as I was saying, every demographic in the state loves us except one, which is the vegetarians.” He paused. Dixie shuddered.
“Well, fuck ‘em,” Johnny said. “Who needs a buncha grazers anyway?”
“The way I see it, we do. Vegetarians don’t want to eat healthy anymore than anyone else does, they just have a thing about killing animals.”
“Wusses,” Dixie said under her breath.
“So what if we started a new venture that provided the same experience of a completely deep fried meal, but didn’t fry any meat? We could fry up all kinds of vegetables, pasta, and bread. Just last week we tested a cheese-and-butter filled baked potato that we beer battered and deep fried, and I tell ya guys, I didn’t even miss the steak.”
“And you think jerks’ll pay to eat this?” Johnny asked.
“Absolutely,” Chichay replied. “We’ve done some market testing and we really think we’ll be successful.”
“So what do you think? As partners, we need your agreement to use the company funds for any new business.”
“What’s the name gonna be?” Dixie asked.
“We were thinking ‘Certain Shroom’,” Sweaty said, proudly. He paused and looked at Dixie and Johnny.
“Do me and Dix have to do anything?”
“Just sign some papers,” Chichay said.
“Then I love it!” Johnny yelled. He grabbed his Up and Atom and chugged. Dixie stood up.
“Just sign my name for me, k? I’ll be at the pool.”
***
Johnny finished signing his and Dixie’s names on some legal papers. He was about to get up and head to the pool when Chichay handed him his telegram.
“Here, this has been sitting here for the past two days,” she said. He took the folded telegram and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He then walked out the back door, crossed the yard, and cannonballed directly into the pool.
Three Weeks Later…
Tent Town had seen better days. Piles of autumn leaves gathered in the corners and the connecting tarps had started to sag. The residents of the ranch house had long since reclaimed most of the furniture and the extension cords.
The pool, too, was nearing the end of its summer majesty. There was a dead squirrel in Johnny’s “Water Based Squirrel Trap”, which had been bobbing in the murky water since Dixie and Johnny had hightailed it to who knows where. Chichay had scheduled some maintenance guys to come and close the pool for the winter, and they were due to arrive later in the week.
All was quiet at Brooklyn Heights Ranch. The residents of the house had been sleeping better, and had been much more productive over the past couple of weeks, what with their chaotic benefactors off on an adventure. The restaurant was buzzing with preparations for the new sister restaurant, which would open by the end of the year. Sweaty’s algorithm was nearing completion, and would hopefully enable them to manipulate the banking systems of several island nations. Chichay had supplemented their income with a few side jobs, and was enjoying the financial freedom to accept only the jobs she wanted. Even Rex seemed… satisfied.
And so it was one Sunday morning that the residents of the ranch house, along with the Troubadour brothers (with nineteen days sobriety each) were gathered around their kitchen table feasting on breakfast nachos when they became aware of a sound that reminded them of a lawn mower on steroids. The sound grew louder and louder until the group was drawn out onto the lawn to investigate. There, they stood and looked up in disbelief as a 1920s Jenny biplane came into view over the trees at the far end of the property.
The plane flew low and caught some of the branches, then quickly dipped a few times as it circled the lawn. Two people could be seen in the plane, wearing old timey aviator helmets and scarves. The pilot brought it lower and lower, unsteadily, and as he did so, several beer bottles spilled from the open cockpit.
Finally, the Jenny was so low she was skimming the grass on the lawn. The pilot was about to cut the propellers and set her down when a small, disgusting CHUD head popped up. The pilot gunned the plane forward and the front wheel of the plane hit the CHUD directly. Its head exploded, sending blood and brain matter spraying. The plane bounced a few times off the ground as the pilot attempted to maintain control and slow it down enough to stop, but by the time he cut the engine, the plane had crashed through the hedge behind the pool, run over the lounge chairs, and came to a splashing stop in the water.
As the waves in the pool settled, Dixie and Johnny popped up from their seats in the plane and began to climb out. As Dixie got up, a number of small cactus plants fell out and landed with a splash in the pool. Johnny began balancing his way across the wing as the little plane bobbed in the water. He had no pants on, but was wearing his cowboy shirt and sport coat. He had an ancient Greek vase tucked under his arm. The two stepped from the wing onto the pool patio.
“Hey nosejockeys! Long time!” Johnny said, looking at the drenched and astonished group assembled on the patio.
“Anything to eat around here? I’m starving,” Dixie said, walking past the group toward the house. Johnny started to follow her, then paused and handed the vase to Sweaty.
“Find a place of honor for that in the parlor, will ya? It’s, uh, got the ghost of Ned Kelly in there so we’re gonna need to hang onto it until the time is right.” With that, he crossed the lawn, following Dixie into the house.
“Fuck yeah nachos!”
***
Later, Dixie and Johnny were lounging by the pool admiring their trick flying. Chichay and the Troubadour brothers were trying to hook the plane up to a tractor so that they could pull it out.
“Well, what should we do today?” Dixie asked Johnny.
“Chichay says we have to get rid of Tent Town,” Johnny replied. “Je me souviens, Tent Town.” They were quiet for a while, watching Chichay and the Troubadours struggle with the plane.
“Oh, I know!” Johnny said, sitting up. “We could eat that packet of powder we got in Manitoba!” He patted his thighs, only to realize he wasn’t wearing pants. He then checked his jacket pocket.
“Huh,” he said, pulling out the folded telegram from a month earlier. “What’s this doing in there?”
“I’unno,” Dixie replied. “Looks like a telegram.” Johnny opened it and gasped. He looked at Dixie, who stared at him, then read the telegram and gasped again. Dixie held out her hand and Johnny gave her the telegram. She also gasped.
Itz-
In hell.
Justice for all.-Shasta
***
“Sweaty, we need the keys to your van,” Dixie said as she burst into the ranch house. Sweaty looked up from his homemade computer and blinked.
“Huh? What for?” He asked.
“We gotta go to Nebraska for an extraction,” Dixie said. She walked to the bar in the parlor and started loading up a canvas tote bag with bottles of liquor.
“Extraction? Of who? What’s going on?” Sweaty turned off the computer.
“No time to explain, just give me the keys. We should be back in a week, three weeks tops.” Just then Johnny burst in the door, followed closely by Chichay.
“Look, I’m more than happy to give you a landmine or some C4, but I need to know why. Maybe I can help!” Chichay looked at Sweaty. “What’s going on in here? Dixie, what are you guys up to?”
“How many times do I have to tell you people that we don’t have time to explain!” Johnny yelled. “We need to get to Nebraska! Now give us the bombs and the keys and you can go back to your domestic bliss!” At this point, Dixie had all the booze. She and Johnny looked at one another and silently agreed to make a break for the door and just hotwire Sweaty’s van. Chichay and Sweaty blocked their path.
“Come on, out with it,” Chichay said, grabbing a lamp and waving it at them.
“Fine!” Johnny yelled. “Dix, give me one of those whiskey bottles.” She passed him the bottle and he cracked it open. He took a long pull while reaching into his jacket pocket with his free hand. He passed the telegram to Chichay. She read it, then passed it to Sweaty, who looked confused.
“So what is that supposed to mean?” She asked.
“Are you guys kidding me?” Dixie asked in disbelief. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Uh…” said Sweaty.
“No…?” said Chichay.
“Well, since we’re here wasting time while my long lost love is in peril, let me explain it to you. Shasta sold her body to the Devil to get out of her marriage to a Filipino warlord, and she’s being held in the devil’s chambers at the lowest level of hell. She needs me to go there and negotiate her freedom!” As he finished speaking, Johnny leaned over to Sweaty and somehow managed to get his keys from his pocket.
“Got ‘em. Let’s roll, Dix!” He turned to leave, but Chichay grabbed his arm.
“Wait a minute, Johnny,” she pleaded. “Let us help! You can’t do this on your own. You don’t know where you’re going, you probably don’t have a plan once you get there. You’re taking an awful lot of booze.”
“Dix and I always have a plan.”
“Hell is like a muskrat hole,” Dixie explained. “There are many entrances. But the main one is in Hellbeach, Nebraska. We just need to get there and force our way in.”
“How do you even know this? Hell? How do you know that’s where you get in?” Chichay asked.
“No, she’s right,” Sweaty added. “Hellbeach is the easiest entrance to Hell. It’s heavily fortified by a layer of rock, but the entrance is actually in the side of a cliff face. Unlike other spots, you don’t have to dig.” Chichay looked at Sweaty and raised her eyebrows.
“Ok, so let’s say you get in,” Chichay reasoned. “Then what?”
“We just take the elevator down to the bottom,” Dixie said simply.
“Elevator?”
“Chich,” Sweaty said, gently. “At this point it might be best to just accept that they know exactly where Hell is and how they’re going to get in. They’re… well versed in other worlds.” Dixie and Johnny looked smug.
“Fine, so you get into Hell. You even find the Devil. Then what? What’s your plan? Presumably this is dangerous or Shasta wouldn’t have sent you that telegram, so you can’t just walk in there and demand that the Devil hand her over.”
“Of course not,” Johnny said. “This is the Devil Himself we’re talking about. You gotta trick ‘im.”
One Hour Later…
Sweaty’s panel van and Chichay’s flashy convertible were in the driveway, mostly loaded up with whatever implements the team thought might be useful. Chichay and Sweaty did one final check of the back of the van.
“My connection for C4 is a former riot grrrl, so why don’t I take Dixie with me to pick that up? We can meet you and Johnny at the motel after you guys hit the costume store and the thrift shop.”
“Yeah, that works,” Sweaty replied, jumping out of the back of the van and taking Chichay’s hand as she did the same. “Johnny! You’re riding with me!”
Chichay walked with Sweaty to the front of the van. He kissed her on the forehead, then climbed in and closed the door. Johnny appeared at the passenger side holding his sharpened moose antlers and the pan of leftover nachos and climbed into the van. Sweaty started the engine and leaned out the window.
“See you tonight.”
“Be safe, ok? Remember to concentrate.” Chichay said. Sweaty nodded and pulled out of the driveway. Chichay turned to see Dixie on the porch of the ranch house, sharpening her pearl handled machete.
“You ready?” Chichay asked. Dixie nodded and walked over to the car. She plunged the machete into the upholstery of the back seat, then climbed into the front. Chichay looked at her in disbelief.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she said to herself. But she climbed into the driver’s seat and the engine roared to life. A moment later they were gone, and all was quiet at the ranch house.
***
Sweaty and Johnny rattled down the backroads of Oklahoma in Sweaty’s panel van, the plate of nachos on the dashboard. Johnny nervously toyed with a clump of nacho, bean, and cold cheese that he held in his hand while looking absently out the window. Sweaty had never seen his friend like this, and wasn’t a great help in these situations anyway, so he began to talk about whatever came to mind.
“So you know why they call it Hellbeach?” he asked. Johnny kept looking out the window, but replied.
“Because it’s where the main entrance to Hell is?”
“You’d think that, but it’s just a coincidence,” Sweaty answered with something almost like pride. “The town used to be called Normandy, you know, like the place in France and D-Day, and all that. But over the years, as the Governor cut more and more money from the education budget, everyone got dumber and pretty soon they were referring to the landing at Normandy on D-Day as landing on the Hell Beach, and eventually they just started calling the town that, too.”
“So wait, is the town still actually called Normandy and Hellbeach is just a nickname?” Johnny asked, finally turning to look at Sweaty.
“No, they actually put it on the ballot about ten years ago and they’ve officially changed the name.”
“God what a bunch of assholes,” Johnny said softly. They rode in silence for a while before Johnny finally spoke again.
“Hey man, thanks for coming along. I’m sure me and Dix would’ve been fine, but it’s prolly good to have backup.”
***
Dixie and Chichay set a blistering speed as they cruised down the highway. The vast state of Oklahoma spilled out on all sides. The trunk of the car was loaded up with explosives that they’d picked up from Chichay’s contact outside of Wynnewood. The encounter had gone off without incident, despite Dixie insisting on carrying her machete up to the front door.
They had been driving in silence, each lost in her own thoughts, when Chichay suddenly smiled, then laughed out loud. Dixie looked over at her.
“I was just thinking about this time Val and I did a job together in Albania. It was a smash and grab, you know, where you rob or jump someone to steal something. The regular cops always think it’s a random crime, but the people in close know exactly what the deal is. By the time they shake off the cops, you’re long gone.
“Anyway, it was Val’s gig. She was an absolute ace at the hot prowl, but this guy was paranoid and basically slept with the docs she was hired to steal in the bed with him. The only way to get them away was to demand them at gunpoint. She needed a second for that operation and called me. We set up a roadblock on a bridge one day. Forced him to hand over the docs. Then, as we were about to make our getaway, Val takes this deactivated grenade and tosses it in the limo.” Chichay laughed at the memory. “My only regret is that we couldn’t stick around to see them panic.”
“Why didn’t you just throw a live grenade in there?” Dixie asked. “Always works for me.”
“Well, because the job wasn’t to kill the guy. Just to get the docs. And besides, it’s important for people like that to live long enough to tell their friends.” Dixie shrugged.
“I did a couple of jobs with Val after that, and they were honestly the best times I’ve ever had in a work-related situation.”
“So what happened?” Dixie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did Val stop doing jobs?”
“Oh, well she was always splitting her time between jobs and her band. Then she met this woman and fell for her really hard. Basically she just stopped being interested in the work.”
“She quit because of a girl?”
“She didn’t really quit, but she’d already made all the money she needed so she just decided to start taking fewer risks and focus on things that really mattered to her. At first I was kinda upset about it. I guess I felt hurt, you know. I still saw her, but she was really more like a supplier for me by then, so we didn’t get to hang out and stuff like we used to.” They were quiet for a few minutes.
“I think I felt hurt because I just didn’t understand how another person could make you want to change your priorities, you know? I never really had that in my life. The one person who mattered to me was my dad, and he was gone from my life before I had a chance to really understand the importance of those kinds of connections. In a way, I started doing this work as a way to feel connected to him, but it was also because I didn’t have anything else. I just always put work first.
“Honestly, I didn’t understand Val’s decision until I met Sweaty. And now I absolutely, totally, completely get it.” She smiled. Dixie looked confused.
“What the fuck, did Sweaty tell you to quit being an assassin?”
“No! He would never do that! But I fell in love with Sweaty and now the work doesn’t seem that important anymore.”
“Chichay, work is never important.”
“I know your philosophy on work, but what I’m talking about doesn’t have to be work. It’s really just that all of a sudden there’s a person that you love so much you think about them first, before you think of yourself. And since our jobs are dangerous, I totally get why Val didn’t want to take that much of a risk anymore. I think about it every time I go to do a job.”
“Huh?”
“What if something happened to me? My time with Sweaty would be cut short. And for what? Money? Killing crappy people?”
“What else is there?” Dixie asked. Chichay sighed.
“Dix, have you ever actually been in love?”
“Nah.”
“Seriously?”
“No, why would I do that?”
“Well, because it’s amazing. Because sharing a part of yourself with another person is one of the best feelings I’ve ever experienced. It’s like you’re the only two people in the world, and you have nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of, and all you do is just bring each other joy. It’s fucking magical.”
“Hmm…” Dixie said, quietly. She thought very hard about the feeling Chichay had just described, trying to determine if she’d ever felt anything similar.
---
Dixie imagined herself standing in a sunny field of tall wildflowers, a soft breeze ruffling her hair. Up ahead, a herd of black and white cows grazed peacefully. From her flowered party dress, Dixie imagined herself removing a gangster-style Tommy gun. She approached the cattle and began spraying the herd with bullets. As she trained the gun back and forth, watching blood spray and cows fall to the ground, a smile spread across her face. She laughed and laughed.
---
“I think I see what you mean,” Dixie said, turning to Chichay. “I totally get it!”
***
That evening, the shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks, along with their colleagues Sweaty Mulligan and Chichay Milano, stood in the lobby of a motel in Hellbeach, Nebraska, attempting to rent rooms. Dixie and Johnny kept stealing the pens from the clerk’s desk, and insisting that they were eligible for the “Cryptkeeper Discount”. When the clerk didn’t seem to know what they were talking about, Johnny pulled a small switchblade on him, and at that point Sweaty ushered them out of the lobby. A few minutes later, Chichay exited the lobby with room keys and a smile.
“Got ‘em?” Sweaty asked.
“Yep, nothing a little blackmail couldn’t solve. Sweaty, I used Oswald and Harriet Adelott on our registration. Dixie, I told the guy I’d be back in with your ID, so you better give me something.”
“This is bullshit,” Johnny said. “There must be plenty of motels around here that don’t bother with things like checking ID.”
“There are,” Chichay said flatly, “You insisted on this one because of the free continental breakfast.” As she spoke, Dixie had emptied the contents of her purse onto the hood of Chichay’s car. She had some seriously weird shit in there. Eventually she came up with a handful of identifying documents in various assumed names and handed them to Chichay.
“Uh, you have ID for like five different people here,” Chichay said as she sifted through the passports, driver’s licenses, phony college IDs, and video store membership cards. “You probably shouldn’t travel around with all of these on you at once.” Dixie had located a flask in her purse and took a long sip, then shrugged.
“Ok, you have a driver’s license and an expired debit card for Harlot Sinclair, so I’ll use that. Johnny, what do you have?”
“Only carry one,” he said, handing Chichay a velcro wallet. She opened it and took out an ID.
“Rex Vulva? Gross.” She turned and headed back into the lobby.
“Ok,” Sweaty said, handing Johnny one set of keys. “Let’s unload our stuff into our rooms and then go grab some dinner. We can go over the plan for tomorrow while we eat.”
“Dinner?” Dixie asked. “We’re gonna go to the Christmas Lounge.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome to join us, but I’m not sure if it’s your thing. We can just meet you tomorrow at breakfast.” With that, Dixie and Johnny set off toward the railroad tracks behind the motel, leaving Sweaty standing in the parking lot.
***
The next morning, Chichay and Sweaty entered the lobby of the motel and headed to the small breakfast room. A family with young children stood awkwardly by the door, the mother shielding the eyes of the kids.
“Just grab the waffles, Jonathan,” the mother hissed. “We’ll eat in the room!” The man obeyed and the mother hurried the kids toward the door.
“Momma, I’m hungry,” one whined.
“I know, sweetie, Daddy’s going to get us some food and we’ll go back to the room and have a bed picnic.” As the family passed Chichay and Sweaty, the mother paused and said quietly, “You might want to take your breakfast to go. It’s quite a spectacle in there.”
When they entered the breakfast room, it was empty except for the dad, frantically loading up a tray with food, and Dixie and Johnny, who were sitting in chairs pulled up to the buffet table and were completely naked.
“Hey guys! Pull up a chair!” Johnny shoved half of a toaster waffle into his mouth. Dixie piled a stack of donuts onto a bowl of instant oatmeal.
“Yeah, not a bad spread. No meat, though.”
“Why are you both naked?” Chichay asked, approaching them. As she did so, Sweaty started filling a plate with pastries and then headed to the coffee. He was going to let Chichay figure this out.
“Why aren’t you?” Dixie asked.
“Yeah,” Johnny added. “Who eats breakfast wearing clothes?” Chichay sighed.
“Ok, let’s just grab some stuff to go and get out of here before the police come.” Dixie and Johnny looked at each other, then stood, took all of the little packs of cream cheese, and left.
***
Back at their room, Dixie and Johnny discovered that while they had been having breakfast, their room had been broken into. It was completely ransacked, and all of their things were gone, including their clothes. They stood in the doorway and looked around for a long while. Finally, Chichay and Sweaty appeared behind them.
“Big night?” Sweaty asked, seeing the state of the room.
“Well yeah, but we didn’t do this,” Johnny said. Chichay looked in and raised an eyebrow in their direction.
“I know it seems like something we’d’ve done,” Dixie said, “and the beaver in the bathtub was from us, but we woulda kept some clothes.” Sweaty entered the room.
“Oh yeah, look at that. All your shit is gone. You guys got robbed!”
“Did you lock the door when you went to breakfast?” Chichay asked, cautiously moving through the room to look around, her hand on a small gun at her hip.
“I’unno.” Dixie and Johnny said in unison.
“Well, everything is gone. You can’t be meeting the devil naked, and we really don’t have time to go buy more clothes.”
“No problem,” Dixie said.
“Yeah, we got this.”
An Hour Later
The four stood in front of a solid wall of rock on the outskirts of Hellbeach. The rock had various, vaguely satanic carvings and graffiti all over it, and the remnants of a small fire and animal sacrifice at the base. Dixie and Johnny were barefoot, wearing togas made from the hotel bed sheets.
“Ok, there’s the door,” Johnny said. Chichay and Sweaty looked confused.
“Where?”
“Right there,” Johnny replied.
“I don’t see anything,” Sweaty said.
“You guys seriously don’t see that?” Dixie asked.
“You do?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said, taking a sip from the flask that was somehow hidden in her toga. She passed it to Johnny, who also took a sip.
“Ok, gimme the grenade,” Johnny said.
“Johnny, no, you can’t just-” Chichay started, but before she could finish, Dixie somehow also produced a small grenade from inside her toga and passed it to Johnny. He immediately pulled the pin, casually lobbed the bomb over his shoulder, and started walking calmly toward a nearby stand of trees.
“FUCK!” Screamed Sweaty, grabbing Chichay’s hand and running for cover.
KABOOOMM
Bits of rock and dirt sprayed everywhere. Sweaty had pushed Chichay to the ground and thrown himself on top of her. Dixie and Johnny merely stumbled behind a tree, fell to the ground, then immediately stood up and started walking back toward the rock wall.
“Dixie, Johnny!” Chichay called, shouting louder than needed because she couldn’t hear. “Don’t go in there yet, we have to wait and make sure there isn’t going to be a cave in!” Chichay and Sweaty got to their feet and started after Dixie and Johnny, but the two had already reached the gaping, newly created mouth of a cave. They looked back over their shoulders, holding the flask in the air as a toast, then walked into the cave.
As Chichay and Sweaty started sprinting toward them to pull them back out, the rock face shuddered again as a pile of rock fell into the opening. Before their eyes, the rock pile smoothed itself back into a solid rock wall. Above where the door had been, were the words:
SPEM RELINQUUNT QUI HUC INTRASTI
Inside the cave, Dixie and Johnny walked forward in the dark. The rough dirt floor eventually gave way to smooth marble, and they gradually became aware of a soft light around them. Rich red velvet drapes lined the walls, and small demon gargoyles stuck out at intervals, casting light on their path.
“Man, the devil really knows a thing or two about lighting, doesn’t he? This is the most flattering light I’ve ever been in. I wish there was a mirror.” Johnny said.
“I know!” Dixie whispered. “Let’s find out what light bulbs these are. I think we could use ‘em in Tent Town next summer.”
They walked on until they came to the end of the corridor, where they faced an ornate elevator door, with intricate carvings and gold trim. A small panel to the right of the door held one single, glowing call button. As Johnny reached down to push the button, it slowly opened like an eye, and blinked. He pushed it anyway.
After just a short wait, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Inside the equally ornate elevator car was a small demon, dressed in an early 1900s elevator operator uniform. The demon looked at them with a bored expression.
“Sir, madam. Going down?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said, slowly. “Is that ok?”
“This is an elevator, sir,” the demon replied, “It functions in the up and down directions. You’re currently at the highest level, so going down is your only choice.”
“But we’re allowed to just get on? We don’t have to like, trick you or anything?” Dixie asked.
“Madam, I am simply an elevator operator. My job is to take you to your required floor. There is no need to trick me. I’m quite good at my job.” Dixie and Johnny looked at one another, then stepped into the elevator. The doors closed behind them.
“Your level?” The demon asked.
“Uh…” Johnny said. Dixie peered at the panel of buttons next to the demon. They glowed red and there were two hundred of them.
“We’re going to see the Devil Himself,” Johnny said, “What level is that?”
“That would be level two hundred, sir. The bottom,” the demon replied. He pressed the button marked 200 and the door slid closed.
“I thought there were only nine levels in this place?” Dixie asked.
“Indeed, for the scholar of classic literature, this is true,” the demon said. “And in the early days, madam, it was true here, as well. But beginning many centuries ago, we began adding additional levels to our domain. It became... necessary… due to the behaviors of those on the surface. In particular, due to those who appointed themselves as the arbiters of those who are to come here.” He grinned at them, and it felt for a moment as if their blood had been removed, as if all hope had been drained from their world. As soon as he stopped smiling, they felt better. Johnny leaned in closer to look at the names listed next to the numbered buttons.
“Hey check this out,” Johnny said to Dixie, “Is it me, or does it kinda seem like gay people are the only ones who aren’t going to hell?”
“I’ll be damned,” Dixie replied, scanning the panel, “Literally. Kids, nurses, firefighters, Dalai Lamas… Yep.”
“Oh, look at that! Nuns!”
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Dixie said. “They’re already dead so I don’t think they can blow up again.”
“Say, demon,” Johnny said, “What happens if you belong on more than one level?”
“Ah, yes sir,” the demon replied. “In the event that a person has committed more than one damnable sin, the soul is divided up among the applicable levels, and in proportion to the amount of the sin in each. The soul, as I’m sure you know, is really just the body, so if you’ll look out the viewing window as we pass this next level, you will see mostly an assortment of small body parts. This is our level for politicians. They’re among our most diverse in terms of level disbursement.”
Out the small viewing window, Dixie and Johnny could see a room that looked like a generic government building. A machine stood in the middle, before a long line of random body parts. As each part reached the machine, it simultaneously presented them with their election results, showing that they’d lost their race, then proceeded to toss them into a bucket of rats where the politician’s body part was devoured. The rats then shit the body part back out, it reformed, and went back to the end of the line to start the process again.
“Oh!” Dixie cried. “Is that Nixon’s nose??”
“Yes madam. A very astute observation. Former President Nixon is one of our most widely dispersed members. He’s committed quite a few offenses while he was in the realm of the living, it seems.”
“Yeah, he’d be on the level for people who like cottage cheese, too,” Johnny said. Dixie shuddered.
“People who like cottage cheese deserve to be here.”
“Indeed, ma’am,” the demon replied.
They continued their descent, with Dixie and Johnny glued to the viewing window, and periodically shouting out people - or parts of people - that they saw. Finally, the elevator slowed as it approached the lowest level. It came to a stop and dinged.
“Level two hundred,” the demon said, as the doors slid open. “Enjoy your stay.”
***
Dixie and Johnny stepped out of the elevator into what appeared to be the lobby of a high powered law firm. They walked forward, down another corridor. It was lined with signed photos of various celebrities.
“Hey Johnny, look, it’s Wilford Brimley! I knew I spotted him in the diabetics level.”
“Yeah, and I was pretty sure I saw his ass cheeks on the dessert lover level. Kinda cool to see the end result of your handiwork, huh?”
“This place reminds me of that time we got sued by the Kennedys, remember that? And they made us go to their offices?” Dixie paused and looked at another signed picture, this time it was a glamorous headshot of Pearl S. Buck.
“Hey Pearl, want a donut?” She and Johnny burst out laughing, then continued down the corridor.
“So up there I think we’re supposed to have to get past that dog,” Johnny said.
“Oh right,” replied Dixie. Sure enough, when they came to the end of the corridor, they saw a massive three-headed dog guarding the entrance to the next chamber.
“Weird,” said Dixie, “I didn’t think it would be a goldendoodle.”
“Eh, I always knew those dogs came straight from Hell.” They stood there for a minute. The dog was asleep, but neither of them assumed they could make it past.
“I really wish we had beer,” Dixie whispered.
“I don’t know if beer works on dogs in Hell,” Johnny replied.
“No, for us.”
“Oh yeah.” They continued to stare at the sleeping dog. Johnny turned to Dixie.
“Give me that cream cheese,” he said. She reached somewhere into her toga and pulled out two handfuls of the cream cheese packets that they had taken from the hotel’s breakfast room and handed them to Johnny. He took them and slowly approached the sleeping beast.
“Excuse me, your Eminence,” he said, softly, “I have brought you these gifts.” The middle head opened its eyes and looked at Johnny.
“Yes, sir,” Johnny said, in response to the dog. “They’re Philadelphia brand.” The middle head nodded in the direction of a dog dish, and Johnny walked carefully over, keeping an eye on the beast as he did so. He placed the cream cheese in the dish and backed quickly away.
Immediately, the remaining two heads snapped their eyes open and the beast rose, with all three heads pouncing on the bowl. They devoured the cream cheese, plastic containers and all, in a roar of snarling drool and snapping jaws.
“So we cool then?” Johnny asked. The middle dog head nodded toward the door behind it, and Dixie and Johnny walked on.
***
The next chamber they entered looked like a cross between a middle eastern harem, Buckingham Palace, and the penthouse of a New York real estate mogul. They paused and looked around in awe.
“This shit is swank,” Dixie said softly. Johnny nodded. A small door opened on the side of the chamber, and a demon dressed in hospital scrubs entered. She held a clipboard.
“Name?” she asked.
“Uh, Johnny Go.”
“And?” She looked at Dixie, who was admiring a chandelier, made of crystals and baby teeth. Johnny elbowed Dixie.
“Oh, Dixie Doublestacks, ma’am,” she said, giving a quick curtsey. The demon nodded. She took a stethoscope from around her neck and motioned for them to step closer. After listening to their hearts for a few seconds each she nodded and made a note on her clipboard.
“The doctor will see you now,” she said. She began to walk toward another small door in the side of the chamber, motioning them to follow.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Johnny Go said, “We’re actually here to meet with the Devil Himself.”
“Yeah, we don’t really see doctors,” Dixie added. The demon continued walking. When she reached the door, she held it open for them. Feeling like they didn’t have a choice, they followed.
***
A short while later, they emerged from Hell’s exam room and looked at one another.
“Did you get a cavity search?” Johnny asked, retying his toga.
“No, just a routine mammogram,” Dixie replied. “Came back normal.” Before they could continue, an attractive young man with dark eyes entered the chamber.
“Mr. Go, Ms. Doublestacks. The Devil Himself will see you now. Please follow me.” He turned and walked out, his wingtip shoes clicking on the marble floor as he went. Dixie and Johnny followed.
“Mr. Himself requests that you dine with him,” the assistant continued as he walked. This corridor consisted of very bad artwork lining the walls. “I do hope you’re hungry.”
They arrived at a set of massive double doors. They were, naturally, Rodin’s Gates of Hell. Originals. Duh. The assistant opened the doors with a flourish, announcing the guests.
Meanwhile…
Back on the surface, Chichay and Sweaty were still standing before the rock face, trying to find a way to reopen it. Sweaty had been striking the rock with a pickaxe for the past 20 minutes, and finally gave up, collapsing on the grass.
“I don’t know what else to do,” he said.
“I think we have to just wait here and hope they find their way out,” Chichay said. They looked at one another for a few moments.
“Wanna go make out in the car?” Chichay asked. Sweaty was on his feet in a flash, leaving the pickaxe on the ground.
***
“Your Iniquitousness, may I present to you Mr. Johnny Go and Ms. Dixie Doublestacks.” He stepped aside. Inside, the dining chamber was dark, but once their eyes adjusted they realized it looked exactly like how a sheik would decorate a Taco Bell.
“Dix, if he’s got napkin rings, grab ‘em,” Johnny whispered. From the shadows, a voice called to them.
“Friends, come in, sit.” They approached the table, which was both ornate and filthy like a booth at a pub. The Devil Himself sat at the head of the table, somehow gazing down at them even though they were standing. It should surprise no one that he looked like a regular white guy, sort of Irish, head on the too-big side. He was unadorned except for a massive skull shaped ring on his right hand. He used that hand to gesture to the seats nearest him on either side. Dixie and Johnny did as they were told.
“It’s always delightful when the actual living make their way down for a visit. It happens so rarely these days. I blame the internet.” He lifted a bottle of something and offered it to them. They nodded and he poured them each a drink of what looked like whiskey, but honestly, who knows.
“So, your honor, the reason we’re here,” Johnny began.
“No, no shop talk until after dinner. And I hope you’re hungry. When I heard you were on your way down I had the staff prepare a feast. All baby animals raised in the most horrific conditions, of course.” He clapped his hands, and an array of ghouls, demons, and assorted other tortured souls appeared carrying plates and platters. Soon the table was overflowing with food. Without ceremony, the Devil dug in, eating like a maniac, using a large knife to hack of pieces of roasts and rotisserie chickens. It was the best meal Dixie and Johnny had ever eaten.
When they were finished, the Devil pushed back from the table and signaled for another member of his staff. A naked woman with flawless skin, wearing a bull head on top of her own appeared almost immediately carrying a cigar box. The Devil selected three cigars and she disappeared, replaced by three small fire demons who prepared a cigar for each, and then lit them using only their fingers. Exhaling smoke, the Devil refilled their whiskey glasses. All three sighed.
“Well that was the best meal I’ve ever had,” said Dixie, blowing smoke rings.
“It really was,” Johnny said. “And the service! How do ya get them all to do what you want?”
“Oh, it’s not really a hard task when you’re the prince of darkness. They pretty much have to do what I tell them to do, or they go right back to the genpop.”
“See, Dix,” Johnny said, “I think that’s where we’re going wrong. We’re not torturing enough people.”
“Well, there was that one kid,” she replied.
“Oh yeah, but that was different. That was like… scratching an itch.”
“True,” Dixie said. “So Mr. Himself, how do you actually pick the servants? The human ones, I mean. Do they have to try out or something? Or do you base it on looks? Cause that guy that brought us in here...”
“Don’t I know it!” The Devil said. He puffed his cigar for a moment, then continued. “So sometimes the servants are the ones who made a deal with me at some point in their lives. Other times they’re people who couldn’t take the conséquence du pécheur of their level and tap out looking for a bargain.”
“And David over there?” Dixie asked, nodding to the assistant.
“Ah, yeah, he actually traded his soul to me for good looks. He was the ugliest motherfucker you’d ever seen before that. But the good thing about the arrangement is that I got to make him look how I wanted, because I knew I’d be getting him back one day.”
“Genius,” she muttered. “When I think of the things I could do with that power…” She trailed off.
“It’s not all great,” the Devil said, softly. “It’s hard knowing no one really ever comes willingly. Almost no one serves you because they want to, they’re just afraid of me shredding their souls.”
“Sounds good to me,” Johnny said. The Devil looked suddenly very old and tired.
“It’s good sometimes. And I’m sure it would be good if you never knew better. But I remember what it was like. Being adored instead of feared. Being loved. Sometimes I think I’d do anything to get that back.”
“See, now that’s interesting,” Dixie said, catching Johnny’s eye. “Johnny and I just heard something about that. Remember, Johnny? Who was that?”
“Oh right! Just the other day I’m talking to a medium friend of mine, from back in the old country. Basically said that the big guy’s been trying to reach you for years now, but can’t get a hold of you on account of a curse.” The Devil Himself looked up at Johnny Go, hope gleaming in his eyes.
“No!” The Devil shook his head. “It’s been millennia. He’s all knowing and all seeing, there’s no way.”
“Well look, I’m just telling you what my buddy told me. He’s pretty tuned in, this guy. He knew all about the Kennedy thing before it happened. He knew about the tsunami! I’m telling you, he’s totally dialed in to the Big House.”
“He knows about natural disasters?” The Devil asked, starting to buy it.
“For sure. Knows when the guy’s pissed, knows when he’s happy. So believe me when I say that with all the shit going on out there, the old man’s just looking for a way to offer you redemption.”
“But the last time I tried to reach out, he shunned me.”
“What, the guy can’t change his mind? I heard he missed you. Kept having dreams about you, you know. Like this one where you two were at Epcot Center together. Riding the little boat at The Land. So anyway, I did some digging, and it seems like your standard yaogui curse. It should be pretty easy to shake it. I could probably take care of it for you right now, actually.” As he said this, the Devil sat up in his chair and placed his hands on the table.
“Anything, just tell me what to do.” Johnny sat back and took a sip of whiskey, then looked around as if making sure no one was around to hear.
“Well normally, the easiest way to get a yaogui off your back is to just buy ‘em off, you know? Cash and jewelry is usually enough.”
“Easy, I have that,” the Devil said.
“I said normally. You realize you’re the Devil Himself, right? Nothing short of a human sacrifice is gonna do. And it’s gonna have to be someone living, none of your demons or ghouls, and no one who already died.” Johnny paused, and Dixie looked up from the tip of her cigar, which she had been staring at intently.
“Probably better if it’s a woman,” she said.
“Oh yeah, absolutely. Women are worth a whole lot more on the yaogui market.”
“Well, I do have a harem of living women who have sold their bodies and souls to me, prior to death, for a variety of reasons.”
“Perfect,” said Johnny, “Why don’t you go have a peek through, see if there’re any you’re willing to part with. Remember, we’re talking about Chinese demons here, so no blondes. They’re a little rough, too, so you might want to pick on with some stamina.”
The Devil refilled their drinks while he considered this. Dixie and Johnny both tried not to show that they were holding their breath.
“Oh, I got it! This real mouthy one I’ve been waiting for years to get my hands on. Finally got her when she wanted out of a bad marriage or something. She was cute, Filipino, I figured she’d be submissive, but it turns out she was in a rebel army or some shit and I just cannot get her to shut up. Think that’ll work?” Johnny tried to hide his relief.
“Sounds perfect.”
***
A short while later, Dixie and Johnny stood in the outer waiting room of the Devil’s chambers, waiting for the collateral to be brought up from his private quarters. All three looked nervous, but for very different reasons.
“Ok, here’s how this is gonna go,” Johnny said. “We head up to the surface, and once we’re there, I grab the herbs out of my car. We’re going to need to just quickly build an altar, and then tie the girl to it. We gotta cover her in a tarp because in order for it to work, she can’t look the yaogui in the face. Once we do that, I’m gonna say tons of shit, all in Chinese, while we eat the herbs. Then we give you the girl back and you head back here. Now, and this is important, in order for this to work, you gotta keep the tarp on her until you get back here and stash her in her room. Don’t look at her for at least a week, or the yaogui’ll be pissed, and the curse won’t be lifted. Got it?”
“I think I can do that,” the Devil said.
“Great, now as soon as-” Johnny stopped short as a side door to the chamber opened, and Shasta Ramirez was lead in, a fierce looking demon bodyguard on either side. She wore a simple robe, black with gold trim, and her hair was loose. Johnny struggled to maintain his composure.
“Damn, DH!,” Dixie exclaimed, coming to Johnny’s rescue. “If your harem is even half as hot as this one, I don’t know what you’d be messing around with the man upstairs for anyway! Good on ya!” She offered a fist for the Devil to bump.
“Ok, we all set?” asked Johnny, recovering slightly. The Devil nodded.
“Lead the way, my man! Dixie said. “You’ll be back in the penthouse in no time.” As they started to make their way toward the elevator, the Devil stopped.
“Oh right, one more thing,” he said. “In order to take a living being that belongs to me out of here, you can’t look at her.”
“Huh?” Johnny asked.
“On the ride up, and the walk outside, you both need to walk in front of us, and you can’t look back. Otherwise these shadow guys I got working as guards’ll just kinda whisk her back down.”
“Uh huh,” Dixie said.
“Ok,” said Johnny.
“Yeah, sorry about that, guys. I know it’s weird, but it’s actually a pretty standard practice around these parts.”
***
The rock face that Dixie and Johnny had entered a short while earlier cracked open with an earth-shaking rumble, and they stepped out into the clearing, followed by the Devil Himself, and Shasta Ramirez. Johnny stopped by the remains of a bonfire and called over his shoulder to the Devil.
“Ok to turn around now, DH?”
“A couple more steps,” said the Devil. Dixie and Johnny stepped a few feet further, and as they did so, a complete set of napkin rings, belonging to the Devil Himself, fell from both of their togas. The Devil stopped and stared.
“Johnny, Dixie, are those…?” He trailed off and was silent for a moment. Dixie and Johnny slowly turned around to face him, and when they did, they saw that he had mutated into a monster, so hideous they struggled not to turn away.
“HOW DARE YOU STEAL FROM ME!” The Devil roared, his voice inhuman. Around them, birds dropped from trees, dead. Leaves fell and the grass withered. The tires on Sweaty’s van, parked nearby, burst.
Shasta took the opportunity and tried to make a break for it, running to Johnny with arms outstretched. He started to run toward her, and just as their hands met, the Devil raised his arm. Shasta immediately stopped, and before their eyes, was grabbed by a group of shadows, who devoured her as they rushed her back toward the opening in the rock face. Turning on his heel, the Devil followed, and the rock closed behind him.
They stood in stunned silence. Chichay and Sweaty left the car and approached them slowly.
Johnny Go sighed and walked off into the forest, alone.
