these?â
âRequests from potential clients.â
Kasabian started a little side business a few weeks back and itâs taken off like a bottle rocket out of a carnyâs ass. He canât go to Hell like I can, but he can see into the place. He set himself up as an online seer. For a fee, heâll tell you how the dearly departed are getting on in the Abyss. Seeing as how most Âpeople seem to end up down there, he doesnât lack for clients.
Kasabian riffles the pages with his pointy hellhound claws.
âAll these Âpeople have family or friends Downtown. And all want more than I can give them. Paying clients donât want to hear about sweet Aunt Suzy up to her eyeballs in a river of shit.â
âAnd this concerns me how?â
âMost of these Âpeople want to, you know, talk to the departed. Hear a story about redemption, maybe. Mostly, they want to know where they hid the good silver or did they really love them. You know. Normal family bullshit.â
âAnd you want me to go Downtown and play twenty questions with damned souls because they donât have enough problems.â
âYes. Thatâs what I always want. Come on, man. Look at the streets. This city is going to be empty soon. Empty and underwater. Itâs no-Âshit Ragnarök. ÂPeople want to know what to expect on the other side.â
I shake my head. Push the papers back across the counter.
âNot my problem. And I told you. Mr. Muninn is still pissed at me for stealing Father Travenâs soul. He doesnât want me back in his petting zoo playing with the animals.â
âIt doesnât have to be all of them,â says Kasabian. âJust for a few of the high rollers. We need the money.â
That much is right. We are severely on the rocks. Kasabian squirreled away a few grand from a payoff I got from the Dark Eternal when I put down some pain-Âin-Âthe-Âass zombies. But we blew the last of that fixing up Max Overdrive so we could live here and reopen the store. The special video section is bringing in cash, but barely enough to pay for beer and utilities.
âOkay. Cash is a good incentive, but seriously, Hell is kind of off-Âlimits for me right now.â
âWhat about Samael? Would he do it if you asked nice?â
âYou think youâre going to bribe Samael with money? Heâs a fucking angel. He doesnât carry a lot of pocket change.â
Kasabian picks up the paper. Taps it on the counter to straighten the edges.
âMaybe Muninn would be happier to see you than you think. Hell isnât looking too pretty right now.â
âWhatâs going on?â
âNothing, thatâs the problem. All the public-Âworks projects, fixing the place up after you broke it . . .â
âThat wasnât my fault. Samael fucked it up when he was still Lucifer. I just let it get a little worse when I was running the place.â
âWhatever you say, man. Well, itâs all stopped. Theyâre not even pretending to put the place back together again.â
âThat doesnât sound like Muninn.â
âYou so sure heâs still in charge?â
âIâd know if anything changed.â
âHow?â
âI just would.â
âOkay, Cassandra, thereâs something else. Did it rain much when you were down there?â
âNo. I donât remember it raining at all.â
âWell, it is now. Raining cats and dogs and little imps with pitchforks. I mean, thereâs doomed. Thereâs screwed. And thereâs monsoons-Âin-ÂHell fucked. And weâre at fucked oâclock.â
Suddenly I want a cigarette. I take out the Maledictions. I go to the back door and open it, blowing the smoke outside. Candy doesnât like me stinking the place up with cigarettes that smell like a tire fire.
âI donât get it. Could the Angra be doing it?â
âWho cares?
Learning to Kill: Stories