The Book of Bart Read online

  Samantha bit her lower lip, like she carefully considered what to say next. A wise move. I wanted to impale her like a matador.

  “Well?” I pressed the button on my keyless entry to unlock my car. “I don’t have all day. I’d like to deflower a virgin or two before sundown.”

  Her expression became stolid. “I can’t believe you’re scared. You. A demon. Afraid of a girl.”

  She laughed and laid a hand on the roof of my Benz, adding to her offense.

  I’d have removed her hand from her body, but she’d called out my demonhood, and addressing that took precedence. Nobody accused me of being afraid.

  “Scared?” I spit out my cigarette. “I’m not scared. I’m just smart enough to know when to close up shop. You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Samantha’s lips curled upward. “Maybe they did send me the wrong demon. Next time I’ll make sure they send me someone who knows how to finish the job.”

  Oh, that burned. This girl was good. And I bought into it, because to be fair, why should I stand idly by and let somebody else succeed in my stead? I wanted to pat her on the back for such a fine manipulation, but thought better of it.

  “Fine. I suppose I’ll help.”

  I pulled out the boy’s wallet. The driver’s license had the name Casey Testerman on it. That was a name, all right.

  For a girl.

  This kid must’ve gotten all kinds of grief from his classmates.

  Since The House of the Rising Sun hadn’t given us much of an idea of what we were up against, we decided to go to Casey’s house. By now, the police must’ve taken a look at the security cameras at the museum and identified Casey as the dead body. They would then notify his family, meaning people would be going in and out of his home all day, offering condolences while secretly thanking you-know-who their child was still alive, because people could be selfish that way.

  Truth be told, the whole thing really was rather sad. Poor Casey hadn’t lasted long enough to live a truly sinful life. Now he was stuck in Heaven with no sex, no booze, no drugs, and no fun. Just a whole lot of clouds and harps. A hundred dollars said he was already bored.

  Casey lived in a two-story brick home near Crabtree Mall, with a line of cars parked up and down the street. I maneuvered my baby into a spot between a MINI Cooper and a Toyota.

  “Tell me again why we got an onion?” Samantha spent the entire car ride bugging me about why I wanted to pick up an onion. She’d even asked the cashier at the grocery store if buying an onion and nothing else seemed strange. The cashier, being a woman, agreed with her.

  “Because, my intellectually challenged cohort, we need to appear heartbroken at the tragedy of a child being snuffed out before he even finished puberty. Can you cry on cue?”

  Samantha shook her head.

  I ripped the onion in half, handing one piece to her. The sharp odor stung my nostrils and my eyeballs. “Neither can I. Now sniff.”

  Our tears were free-flowing by the time Casey’s mom opened the door.

  “Come here sweetie,” she said, grabbing Samantha and pulling her in tight.

  “I’m so sorry,” Samantha said, closing her eyes and embracing the older woman.

  “She means it,” I said. “Quite an angel, that one. Her heart bleeds for the world.”

  Sam shot me a perturbed glance. Probably worried I’d blown her cover… Which I hadn’t.

  “Is that a tray full of free deli meat I see?” I tried to sneak past the two huggers to eat some, but Casey’s mom got hold of me and yanked me in for a group hug. Not awkward. In the least. I tried to wiggle out of it, but his mom only clung to me tighter.

  After a minute of faking sadness and tears, I tore myself away from the two and helped myself to some salami and crackers. The empty hutch against the wall and the delicate bone china under the finger food on the oak dining table meant Casey’s mom had probably laid out the spread herself.

  The only TV I saw was a puny twenty-four-inch flat screen tucked away in the corner of the room. Weak. A huge portrait of Casey and his mom hung on the wall opposite me. I rolled my eyes. Few things bothered me more than oversized family portraits. Casey’s father wasn’t in the portrait, probably because he dumped them and ran off to live the high life with some trophy wife.

  Beautiful.

  Taking my attention away from that abominable picture, I scanned the dining room for any potential talent. Most of the people there were kids who looked like they’d come straight from school. I noticed Casey’s mom still hugged Samantha by the door. Hilarious.

  An attractive redhead in a V-neck sweater strolled past me, a wry smile on her lips. I returned her grin as I swallowed some food. Felt nice to see someone recognize the talent my good looks brought to the table.

  A small circle of teens stood on the other side of the oak. Eyes closed, they held hands while they prayed. I chuckled and took another bite of salami.

  “What’s so funny?” Samantha stood next to me, having finally broken free from the elongated hug.

  “Them,” I said, nodding at the kids.

  “Why? Because they’re praying?”

  I stuffed some salami in my mouth. “Why else would I laugh at them?”

  Sam hit me on the arm. “Jerk. They’re trying to mourn.”

  I swallowed the salami. “True mourning involves lots of alcohol and anonymous sexual encounters.” I set my plate of meat on the table. “What they’re doing is just sad.”

  “Not everyone is as depraved as you are,” she said.

  “They should be,” I said.

  Our conversation died down as I waited for Sam to come up with a retort. She didn’t have one. The praying kids huddled closer, touching their heads together. This powwow of theirs almost made me feel bad for them. Almost.

  “So how do you want to do this?” Sam asked, breaking the silence. She leaned against the table, facing the main area of the house instead of the kids.

  “You walk around, mingle, eavesdrop, see if you can pick up on anything.” I pulled out my pack of cigarettes. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”

  One of Sam’s eyebrows arched. “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You’re a big help.” She sighed.

  “You get what you pay for.” I tucked the cigarette in my mouth.

  I stepped out into the fenced-in backyard and lit my lifeline. I saw three other kids out here. The two large oafs wore varsity football jackets, in warm weather, with cringe-inducing pride as they stared down the third one who screamed nerd with his slight frame, awkward bowl cut, and Darth Vader shirt. To my trained eye, it seemed pretty obvious the two football players were bullying the nerd.

  “Is now really the time for this?” the nerd asked defensively, his voice a full octave higher than the others’. His head barely cleared the chins of the bullies.

  “Have any more of those?” a sultry voice asked behind me.

  I turned and saw a beautiful brunette in her mid-thirties with big blue eyes and sharp cheekbones.

  “Absolutely.” I handed her a cigarette. She took it from me using nothing but her lips, which stuck out like two roses in bloom, and I lit the cig without her asking. She looked too young to be a parent. Maybe a teacher? One of Casey’s, I’d bet. She reeked of sex. Being around pubescent guys who spent all day trying to get a look down her cleavage probably amped up her confidence to a colossal degree.

  “Shame about Casey, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it really is. It’s always a tragedy when a life ends before its time. It really makes you question things.” Like, why didn’t Hell get a chance to corrupt his soul? I took a puff on my cigarette and exhaled. “What do you think he was doing at the museum?”

  The woman exhaled. “Learning about bugs and sharks, I’d imagine.”

  “Fair point.” I sucked on my cigarette, letting the smoke billow out through my nostrils. “I don’t think many people would cut class and go to
a museum. Kind of seems counterproductive to the entire idea of skipping.”

  “I know. You’d think he’d go the mall, or see a movie.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m Miss Evans.”

  I shook her hand. “Miss Evans?”

  “Sorry. I teach English. Old habits…” She laughed, wagging her cigarette between her fingers, jiggling certain parts of anatomy. Her eyes made their way downward toward my crotch. She let out the slightest hmm under her breath. “My name is Stephanie Evans.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Forget Stephanie. She would forever be Miss Evans to me, especially if she bent me over her knee and administered some corporal punishment. Every move she made felt calculated, like the way she curled her hair and how she pressed her arms to her sides to push out her bosom. Maybe she wanted to try out potential poses for Playboy, or better yet, Penthouse. Regardless, I wanted to bend her over the fence and show her a thing or two about yard work. “Did you teach Casey?”

  “I do. Well, did.” She finished off her cigarette and stubbed it out with her four-inch black stiletto. “Thanks for the smoke.”

  I waved and watched her hips sway from side to side like gently rolling waves. I felt myself falling into a trance, at least until the situation with the three guys got more volatile.

  “We’re not asking you again. Help us, or it’s your ass,” one of the mongoloid football players demanded. He poked the nerd in the shoulder with two fingers, knocking him back a few feet. The two players brushed past the nerd.

  I exhaled smoke in their direction as they tried to go back inside.

  “What’s your problem?” the other football player, this one with a buzz cut, asked. He wafted the smoke out of his face.

  I looked behind me, like I thought maybe they meant someone else. “Who? Me?”

  “I don’t see any other homo with a suit on out here.”

  “Oh, good one,” I slapped my leg. “Make fun of my suit, which doesn’t look at all silly next to some high school varsity jackets that you’ll never wear after you graduate from the local annex… with a GED.”

  “Hey, asshole,” the first mongoloid, who had long red hair, said. “Our friend died today, and you want to step up? What’s your damage, bro?”

  “Damage?” I laughed, letting some smoke trickle out as I did so. “I’m just out here enjoying a refreshing smoke and watching a couple of jerkoffs engage, and poorly I might add, in the old, time-honored practice of bullying.”

  “Did you even know Casey?” the second mongoloid asked, holding his arms out by his sides. It looked like some sort of ritualistic dance before a fight.

  I inhaled deeply.

  “Probably better than you ever did,” I said as I exhaled. After all, I had seen the kid’s head explode.

  “That so?” It was Thing One’s turn to speak, apparently. “You know what he used to do to pricks with us?”

  “Take turns getting down on all fours in front of them?” Sometimes it was just too easy. Even the nerd had to choke down a laugh on that one.

  Thing Two took a swing at me. I easily dodged the punch and grabbed his arm, pulling it behind him. Thing One threw a punch at me while I tried to decide if I should break his friend’s arm. I dodged his fist and my cigarette fell to the ground in the process. A massive party foul.

  “You made me drop my cigarette.” I let go of Mongoloid Two’s arm. “Now I’m upset. I suggest the two of you go inside before something bad happens.”

  “Like what?” Thing One asked.

  “Use your imagination.” I smiled, and let out a low demonic growl.

  Their eyes grew as wide as their mouths and they tripped over themselves running into the house. I missed scaring people. I picked up my cigarette and took one last drag before flipping it out into the yard.

  “What did you say to them?” the nerd asked.

  “I just let them know there’s always a bigger fish in the pond. What did they want with you? Your lunch money?”

  “The usual. Do their homework, help them cheat on tests, keep them eligible to play.” The nerd gave me a funny look. “Are you a friend of Casey’s? I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “I am. Also just moved into the area.” I extended my hand. “Bartholomew. Not Bart. Don’t ever call me Bart.” What was I doing? Rambling?

  Get yourself together.

  I made my face carefully blank, trying to hide my annoyance.

  “O… kay. I’m Kyle.” He shook my hand.

  “Are you behaving yourself?” Samantha asked, emerging from the house. “I heard some football players saying weird things about a boy in a suit.”

  “Of course I’m behaving. I wouldn’t cause a ruckus here, of all places,” I shouted in a mocking tone.

  Kyle’s face turned red. “I better get inside. Nice to meet you,” he muttered and rushed into the house.

  I held Samantha by the arm, wrapping my hand around her sleeve. “Find anything?”

  “No. You?”

  “Just a potential geek to corrupt. And a teacher to embroil in a sex scandal.”

  “You’re such a… a sinner.” She scowled.

  “You love it.” I walked inside, Samantha in tow. I held her arm gently as we maneuvered past the crying mourners and into Casey’s bedroom. They all wallowed in their own pity, too busy to notice us. I closed the bedroom door. Clothes covered the floor. A Carolina Panthers poster hung on one wall, and another had a framed collage of different models showing off bikinis. Classy. Very classy.

  “I’m not making out with you,” she protested.

  As if.

  “Please. We need his computer. Phone. Anything he might have left a clue on.” I figured this would be easy enough. The laptop sat on his desk. I opened it and pressed the power button. “Look for his phone. That’s probably going to be our best bet.”

  “What if he had it on him?” Sam asked.

  “Just check,” I said without glancing back at her.

  “Where?”

  I pointed at all the clothes lying on the floor. “The pants.”

  “Gross.” Samantha knelt down and started poking through the pockets.

  I turned back to the laptop and went to the browser, whose default page led to his Gmail account, which didn’t ask for a password.

  “I’m going to throw up,” Sam cried.

  I whipped my head around. “Pipe down, will you? It’s just dirty clothes. Although, I would mind any pairs of boxers you come across. Especially if they’re a little… crusty.”

  The almost-angel held up a condom. “So much sin.” She let the rubber drop out of her hand.

  “Stop whining. It’s still in the package. Keep looking.” I scrolled down the list of emails, which didn’t have anything of interest. Neither did his browsing history, which read like a Who’s Who of porn sites. “Nothing. When did kids get so secretive about their lives?”

  Samantha looked at me cross-eyed.

  “It was a joke.” I slammed the laptop shut. “This is worthless. Not one item of use here. I’m going back outside, talk one of the weepy virgins into a sympathy bang.”

  “Wait.” Samantha leaned back against the bed. “Maybe Casey’s got a girlfriend.”

  “Or he’s overly optimistic and carries the rubber around in his wallet just in case, even though I thought people stopped doing that in 1995.” I picked up the prophylactic. “Either way, we should get on top of this.”

  The bedroom door flew open. Sam gave a small shriek. Casey’s mom stared at us, mouth plastered to the floor as she gasped.

  Sam and I looked up at her.

  “Get out,” Casey’s mom shouted.

  “Oh, no, we weren’t―” Samantha tried to say.

  “Yeah we were,” I said, with a grin.

  “Get out of my baby’s room.”

  rs. Testerman’s screams chased us out into the yard, followed closely by the lady herself. I kind of wanted to tell her that Samantha and I hadn’t been getting it on, that getting burned by holy flesh tended to
interfere with my libido. But mostly, I wanted to tell her to shut up. I didn’t mind a woman screaming at me, especially during more intimate moments, but not so much in this instance.

  I slammed the door of my Mercedes. “We need to find out who Casey was banging. Or at least hoping to bang.”

  Samantha treated her door a bit gentler, which I appreciated. “What if he did just keep it hoping it might come in handy?”

  “That kind of thinking doesn’t get us anywhere. No, we need to talk to his friends. And since Casey’s mom went bat-shit crazy, we can’t go back in and ask, can we?”

  Samantha shook her head. “Probably not.”

  “I did strike up a little rapport with his English teacher. She might be able to help.”

  Samantha looked a bit concerned. “So we have to go to school?”

  I laughed. She was right to be concerned, if that happened. “I’ll pay her a visit after class tomorrow. If you go in, you’ll probably come out with a scar or two.” Literally.

  Samantha sat up straight, as if she’d taken offense. “If I had to, I could handle myself. I’ve been in high school before. I was sixteen when I passed.”

  Death. Another topic Sam’s kind liked to be sensitive about. You never heard one of them say they kicked the bucket, bit the bullet, went tits up, any of that. They always said, “I passed,” or “I moved on,” or some New Age term like that. “Well, now you work for the man upstairs. There’s a reason high school is torture for normal kids and turns so many sweet, innocent souls into heathens on a regular basis.”

  Samantha furrowed her brows. “Why is that?”

  The poor girl. She didn’t follow.

  I tried to break the whole thing down for her.

  “As the world has gotten bigger, an individual demon’s impact on the world has gotten smaller. Because of that, some of us decided to start playing the long con, tainting souls while they’re young and letting them do the rest while they’re alive. Schools are the logical conclusion of that game. Teenagers’ brains are like sponges.” I made a squeezing motion with my hand. “So easy to twist and manipulate. It’s brilliant, really, even if it is a cop-out. Personally, I like the challenge modern society presents.”