The Book of Bart Page 6

  “Put this on your face.” She pulled a small vial out of her pocket and handed it to me. It contained a thick, clear substance.

  “What is it?”

  “Just do it, okay? It’ll help.”

  I pulled the cork out of the vial and rubbed the ointment all over my face. Everywhere it touched, I felt a soothing sensation as my skin healed. That substance had to come from Heaven. Not many things could heal that quickly.

  Sam moved to stand in front of me. Did she think she was protecting me?

  “You don’t want to mess with Bartholomew here. Believe me.”

  Junior’s face turned red. He pulled out a pendant he wore around his neck. It showed two knights riding on one horse—the symbol for the Knights Templar.

  “My name is Josh Rivers. As a Templar, like my ancestors before me, I am sworn to destroy evil in all its forms.” He pointed at me. “He’s evil. He also killed my dad. So revenge is just icing on the cake.”

  “Yap, yap, yap,” I said, making a quacking motion with my hand at the same time.

  “You really want to snuff out evil?” Sam asked. “Then help us. Bartholomew is here because I need his help.”

  “Hey, whoa, I don’t think so,” I said, holding up my hands. “This clown just tried to kill me, and now you want him to join our little outfit?” I belted out an obnoxious, “Ha.”

  Sam took me by the sleeve of my jacket and pulled me off to the side. “He can help us.”

  “And how helpful will he be if he buries a crucifix in my back like I’m some lowly vampire? It’s all I can do to keep my claws off him now.” I dabbed at my still-healing face, then looked at the mushy flesh on my fingertips. Nasty.

  “Doing this can only help with your sentence,” she said softly.

  “Give me your word on that.”

  “You have it.”

  I held out my elbow in lieu of a fist. “Bump it. I’ll consider the matter settled.”

  She bumped my elbow and turned toward Josh. “So? Will you help us?”

  Josh narrowed his eyes. “Help you do what?”

  “Destroy evil,” she said.

  “I look at it more as a fight evil with evil situation, but you get the point,” I said, standing behind Sam.

  Josh crossed his arms, sizing up Sam with his eyes. “And who are you?”

  Sam seemed to think taking us for ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery would make for a nice peace offering, not to mention a neutral place to explain everything. Not making that up. Cold Stone Creamery. I so needed a fake ID.

  Alcohol, how I miss thee.

  One of these days, I would have to get this country to lower the drinking age back to eighteen. Sometimes, America just couldn’t hide from its Puritan roots.

  With my face healed, we sat outside Cold Stone. Sam ate her Birthday Cake Remix with the glee of a little kid, while Josh nursed his Turtle Sundae. I went through three cigarettes as Sam got the Templar up to speed on our holy mission. Sam wisely didn’t give away too many details of our situation. If Josh knew about the Shard of Gabriel, he’d probably try to use it to destroy me. Because that was what shit birds like him did.

  “So what can I do to help?” Josh asked between bites.

  Samantha twirled a spoon in her ice cream. “We need you to go to Casey’s funeral tomorrow, see if you can find out anything about this mystery girlfriend.”

  “Why can’t you two do it?”

  Sam pursed her lips. “Well, we kind of… ah…”

  I flicked my cigarette away. “His mom thought she saw us fooling around in Casey’s bedroom.”

  Josh seemed unhappy.

  I shrugged. “What can you do?”

  Josh looked back and forth between us. “But you guys didn’t do anything, right?”

  “No,” Sam said, a little too quickly for my tastes. “Heavens, no.”

  Josh smiled. “Good.”

  I lit another cigarette as I glared at Sam. “Please. If you just met me on the street and had no idea about my true nature, you’d be all over me like the world was ending and you wanted to go out with a bang. Don’t even.”

  Sam snorted. “Who says you’re even my type?”

  I pulled my Ray-Bans down my nose. “Look at me. I’m everybody’s type.”

  I huffed on my cig and blew an o-ring at her. She closed her eyes and waved the smoke off, like the smoke would blind her if it touched her corneas.

  “Do you have to do that?” Josh asked.

  “Yes,” I said, sucking on my nicotine-drenched treat. It was so sweet, watching Josh acting chivalrous for Sam. Would he keep up the act if I told him the truth about her?

  Josh peered up into the sky. “That’s a weird rain cloud.”

  Sam and I both checked out the cloud in question. A dark cloud rushed toward us. I yanked off the Ray-Bans. The Black Cloud of Death had returned.

  “We’ll take my car this time,” I said. The metal chair screeched across the pavement as I bolted for my Benz.

  I didn’t bother to look back at the death cloud as I fished the keys out of my pocket and used the keyless entry to unlock the car. I slid into my baby and turned it on, the engine’s hum giving me a small kick of adrenaline. When I heard Sam and Josh slam their doors shut, I hit the gas pedal and we sped out of the parking lot.

  Being stuck in a massive strip mall with a gaseous form intent on sending me back to Hell blew. Stopped cars and red lights blocked every entrance onto the main road that led to the Beltline. Each time I thought I’d gotten out, I had to throw the Benz into reverse, tires screeching, and find another means of escape. The cloud, or whatever it was, passed just over the top of the car.

  Sam screamed.

  “Get us out of here,” Josh said.

  I slammed on the brakes and put the car in park. I turned to Josh, who sat in the back seat. “Do you really think I want that thing to get us? If you’re going to shout ridiculous stuff like that the entire time, I’m going to rip your tongue out or let that thing do it for me. Got it?”

  Josh looked at me blankly for a moment, then nodded.

  “Good.” I threw the gear back into drive. All the entrances were still blocked and the cloud took up the entire rearview mirror, so I did the only thing possible.

  I jumped the curb.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” I said to my car. The bottom of the bumper scraped against the cement and the car shook like a bomb had gone off. I hated to do it, but no way would I let this deadly fart send me to the Ninth Circle.

  I weaved through the traffic and merged with the Beltline. I pushed down on the gas and whipped the car between two tractor-trailers.

  “If anybody has an idea how to lose this thing, let me know,” I said, seeing the cloud break apart as it moved among three lanes of traffic. “Because I am not crashing my ride into a church.”

  Crashing Sam’s Jetta was one thing. The Mercedes fell into a completely different category.

  A car in front of me merged into my lane. I drove so fast I didn’t have time to brake and avoid hitting it. Instead, I swerved hard to the right and ended up taking the Western Boulevard exit. The cloud flew past us and disappeared behind some trees.

  “Did we lose it?” Josh asked.

  I laughed. “You think that gassy asshat will give up that easily?”

  Sam looked through the rear windshield. She nudged my shoulder. “It’s right behind us.”

  The cloud moved through tree branches, disintegrating them. It left a circular hole through the top of the trees.

  I had an idea. I didn’t know if it would work, but that had never stopped me before. This plan would’ve worked on me, so I figured it would do the same to our pursuer. I jerked the steering wheel and made a U-turn, heading straight for the cloud.

  Sam gaped at me. “What are you doing?”

  I smirked. “Trust me.”

  I turned on the stereo and twirled the dial around, looking for a certain satellite radio channel.

  “Is now really the best time to
listen to music?” Josh asked.

  “Yes, it is.” I stopped channel surfing when I hit the Catholic station. I turned the volume down to nothing, then opened the sunroof and all the windows. “Sam, when I tell you, max out the volume and grab the wheel.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Me too.”

  The black cloud, now thirty feet away from us, quickly approached, flying over the tops of cars.

  Sam squealed.

  “You’re insane,” Josh said.

  “Trust me,” I said.

  “Oh, man, I’m going to die,” he said.

  “Now.” I covered my ears as she turned the volume up all the way and took hold of the steering wheel. The channel played some kind of music involving monks chanting. Even with my hands over my ears, the noise pollution violated me. My head shook. My skull rattled. The monk music wanted to destroy me.

  The black cloud was only a few feet away. As it neared the front of the car, the cloud broke apart into little clumps as the monks’ chanting ripped through the entity like a starving person at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  Once we passed the gassy Cloud of Death, I looked in the rearview. All clear.

  “Turn the music off.”

  The pounding in my head disappeared once Sam silenced the monks. I took back the steering wheel, relieved my gambit worked.

  “How did you know that would happen?” Josh asked.

  “I didn’t.” Hymns, psalms, Amy Grant… any stuff like that typically had a pretty nasty effect on demons, so I’d acted on a hunch. Josh didn’t need to know that, though. “Got lucky.”

  Josh sat there, probably trying to think of an answer. “Okay. Whatever you guys are into, I’m in.”

  fter the encounter with the Black Fart of Death, Josh decided to go all in, regardless of his hatred towards me. He did promise that after this quest, he would have his vengeance, but in the meantime, he’d put that on hold. Whatever. I’d kill him before then anyway.

  Josh agreed to crash Casey’s funeral to see if he could catch wind of the mystery girl. Sam and I, knowing his mom wouldn’t be around to stumble upon us this time, decided to break into the kid’s house to see if that ever-elusive cellphone had somehow appeared. Josh would also let us know when Mrs. Testerman left the funeral, just to be safe. Neither of us wanted her to catch us in her home again.

  The day of the funeral, I parked the Benz around the corner from the Testerman house and we walked the rest of the way. I wore black leather gloves on top of my usual outfit. It felt appropriate. Stealthy.

  “How are we getting in?” Sam asked. “I’m not comfortable just breaking into the place.”

  I stopped. Had she really overlooked that detail? “You’re joking, right? How were you expecting we get in? Hope that she forgot to lock the door? Say ‘knock, knock, Avon calling’?”

  Sam tensed up. “I don’t know. Spare key, maybe?”

  “And if there isn’t one?”

  Sam looked down at her feet. “I don’t think about things like that. I’m an angel.”

  “No you’re not,” I huffed. “And even if you were, angels can do stuff like that if it’s necessary. You’re just making excuses. Don’t forget, I used to be a real angel. I know all about your stinking rules.”

  An old man stood in the front yard next to us while his Yorkie relieved itself.

  I glared at him. “What do you want? A pooper scooper?”

  The old man didn’t react. He walked back into his house with the dog. I returned my attention to Sam, who looked pale.

  “That was really mean,” she said.

  “Hello? Demon?” I closed my eyes for a moment. Yelling at Sam in the middle of the ‘burbs didn’t help anybody. “I get that you’re so goody two-shoes you don’t want to get your hands dirty. I’m assuming that’s partly why the Shard decided to pull me into this three-ring circus. But don’t use that as an excuse. It makes you look dumb, and I don’t get the impression you are.”

  “Let’s just check for a spare, okay? It’ll make me feel better.”

  “Fine.”

  Neither of us said a word until we reached the house. We searched around the front porch for a spare key that might be hidden under one of the plants or―no joke―a three-foot-high gnome. If they had a spare key outside, we couldn’t find it. We tried the back of the house next, jumping the fence and walking to the door. I tried the handle just in case, but no dice. Locked. A metal rooster stood guard next to the door.

  “That’s about the biggest cock I’ve ever seen,” I said. Sam didn’t say anything. I picked up the cock, running my hands over it. “You want to get in on this? It’s big enough for two.”

  She glanced at the rooster and stuck her tongue out at me in disgust before wandering off to resume her search.

  I looked under the cock for the key. Nothing. This was stupid. My patience reached its end.

  I broke a pane of glass with my elbow as I heard Sam call out triumphantly, “Found it.”

  Oops.

  Seconds later, Sam held up the key, scowling indignantly at me.

  “Look at that. You found the key. That’s great.” I reached through the broken window and opened the door. I motioned for Sam to enter. “Ladies first.”

  Sam walked past me, glaring. “Patience is a virtue.”

  “Mind the glass.” I stepped inside.

  Except for the air conditioner running, I didn’t hear a sound in the house. The faint smell of deli meat still hung in the air.

  Sam scanned the books in a bookshelf. “If you find the phone, we have to check it here. We can’t take it with us.”

  I sighed. “Let me guess. Thou shalt not steal?”

  “Something like that. I didn’t make the rules.”

  I patted her on the head. “No, you just follow them like a good little girl.”

  I had to get out of this situation. The way Sam kept our hands tied, we would never find who wanted the Shard. And even if we did, we didn’t stand a chance in Heaven of stopping them.

  “You check the kitchen. I’ll check her bedroom.”

  Sam gave me a funny look. “The bedroom?”

  “You never know.” What I did know was that with no Mr. Testerman, chances were good I could find something incriminating lying around. Mostly for giggles.

  The bedroom looked so messy you’d think Casey lived in this room, not his mother. Clothes all over the floor, the bed hadn’t been made, and tear-soaked tissues lay on the nightstand. Pathetic. I scanned the top of the dresser. Not one damning item among the bottles of perfume, lotions, makeup, whatever else women used to keep time from destroying their looks. I dug into the drawers. The top right had the coup de grâce: Mrs. Testerman’s vibrator.

  I smiled and turned it on, listening to the electronic hum. Laughing, I removed the batteries and stuffed them in my pocket. Just a little gift from me to her. “Throw me out of your house.” “Bart,” Sam called out.

  “Did you find the phone?” I asked, meeting her in the living room.

  She waved the phone around.

  “Wonderful.”

  Sam turned the phone on and waited for it to load up. She turned to me and took a breath, like she wanted to say something, but instead said nothing.

  I tapped my hands to Johnny Cash’s I Walk the Line to kill the time. I almost went outside to have a smoke when Sam spoke up.

  “That was an awful thing you said earlier,” she muttered. “About me.”

  “What? The whole goody-goody angel thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you’re not exactly making this a real treat for me, you know.”

  “It’s not supposed to be a treat,” she said, glancing up at me. “This isn’t my idea of a good time either.”

  I leaned against the couch. “Then why bother? Let’s just give up and call it a day.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Because I care about finding out who’s after the Shard.”

  Whatever hurt I’d inflicted o
n her appeared to be turning into anger. Most angels acted like Vulcans when it comes to anger, pushing it deep down into the depths of their soul. Seeing Sam’s boil to the surface was a welcome change.

  “Do you even know how to care about something?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “What do you care about?”

  “I care about wrecking lives. Making the best-laid plans of mice and men go awry. Taking people’s hubris and using it to destroy them. And virgins. Sweet, luscious virgins. That count?” I raised my eyebrows. “And smoking. I love smoking. But that one is a given.”

  “I shouldn’t have asked.” Sam threw her arms up. “Can’t you just apologize?”

  “I’m a demon. Do you get that? I don’t apologize.” I probably did need to apologize, actually. Otherwise, this argument might never end. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, all right? I do it to everybody who isn’t from Hell.” I paused and considered that statement for a moment. “No, I do it to everybody. Even those from Hell. It’s just the way I am.”

  If she wanted an apology, it wouldn’t get any closer than that.. Period.

  Samantha slapped me. Guess my apology didn’t do the trick for her. A searing pain soon replaced the sting of the hit and I rubbed my face, knowing she’d left a nasty mark. I found a mirror in the hallway and looked at the damage. Just as I’d feared, my cheek had a nice, deep, burgundy handprint on it.

  “Great,” I said. “Appreciate that. I left your little healing semen stuff at home.”

  With the cell up and running, Sam went to work, using her thumbs to navigate the menu screen. “You deserved it. And you’re forgiven. Come here.”

  “Why? So you can inflict more domestic abuse on me?”

  She glared at me. “So you can look at this.”

  I moved next to her for a look. She navigated to the text messages. Most of them seemed to be from guys—presumably Casey’s friends—his mom, and a mystery number that had Vixen as the contact. I pointed at it. “Bingo.”

  Sam gave me the stink eye. “You think?”

  She touched the name, bringing up the contact information. Just a phone number. No e-mail, Facebook or any other personal information. “Dial it?”