“Actually, I might take a rain check on the Feng Shui. But some things you’ve said have aroused my curiosity. You say you’re a businessman. Can you tell me a little more about your line of business?”
For the first time in our meeting, the smile slipped from the Devil’s face, but it didn’t make the room any warmer.
“I’m afraid that is out of the question. I’ve worked hard to build up my business, and I can’t go around giving away my secrets just like that. If any of my competitors were to find out, I would be ruined. Please understand, it’s nothing personal. Just the requirements of commercial confidentiality. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a yoga class to run.” The Devil motioned towards the door.
I took the hint and stood up. But as I was about to leave the office, the Devil called me back and handed over an envelope.
“I don’t want you to consider me rude, Mr Clarenden. Please use this to avail yourself of the pleasures of Hell.”
I looked inside the envelope. It contained a thick wad of large, red notes, each of which featured Sid’s grinning visage.
“Local currency?” I said, swishing the notes through my fingers. It felt good to have that feeling of cold, hard cash in my hands.
“Ten thousand diablos,” said the Devil. “If you want the best, you’ve got to pay for it. And here in Hell, we’re proud to offer the very best in all forms of entertainment. I’m sure you’re aware that most of the finest performers lived thoroughly sinful lives. If it’s great actors, artists, or musicians you’re after, you’re sure to find them here.”
I thanked the Devil. Then I departed the office, walked back through the gothic hall and out the front door of the castle.
* * *
On the road back into the centre of Hell, I considered the Devil’s claims that he was a businessman. Although he wouldn’t tell me what business he was in, I had a pretty good idea it wasn’t boiled lollies.
Still, there were things that puzzled me. The Devil had said he was afraid of information falling into the hands of his competitors. Which competitors did he mean? Who in their right mind would set themselves up in competition with the Prince of Darkness? And what of his claim that he’d been giving Sally home renovation tips? If his presence in her house had been that innocuous, why had Sally been so determined to keep me out? Surely it wasn’t because she was afraid a second opinion would complicate things.
I didn’t have long to ponder these questions before I found myself back on the main strip. If anything, Hell seemed to have gotten even busier. The neon signs glowed brighter, the crowds rushed past at a maniacal pace, and the music booming out of the clubs was bordering on ear-splitting. I looked at the billboard above the nearest door. Hottest Sounds in Hell it screamed back at me. Unsolved dilemmas could wait. It was time to see how much of the Devil’s money I could spend.
I placed myself at the end of the line stretching out from the nightclub door and I waited. The line wasn’t long, and there seemed to be plenty of comings and goings through the door ahead, but after a while I couldn’t help noticing I wasn’t getting any closer to the front. The longer I stood there, the further away I seemed to be from that door. After about half an hour, I tired of waiting. Besides, my stomach was growling like a pack of wild dogs in an echo chamber. I needed something to eat.
I detached myself from the line and approached a hot dog vendor standing by the nightclub door.
“One hot dog,” I said, waving one of the strange looking notes.
The vendor looked at the note I was holding. “If that’s what you’re offering, all I can give you is a couple of sesame seeds,” he replied smartly.
I took two more notes from my pocket. He shook his head again. I continued taking out notes, and when I was holding fifteen of them he finally nodded.
“That’ll do just fine, son,” he grinned.
“I thought robbery was illegal,” I muttered as I handed over the diablos and snatched the hot dog from his hands.
“I think you’ll find there’s very little that’s illegal here,” he replied with a chuckle.
I held the hot dog up to my mouth, but as I was about to take a bite, the sausage slipped out of the roll and fell into the middle of a nest of garbage.
I looked across to the vendor, who had already begun to construct another hot dog. Once again, I handed over fifteen of those red notes. And once again, as I was about to bite into it, the sausage slithered out and flopped down to the ground. The vendor shrugged and moved onto hot dog number three. I counted the notes in my pocket. There were only twenty left.
“No thanks, I’ll just have the rolls,” I snarled, and in five savage bites I had finished them off. They were as filling as three-day-old newspaper, but I was damned if I was going to give any more money to this thief with his lubricated sausages.
I continued walking down the street. It was beginning to rain lightly, but I wasn’t bothered. I found another nightclub that didn’t have a line outside and made a beeline for the door. But as I was about to walk through, a thickset figure blocked my path.
“You got ID?” he said in a voice that seemed to be coming from the bottom of his stomach.
“I need ID?” I replied, attempting to feign ignorance. I didn’t have to try that hard.
“No ID, no entry,” the bouncer said, as a couple of people pushed past us and into the club.
“Those other people didn’t need ID,” I said, pointing through the door where the people had disappeared.
“You ain’t those other people. You wanna get in, you gotta have ID.” And though his point needed no underlining, he underlined it anyway by turning his arm muscles into something resembling an armoured tank.
“You’re right, and I’m so sorry for wasting your time,” I said, and then I quickly departed before any military exercises could be conducted on my face.
At the next three clubs I tried, I encountered similar situations. It seemed that for some reason I was the only person in Hell who required ID to get into a club. It also seemed that, judging by appearances, the security industry in Hell was a family business.
As I walked away from the fourth nightclub, a sign on the other side of the road caught my attention: Free Entry to All – No ID Required. I approached the side of the road. The chances of crossing didn’t seem good. The traffic was bumper to bumper, with every car moving at something close to the speed of sound. There wasn’t even space for a fly to get across.
I stood on the side of the road for ages. A couple of times, I took a tentative step forwards, but the screaming of horns sent me scurrying back. There was clearly no way I was going to get across. My only option now was to take extreme measures, to commit an act that under any other circumstance I would never consider. I was going to have to use a pedestrian crossing.
The very idea of finding a pedestrian crossing in Hell seemed about as likely as finding a gold nugget in a septic tank. Which made it all the more splendid when I happened to spy one barely a block up the street. I pressed the call button and I waited. I waited and waited, pounding again on the button at regular intervals. Eventually, it became apparent that the lights weren’t about to change. I would have to abandon any hope of getting to that ID-free nightclub that beckoned so loudly.
Still, as I walked away, I couldn’t help taking one fleeting glance back. Amazingly, the traffic had stopped, and a green Walk sign shone like a beacon. I skidded around and raced back to the crossing. Of course, I was too late. A red Don’t Walk had reappeared and the traffic surged forwards again.
I screamed and swore and stamped my foot down on the ground, which felt suspiciously soft underfoot. I lifted my foot. A thick, brown, and extremely pungent substance clung to the bottom of my shoe, and from the corner of my eye, I noticed a mangy cur running away along the street. I swore slightly more loudly, then took off the shoe and beat it repeatedly on the side of the road. At that moment, the rain began to get much heavier. I jammed the shoe back on and ran to the shelter of an adjacent steel awning, which promptly collapsed under the weight of the rain, giving me a thorough drenching. I hurried under a more substantial shelter and stood, shivering.