As Jessie finished her diatribe, she pounded her fist on the table. The force of the blow sent the bowl flying into the air, raining thick brown sludge all over her.
I grabbed what looked like an old piece of cloth that was lying on another chair and tried to wipe her down. Immediately, she screamed and reached out to grab the cloth from my hand.
“Keep still, Angel,” I said. “I’m trying to clean you up.”
“Stop it,” she cried, still clawing blindly for the cloth.
I stepped back. “Take it easy. Even in Hell, I don’t think a face full of toxic slime is a good look.”
“You don’t understand. I have to wear that.”
“This?” I held up the cloth. Underneath the grunge that had been smeared all over it, it appeared to be some sort of body stocking. “Why do you have to wear this?”
“I told you before I had a penance to serve.”
“Wearing this is your punishment for sneaking into Heaven?”
“It’s worse than that,” Jessie sighed. “I have to go out into the street looking like this. I have to do a mime performance.”
“A mime performance here? Out on the streets of Hell?”
Jessie nodded sadly.
“Ouch,” I groaned. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment.” I shut my eyes, trying to hold back an image of Jessie in her filthy bodystocking, walking against the wind out on the busy streets of Hell. It wasn’t working. Suddenly, this room was starting to get awfully claustrophobic. I had to get out.
“I’d love to stay and watch your performance,” I said, “but I’ve got to get going. There’s still plenty of work for me to do here.”
“You’ll come back though, won’t you?” said Jessie, her eyes big and round beneath the layers of caked-on cereal. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.”
“I’ll do what I can, Angel. This case is starting to get awfully complicated. And if what you’ve said is right, I’ve got to watch my back. But whatever happens, just remember I’ll be thinking about you.”
“I’ll be thinking about you too, Jimmy.”
I walked through the door, trying my best not to think about her. Of course, I banged my head on the way out.
It was daytime in Hell, but there wasn’t a lot of sunshine creeping through the clouds. A light drizzle was falling as I made my way through the gloom of another side alley, back towards the main street.
In the cold light of day, the main street of Hell didn’t scrub up so well. What had seemed bright and exciting at night now seemed faded and tired. The music that still thumped from the bars sounded atonal and jarring, while the neon signs glowed feebly, barely illuminating the dimness all around.
There was less foot traffic than the previous night, but it was still pretty busy. I walked slowly through the crowd, quietly observing the faces that suddenly didn’t seem to be quite so becoming. There were the women whose lipstick and powder couldn’t disguise their thin mouths and dry, lined skin. There were the young stallions with their clinking jewellery, thrusting out their chests and shoulders but impressing no one but themselves. There were the old drunks in faded dinner jackets, dancing to the music of parties that had long since ended. In all of their eyes, I could see a look that I might once have taken for purpose and determination, but which now looked a lot more like futile desperation.
I trudged along the street, stepping in every puddle along the way, until I arrived back at the Devil’s castle. Even that didn’t seem to be quite so imposing. It was neither as black nor as solidly threatening as I’d remembered it from the night before.
I stood for a moment, examining the gruesome door buzzer. The business I had today was a little too private for me to be ringing the front doorbell. I looked around. On either side of the door, a series of open windows gaped darkly like a row of demons’ jaws hungry for food. It seemed that security here was more than a little lax, though I could understand why. Who could possibly be foolhardy enough to consider breaking into the Prince of Darkness’s stronghold? Only one person I could think of.
I racked my brain trying to remember the position of the side door I’d seen Sid scurrying into the night before, then counted across the windows on the left side to see if I could match window with door. Once I’d made my selection, I hoisted myself up and through the window, and immediately discovered my calculations were hopelessly wrong.
Instead, I found myself in what appeared to be a tearoom. There was a counter with a kettle, a toaster, and a griller. There was also another person in the room. Click went the kettle as that other person switched it on.
Just in time, I dived behind the counter. I could see a pair of black-clothed legs, but couldn’t tell whom they belonged to. Luckily, as the kettle began to boil, the noise gave me the cover I needed, and I was able to quickly crawl to the other side of the room and out into the big, gothic hall.
Sticking closely to the gargoyle-infested walls, I made my way to the next door and poked my head inside. This room looked a lot more promising. Atop a small desk, a series of manila folders were arranged, while banks of filing cabinets lined the far wall. And, even more promisingly, it was completely unoccupied. I crept inside. It was time to give the Devil’s accountant an audit.
I began leafing through the contents of the folders on the table, and as I examined each document, things began to fall into place. I had discovered the Devil’s line of business at last. The scope of his enterprise ranged across building maintenance, plumbing, electrical, even clothing repair and alterations—basically all of the manual work required for the upkeep of Heaven. So much for the Devil being such a big-shot. There was no vast business empire, and no hidden maze of graft and corruption. The Prince of Darkness was really nothing more than the Prince of Subcontractors.
There was still one particular operation I needed to uncover. Frantically, I scanned through the documents, working through the painting, flooring, double-glazing, and roof-insulation divisions. Finally, I found what I was looking for—the information about garbage collection.
I tore through various ledgers, profit and loss statements, and other financial statistics related to garbage collection, looking for the one piece of information I was particularly interested in. Bully had told me the garbage business had recently been taken over. Who were the new owners? Who had come in and pushed their employees to the point of going on strike? At last, here was the contract of sale. I was about to take a look when . . .
. . . The door flew open. I turned to see two pairs of eyes glaring at me. One was the most evil set of peepers that had ever looked my way. The other belonged to the Devil.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the Devil demanded, sending the temperature in the room plummeting by at least fifteen degrees.
The Devil’s accountant let out a high-pitched squeal, rushed over to the desk, and grabbed the folder. “He’s looking at the garbage collection,” he said in a soft, high-pitched voice that couldn’t have been more at odds with his ghastly visage.
“I might have guessed,” the Devil growled. “You’ve been sent here by God to snoop into my private business affairs.”
“That’s not the case at all—,” I began.
There was no way the Devil was going to let me finish. “That’s just typical,” he blustered. “He is a jealous God. Just because I’m so much more successful in business than He is.”
I figured I should at least try one more time. “If you’d only let me explain—”
Still, the Devil had no interest in listening. “I’m going off to my Tai Chi class now, Mr Clarenden. When I get back, I expect you will have removed yourself from Hell. I hope for your sake that will be the case.” Then he turned and left the office.