He tried the door, but it was locked. The window looked as though it hadn’t been washed in years. Theo wiped away a little dirt and peered inside. Just enough lights were burning to let him see a few things here and there. At first it looked like nothing but heaps of scrap metal, all shapes and sizes. As he looked closer, however, he could see that the pieces all fit together. They had form. They were sculptures. Eddy’s Palace was an art studio.
Theo cupped his hands like blinders to cut down the glare. The forms came clearer. A huge, metal arm was reaching from the floor, like a hand from the grave. The man beside it was impaled on a lance, his gaping mouth exaggerated to emphasize his suffering. Several other figures seemed normal from the waist up, but the lower halves of their bodies were twisted and melted, overcome by metal tongues of fire. There were hundreds of other figures, some small, some larger than life, all with their mouths wide open, all with that same exaggerated expression of pain.
It looked like one man’s version of hell.
Theo stepped away from the window, and he was about to give the door another try when he noticed a little sign near the doorbell. It read: DOORBELL BROKEN, PLEASE ENTER AT BACK DOOR.
Dusk was turning to dark, and even Theo was having second thoughts about walking down an alley in search of the back door to hell. The neighborhood was at best questionable. The windows on nearby buildings were covered with burglar bars, and Theo recognized the cigar shop across the street from a newscast about a month earlier. The owner had been shot dead in a robbery. But he’d come too far to back down from some metal-worker-turned-artist who didn’t think twice about torching a true work of art, a classic Mustang convertible. Theo walked a few steps north and then turned down the alley.
It was a long, narrow alley, and with each step, Theo put the traffic noise from Flagler Street farther behind him. He was soon alone with the Dumpsters, deep into shadows so dark that he had to stop for a moment to let his eyes adjust. There was a street lamp overhead, and it should have clicked on by now. It had to be burned out. Theo took a few more steps, but then he stopped as he reached the end of the alley and rounded the corner to the back of the building. He heard something. It sounded like hissing.
A snake?
The thought made him shudder. Theo wasn’t afraid of much, but he was definitely not a snake guy.
The hissing continued, and then Theo spotted the source. The door at the studio’s rear entrance was open-wide open, not just unlocked. The hissing was coming from inside. Theo started toward the open door. It couldn’t be a snake. The hissing was continuous. No snake hissed nonstop. He stopped at the open doorway and looked inside.
The back of Eddy’s Palace was more like a metal shop than a studio. Eddy obviously created his sculptures right on the premises. A man-presumably Eddy-was busy at his welding table, his back to the door. He wore a metal visor over his head, the dark kind that protected the eyes from the intense glare of a welding iron. Theo could feel the heat escaping through the open door. Theo had done some welding himself, mostly on cars. He knew the arc could reach several thousand degrees. It was no wonder the door was open.
Theo watched for a minute or two. The artist was totally absorbed in his craft, shaping what appeared to be the all-important gaping mouth of another citizen from hell. Theo could have rolled through the back door in a tank and gone unnoticed.
Which gave him an idea.
Quietly, he stepped inside the studio. Eddy was still focused on work, oblivious to anything else. The gas tanks were near the door. Another torch was hanging on a hook beside the tanks. Theo opened the valve on the extra torch. He could feel the gas coursing through the tubing. He had firepower, which made him smile a little. Then he turned the valve off on the torch Eddy was working with, and he gently closed the door.
The flame on Eddy’s torch grew smaller and smaller until it finally went out. Eddy straightened up, as if ready to switch tanks. As he flipped up his visor and turned toward the tanks, Theo was on top of him like a T. rex on lunch. Eddy was facedown on the cement before he knew what had hit him. He squirmed for a moment, then a foot-long flame scorched the concrete floor just inches from his nose.
“Don’t move,” said Theo. He was sitting on Eddy’s kidneys, pressing him into the floor.
Eddy’s eyes were like silver dollars, his voice shaking. “Don’t hurt me, man.”
“Shut the fuck up, or I start cooking your nose from the inside out.”
Eddy was shaking, but he didn’t say a word.
“Good,” said Theo. “Nice and quiet, and nobody gets hurt. I’m a real lover of the arts, so it would be a shame to toast you. I mean that. I really dig your work. Highly unusual pieces. Very reminiscent of…Oh, what am I thinking of?”
Sweat was pouring down Eddy’s face. His breathing grew louder, but he didn’t answer.
Theo tapped the head of the torch on the concrete, giving Eddy a start. “You can talk when I ask you a question, moron.”
Eddy could barely keep his saliva in his mouth. “What was the question?”
“I said your work reminds me of something that I just can’t put my finger on.”
“ Salvador Dalí?”
“Hmmm. Actually, I was gonna say mindfarts of a serial killer. But we can go with Dalí, if that makes you feel better.”
“Just tell me what you want, man.”
“I want information. Can you give me information, Eddy?”
“Whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me, all right?”
“Sure. What I want to know is-” Theo stopped himself. This was too easy. Where was the fun? His gaze quickly swept the workshop, and a thin smile crept to his lips as he spotted the many half creations around him, all these suffering souls destined for hell. He was suddenly feeling spiritual. “You believe in God, Eddy?”
“I don’t know, man. Do you want me to?”
“You must believe. All this hell around you. Can’t be a hell if there’s no God, right?”
“Sure, sure. I believe.”
“Good. Because this is what I want to know. Hypothetically, let’s say I’m God. This is just pretend now, okay? Don’t be running to my momma’s grave and tellin’ her I think I’m God or something. So I’m God, and I’ve decided to grant my first interview. You got the scoop, Eddy, but you can ask only one question. Just one. So fire away. What do you want to ask God?”
“Huh?”
“There’s no right or wrong here, pal. Just spit it out. It’s just you and God in the back of your studio. For the moment, let’s ignore the fact that God’s packing a blowtorch that can melt your face into the concrete. Go ahead, ask your one question.”
The punk could barely speak, he was so frightened. “Uhm-what’s the meaning of life?”
Theo made a face, as if in pain. “What the hell kind of shitty question is that?”
“You said there was no right or wrong here.”
Theo smacked him on the side of the head. “Did anybody ever fucking tell you to believe what I say?”
“No.”
“Now ask another question. And make it good!”
He swallowed, but he didn’t have anything to say.
“What are you, brain dead?” said Theo. “You can’t think of one decent question? How about something like this: Why does cold water boil faster than hot water? You want to ask him that?”
He nodded tentatively.
“It doesn’t, shithead. Who told you it was okay to ask God a trick question, huh?”
“Don’t, don’t!” He seemed to sense that the blowtorch was coming.
Theo squeezed the trigger, sending a tongue of flame onto the concrete. It was so close to Eddy that it singed his hair. The guy was about to crumble. “Give me a break, man, okay?”
Theo sighed and said, “Aw, shit. I gotta do everything around here. Okay, here’s one last suggestion. I got God on the line, right? ‘Yo, God, it’s Theo. How you doin’? Got a question for you. Is there anything this poor slob here-what’s your name again?”