Somehow it was decided that we would go to Florida and check out the lady who was going to become a saint. “Maybe she’ll pop a miracle,” said the Devil.
“No sweat,” said Christ.
“My wife’s expecting me home around nine,” I said.
The Devil laughed really loud. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “I’ll split myself in two, and half of me will go to your house and boff your wife till we get back.”
Christ leaned over and put his hand on my knee. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said to me with a smile. “I have to be in New Egypt by eight.”
“You can do things?” I asked.
“Look,” said Christ, nodding toward the windshield. “We’re there. Just make a right at this corner. It’s the third house on the left.”
I looked up and saw that we were in a suburban neighborhood with palm trees lining the side of the road. The houses were all one-story ranch styles and painted in pastel colors. When I pulled the car over in front of the house, I could hear crickets singing quickly in the night heat.
Before we got out, the Devil leaned toward the front seat and said to Christ, “I’ll make you a bet she doesn’t do a miracle while we’re here.”
“Bullshit,” said Christ.
“What do you want to bet?” asked the Devil.
“How about him,” said the savior and pointed that weird thumb at me.
“Quite the high roller,” said the Devil.
As we were walking up the driveway to the front door, the Devil lagged a little behind us. I leaned over and, in a whisper, asked Christ if he thought she would perform.
He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Have faith, man,” he said. “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.”
“I heard that,” said the Devil. “I don’t like whispering.”
We walked right through the front door and into the living room where a woman was sitting in front of the television. At first, I thought she was deaf, but it soon became clear that we were completely invisible to her.
The Devil walked up behind me and handed me a sixteen-ounce Rolling Rock. “There she is in all her splendor,” he said, as he handed a beer to Christ. “Doesn’t look like much of an opportunity here unless she’s gonna get better looking.”
We stood and stared at her. She was about sixty-five with short hair dyed brown and wearing a flowered bathrobe. On the coffee table in front of her sat an ashtray with a lit cigarette in one of the holders. In her left hand she held a glass of ark wine. As the daily reports of mayhem and greed came through the box, she shook her head from time to time and sipped her drink.
“What’s she done?” I asked.
“She brought a kid back from the dead a few months ago,” said the Devil. “A girl was hit by a car outside a local grocery store. Mrs. Lumley, here, was present and just touched the girl’s hand. The kid got right up off the stretcher and walked away.”
“Strange shit,” said Christ. “We don’t really know how it works.”
“You mean,” I said, “that you can’t make her do a miracle?”
“Not exactly,” said Christ.
“That’s a bitch, isn’t it?” said the Devil. “Now drink your beer and calm down.”
The Devil walked around behind Mrs. Lumley’s chair and used two fingers to make horns behind her head. Christ went to pieces over that one. I even had to laugh while we watched her pick her nose. She was at it for a good five minutes. Christ applauded her every strategy, and the Devil said, “The one that got away.”
“We better sit down. This may take a few minutes,” said Christ.
The Devil and I sat down on the couch and Christ took an old rocker across from us. The evil one rolled another huge joint and listened intently to the report on television of a murder/suicide in California. Mrs. Lumley began singing “The Whispering Wind” to herself in between sips of wine while Christ hummed in a duet with her.
“I’ve had more fun in church,” said the Devil, as he passed me the joint. Again, I tasted the cinnamon and fire, and I took big gulps of beer to soothe my throat.
Christ begged off and just rocked contentedly in his chair.
The news eventually ended and Jeopardy came on the television. “Wait till I get my hooks into this asshole,” the Devil said, nodding toward the host of the show.
“He’s yours,” said Christ. “It’s on me.” Then he pointed his finger at Mrs. Lumley and made her change the channel to a Star Trek rerun.
While we waited for something to happen, the Devil showed me a trick. He took a big draw of Carthage Red and then exhaled it in a perfect globe of smoke. The globe hovered in the air before my eyes and turned crystal clear. Then it was filled with an image of my wife and kids reading bedtime stories. When I reached for it, the globe popped like a soap bubble.
“Parlor tricks,” said Christ.
Eventually, Mrs. Lumley got up, turned off the set, and went into her bedroom. We followed her as far as the door, where we looked in at her. She was kneeling next to the bed, saying her prayers.
“I hope you like the heat,” the Devil said to me.
Then Christ said, “Look.”
Mrs. Lumley lay on the floor, her body twitching. A steady groan escaped through her clenched teeth. In seconds, her skin had become a metallic blue and her head had doubled in size. Fangs, claws, gills, audibly popped from her features. She turned her head to face us, and I could feel she was actually seeing us with her expanding eyes.
“Shit,” said the Devil, and turned and ran toward the door.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Christ, and he too turned and ran. I followed close behind.
By the time we got outside, the Devil was sticking his head out of the back-seat window of the car. “Move your asses,” he yelled.
I ran around the front of the car and climbed in the driver’s seat as fast as I could. Mrs. Lumley, now some kind of rapidly changing blue creature, growled from the front lawn. I turned on the ignition and hit the gas.
“What the fuck was that supposed to be?” said Christ, catching his breath as he passed us each a cigarette.
“Your old man is out of his mind,” said the Devil. “It’s all getting just a little too strange.”
“Tell me about it,” said Christ. “Remember, I warned you back when they first walked on the moon.”
“This is some really evil shit, though,” said the Devil.
“The whole ball of wax is falling apart,” said Christ.
“I actually had a break-out in the ninth hole of Hell last week,” said the Devil. “A big bastard-he smashed right through the ice. Killed one demon with his bare hands and broke another one’s back.”
“Did you get him?” I asked.
“One of my people said she saw him in Chicago.”
“Purgatory is spreading like the plague,” said Christ.
The Devil leaned up close behind me and put his claw hand on my shoulder. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. “His old man is reading Nietzshe,” he whispered, his tongue grazing my earlobe.
“What’s he saying?” Christ asked me.
“Which way am I supposed to turn to get out of this development?” I asked.
Just then there was an abrupt bump on the top of the car. It startled me and I swerved, almost hitting a garbage can.
“You gotta check this out,” said the Devil. “Saint Lumley of the Bad Trips is flying over us.”
“Punch the gas,” yelled Christ, and I floored it. I drove like a maniac, screeching around corners as the pastel ranches flew by.
“We’re starting to lose her,” the Devil called out.
“What are you carrying?” Christ asked.
“I’ve got a full minute of fire,” said the Devil. “What have you got?”
“I’ve got the Machine of Eden,” said Christ.
“Uhh, not The fucking Machine of Eden,” said the Devil, and slammed the back of my seat.