There Ain't No Rest for the Dead | Part 2
49:20 Share

Four years. That's how long it took Democrats to ruin our economy and plunge our southern border into anarchy. Who helped them hurt us? Ruben Gallego. Washington could have cut taxes for Arizona families, but Ruben blocked the bill. And his fellow Democrats gave a bigger break to the millionaire class in California and New York. They played favorites and cost us billions. And Ruben wasn't done yet.

We'll be right back.

Carrie and the Republicans will secure the border, support our families, and never turn their backs on us. Carrie Lake for Senate. I'm Carrie Lake, candidate for U.S. Senate, and I approve this message. Paid for by Carrie Lake for Senate and the NRSC. Church's original recipe is back. You can never go wrong with original. Still tastes the same like back in the day. Right now, get two pieces of chicken starting at only $2.99 or 10 pieces starting at only $10.99. Church's. Offer valid at participating locations.

The backseat is full of gear, everything from rope to silver chain to bags of yeti hair to a couple of crates filled with dried scarabs. There are torches and lamp oil, plus heavy-duty gloves made from the hides of who knows what. Oh, and I can't forget to mention the dozen of shotguns on the floorboards with enough hexed buckshot shells to last for eternity, which makes me wonder just how long Nola thinks we'll be in hell.

"She never gave you a deadline," Nola says without me saying a word. She doesn't take her eyes off the street, but I know she knows that I know that she guessed right. Years of being married and years of being divorced have given us a secondhand way of communicating. I know when she's close to homicide, and she knows when I'm working out loose ends in my head. "No, but it was implied that I should hurry," I say.

"Implications are not contractual obligations, Payton," she says. "You know that. Except all we've got is a backseat full of gear, this car, and each other," I say. "Gloria Hale has a fortune and connections in places that can get us squashed with a snap of her fingers. Maybe," Nola says and shrugs. Then she slows the car and stares out the windshield at the grove.

Not too late to try to find a different route, she says to me as the ominous trees sway in the wind that has started to pick up. It'll get a whole lot worse before our journey's over. Is there a different route? I ask. No, she says. She's right. We checked. We drove past every single way out of or into, depending on how you look at it. So the grove, it is. Technically, the grove is in the center of the city, but that's simply an illusion of placement.

The grove is really everywhere and nowhere. "That oak on the right has walloping on its mind," I say, and point to a twisted white oak off to the side of the road. "Nope," Nola says and gets out of the car. She leans in and holds out a hand without looking at me. I sigh and pick up one of the blood jugs then give it to her. Nola takes the jug and opens it as she moves around to the hood of the car.

She dips her fingers into the Corsican blood and begins painting runes all over the hood. Then she moves to the front bumper, the fenders, the doors, and finally the trunk, which we left empty for Lionel Hale's ride back to the city, hence why the back seat was filled to the brim. When Nola is finished, the three blood jugs are empty of almost every drop of Corsican that they hold. Nola hands the empty jugs back to me, one by one.

I carefully set them at my feet. Not that I'm ever going back to see Charlie and get my deposit back. I like my kidneys and liver and the rest of me intact, but you never know when three empty blood jugs might come in handy. Especially in hell. Back behind the wheel, Nola puts the Chevy in drive and slowly presses the gas. We enter the grove and pass the mean-looking white oak without incident. That's about as lucky as we get.

"Black smoke on our right," Nola says. "I see it," I say, and reach back behind my seat to grab a shotgun. I roll my window down, and the distinct smell of rotting plant matter and damp, mildewy earth fills the car. "Looks like a hag," I say, and rest the barrel of the shotgun on the window frame.

"Where there's one, there's two," Nola says. "I know that." I snap. "Then shoot them!" She snarls. "I'm going to!" I shout. "But you haven't!" She shouts back. Our divorce wasn't much of a surprise. The car picks up speed and the black smoke matches us as it flies between the gnarly trunks of the grove's corrupted trees. I look out of Nola's window and see a matching cloud of black smoke on that side.

"First clearing is coming up," Nola announces. "We don't want to get caught out in the open with two hags on her ass. I have this covered," I say, and take aim with the shotgun. The hag is good. She knows how to time her cover behind the tree trunks just right, so I can't ever quite get a clear angle on her. But I don't need a clear angle with hexed buckshot. I lead her like a duck, then open fire.

Flames explode around a corpse of birch trees, and a scream filled with a mixture of pure rage and intense pain hits us, making Nola swerve. The black smoke on the left dives at us. Nola grips the wheel hard as the smoke collides with the side of the car. We swerve again, but Nola gets us back straight as we head for the first clearing. "Duck in cover!" I shout as I swing the shotgun in Nola's direction.

She lowers her head so she barely has a view of the road ahead and shrugs her shoulders up to her ears. The black smoke comes in for another attack, but I unload the shotgun on it and its fate is the same as its sister's. Flames explode against the side of the car and the heat is intense. I strip off my jacket and reload the shotgun. Nola slowly straightens up, her eyes locked onto the clearing that we were about to burst out into.

Nola doesn't need to tell me what to do. I crawl into the backseat and wedge myself into the gear. Then I make sure the shotguns are all ready and close at hand. "Three," Nola calls out. "Two, one." The trees thin and then disappear as the car drives out into a wide open meadow where black grasses sway in the wind and a hundred angry zombies rush for us.

There's never a point where I don't have a shotgun in my hands. I'm either firing a shotgun, loading a shotgun, or using the butt of a shotgun to smash in a zombie's face when one gets too close to the car for comfort. "Heading back in!" Nola shouts. The zombies slow their pursuit of the Chevy.

They aren't allowed within the trees themselves. "You holding up?" I ask Nola. "I don't have much of a choice," she replies. "That's not an answer," I say. "Is fuck off and let me drive answer enough for you?" she replies. "Yep," I say, and climb back into the passenger seat. I have two shotguns with me this time. What little light that had filtered down through the trees is gone, and Nola switches on the headlights.

Then she slams on the brakes as we almost collide with something made of tentacles that is taking up the entire road. "Can we ram it?" I ask. Nola looks over at me like I just said the dumbest thing a person has ever said. "Well, can we?" I ask. "Yes," she says. "But it won't like that." "Here's something else it won't like," I say and lean out of my window with a shotgun.

The shotgun is snatched away by one of the tentacles. I duck back and roll the window up. You thought that would work? Nola asks with a harsh laugh. Obviously, or I wouldn't have tried it, I say. I see the error of my ways now. Well, that's a relief. Nola shouts and revs the engine. Then she floors it and sends the Chevy straight for the abomination. I'd put a seatbelt on, but it's a 46 Chevrolet, so there's no seatbelt to put on.

Instead, I brace my legs in the footwell and brace my hands against the dash as the thing gets closer and closer and closer. Tentacles shoot out at us and envelop the car. Nola pushes the pedal all the way to the floor and the Chevy's engine roars. Then the abomination swallows us whole, car and all. The stink is unimaginable. Once more, I roll down my window and stick the barrel of a shotgun outside.

Except the outside is really the inside of whatever it is we're being swallowed by. By fire and fire. Green blood splashes into the car, coating my face and chest. A roar that matches the Chevy's engine makes my teeth rattle in my head, as whatever we're dealing with expresses its dissatisfaction at having its insides filled with buckshot. Then we're out.

The Chevy rips its way out of the back end of the thing, sending a wave of green blood and putrid flesh out before us to coat the road. Nola is barely able to keep us from sliding off the pavement as the tires struggle to gain traction against the gunk and goo. "That wasn't so bad," I say, spitting green blood from my mouth. "I hate you," Nola says. "But you have a million and a half bucks," I say. "Well, see," she says. "We've got the second clearing coming up.

Great. I say. More zombies. We all have plans in life. Maybe to take a cross-country road trip or simply get through this workout without any back pain. Whether our plans are big, small, spontaneous, or years in the making, good health helps us accomplish them. At Banner Health, we're here to provide more than health care. Whatever you're planning, wherever you're going, we're here to help you get there. Banner Health. Exhale.

By the time we reach the end of the grove, the Chevy isn't looking so great. But it's still running and that's what matters. "Gate!" Nola says, and slows the Chevy. We roll up to a simple iron gate. It's about 20 feet tall and just as wide. It could be a gate to one of a billion cemeteries that dot the land, but it's not. It's a gate to hell. A man dressed in a watchman's uniform waves at us as we reach the gate.

"What's your business here?" he asks as he stops at Nola's window, a clipboard in his hand. "I'm not seeing any scheduled visits today. Go into the sixth circle to retrieve someone," I say, leaning past Nola so I can smile up at the man. He's of a nondescript age and has nondescript features. We'll have completely forgotten him by the time we get through the gate, which is the point, I guess. I've never fully understood the roles of the gate watchmen,

The watchman is writing on his clipboard, but he pauses at my words. He looks directly at me. "Say that again?" he says. Nola sighs in frustration. "We're going to the sixth circle to retrieve someone," I say. "A Lionel Hale, a very bad man." "Then why are you retrieving him?" the watchman asks. "Hell is for the bad people." "His wife," I say and shrug.

The Watchman's eyebrows raise, then he shrugs and takes a step back. "If you say so," he says. "Will you be coming back this way?" "Maybe," I reply. I look to Nola for help, but she is ignoring the entire interaction. "Possibly." "I like your conviction." The Watchman says and chuckles. "Not that it matters much. You'll be dead before you get to the sixth circle anyway. Things aren't looking good down there right now."

"Bit of a shake-up going on, I hear." "Well, thanks for letting us through," I say and give him a friendly wave. "No problem at all, Mr. Payton," he says and points at the gate. It starts to swing inward. "Good luck." Nola is already driving through the gate before I can ask the watchman how he knew who I was. "I thought we weren't on the list," I say once we're through the gate and on the road to hell. "That's not what he said," Nola replies. "He said there were no scheduled visits."

"Shit, you're right!" I say and take a deep breath. "I gotta remember that words matter in Hell." "I think you're expected, Payton," Nola says. "I guess the rumors are right then." I say. "Maybe I am a sacrifice." "But who would bother sacrificing you?" She asks. "You're a nothing!" "Thanks!" I say. "To Hell!" Nola responds. "I mean, you are a nothing to Hell." "True. But then why-" A thought hits me. "Hold on.

"I'm not stopping," Nola says. "No, I just mean I think I know what's going on," I say. "What's that?" Nola asks. The road ahead of us is cracked and broken. A yellow, sulfurous smog hangs over us. Off in the distance, past the scorched stumps of old trees, I can see gouts of flame shoot into the air every couple of seconds. "Baton!" Nola snaps. "What do you think is going on?"

"Sacrifice?" I say. "You said that!" She shouts. "Tell me something new!" "What makes me special down here?" I ask. "I swear, Peyton, I do not need your ego right now." She barks at me. "I made it out!" I say, ignoring her anger. "Yeah? So what?" She says. "I did too. Or did you forget who drove you out of this place?"

"Obviously, I didn't forget, because I came to you to drive me here in the first place!" I shout, no longer able to ignore her anger. In fact, what I really want to do is pick up one of the shotguns and put the barrel against her temple and just pull. "Whoa!" I say, cutting that train of thought off. "It's starting to seep in." Nola almost shouts something at me, but her jaw clamps shut instead, and her eyes go wide.

She glances around the landscape, which is now changed to a flat plane of black glass with bone-white hands sticking up through it. And, yes, they are waving at us. I'm surprised they aren't giving us the finger. No, wait, there they go. "Same thing happened last time," I say to Nola. "We were at each other's throats." "More than usual," she adds. "More than usual, yes." I agree. "So why are you a sacrifice?" she asks.

"That part, I don't know," I say. "But if I had to guess?" "Go ahead and guess," she says. "Might as well be useful for something while I do the hard work." I let the barb go, because I know if I respond, we'll probably kill each other. "If they sacrifice someone that has escaped hell, then it stands to reason that the sacrifice is so someone else can escape," I say. "Then it really hits me." "Or someones." "Someones?" Nola asks.

The landscape has already shifted to a desert made of blood-red sand piled into massive, mile-high dunes on either side of the road. Every couple of seconds, I see a gigantic eye open up at the base of a dune. It blinks and watches us drive past, then closes and disappears. "Let's piece this together," I say. Hale's mansion was blown up three days ago, killing Lionel Hale and Gloria Hale. "Four days now," Nola says.

Four days ago, I continue, Lionel is whisked off to hell by his demon lover. But Gloria has enough wherewithal to seek me out and hire me to bring her husband back. For three million dollars in cash, Nola says and shakes her head. We aren't seeing a dime of that cash, are we, Peyton? Maybe not, I say. Did you get a retainer at least, she asks. No, I say. She razzled and dazzled me with the three mil.

"But she razzled and dazzled you with her other assets," Nola says. "She's not my type," I say. "Not type? What the fuck does that mean?" Nola asks. "I don't have a type per se," I reply. "But I have a not type, and she's it." "If you say so," she says then slams on the brakes. I lurch forward and grab the dash with both hands to keep from splitting my head open. "Crap," I say when I see why we've stopped.

A legion of demons and lesser minions from the Order of Hell are blocking our way. "We can't fight through that," Mulla says. "Probably not," I say.

"Oh, there is no probably about it, Peyton," a voice says from the back seat. We both jump and turn around. I try to aim the shotgun I have but it's yanked from my grip and twisted up like a pretzel before I can even get the barrel pointed in the right direction. Our gear is gone, but it looks like we picked up a minor Prince of Hell in its place. "My two favorite lovebirds," Molib says. "What brings you two to Hell?"

"Fuck," Nola says under her breath. "Indeed," Moleb says, if witnessed in his true form. Moleb is a 50-foot-tall bird demon with bright yellow skin and black eyes. Just imagine if a 50-foot-tall canary screwed a 50-foot-tall flamingo and then popped out a nightmare with lots of teeth. But in our backseat, he looks like a banker.

Perfectly combed hair, boring spectacles, a white shirt with a straight black tie, black jacket, black pants. I can't see his shoes, but I bet they're black and shiny. "Where's our gear?" I ask Moleb. "We were gonna need that." "I don't think so," Moleb says, stretching his arms out across the back of the seat. "Your journey ends here."

"That's not going to work for me, Moe," I say. "I've been hired to do a job, and I kinda need to do that job. I shook hands with the ghost." "That was stupid," Molib says. Nola snorts. "I must assume there is a large fee involved," he says, and holds up a perfectly manicured hand when I open my mouth. "No need to answer. That wasn't a question." I glance back at the road and see the demon horde getting antsy. "What do you want, Moe?" I ask.

"To help you, of course," he says. "I doubt that," I say. "Okay, you got me," he says with a shrug. "I'm here to give you a message." We wait, but he doesn't give us the message. "Was it supposed to be a psychic message?" I ask. "Be patient," he says, then points out the windshield. "Here it comes now." The demon horde splits down the middle as a man is dragged by his heels down the road toward us. "Is that?" Nola asks.

"Oh shit, Phaeton! That's Hale!" And she's right. Lionel Hale is screaming and thrashing, and trying to fight off the demons that are dragging him toward the car. He's failing miserably. Rumors had always swirled about Hale being a powerful magus, but all I'm seeing is a petulant little brat in a grown man's body. He's spitting and cursing and crying and snotting and making a total fool of himself. "That's not all," Molib says and waves a hand.

With a flash of red smoke and a bang so loud and piercing that I miss most of what Moleb says next, a tall, impossibly skinny demon appears chained to the hood of the car.

"Lovebirds, meet Hesseka," Molib says. "Mr. Lionel Hale's lover and accomplice. It seems she and Hale intended to march a little demon army right into the city and take full control of the place." The demon, Hesseka, shifts form over and over in a sad attempt to break free of its chains. Unfortunately for the demon, this is hell.

Frustration and disappointment reign supreme. "As you can see, their plans did not go well." Molib continues. "Does it have to be on my car?" Nola asks. Molib laughs. "Yes." Molib says, cutting his laughter off in an instant. Nola shrugs. "Now what?" I ask the demon. "Now we have a sacrifice." He replies. I stiffen. Nola grips her pistol tighter. "Get out of the car, Baton." Molib orders.

I'd like to say I resist, but it isn't my first trip down under, so I know it's pointless. I've been cursed, hexed, hypnotized, branded, and buried alive. All of that was easier to overcome than a demon's orders when in hell. My hand opens the car door. My legs swing around and place my feet on the ground. I stand up, take two steps, turn, and close the car door.

As my body walks me away from the car against my will, I look over my shoulder at Nola. "Get the car turned around, will ya?" I say. "I'll only be a second." "So amusing!" Molib says as he pats my cheek, after having just appeared in front of me in a puff of sulfurous smoke. My body stops moving as I reach the still-complaining form of Lionel Hale.

He has something shoved in his mouth, so I can't hear what he's saying. But by the look in his eyes, I'm willing to lay 50 to 1 odds that he's cursing my soul. A demon covered in oozing sores limps up to me with a long sword made of obsidian in its hands. My body still isn't mine, so I can't run from the demon. I can only watch it and that blade get closer and closer. "Take it!" Mola borders. "What?" I ask. The demon holds out the sword.

"Take it!" Molub orders once more. My hand takes the sword. "You were brought here to be sacrificed so this worm can leave our wonderfully happy home unmolested." Molub explains. He kicks Hale in the gut over and over and over and over. The man curls up into a ball, and I hear retching. Of course, nothing comes out since Hale is gagged with that something.

I'm still not sure what it is. The man chokes and coughs behind the gag. "No dying yet," Moleb says and Hale stops coughing and gagging. Now, while Hale may not be coughing and choking, the respite is artificial. The man's eyes bulge as the pressure from the need to cough and choke tries to split his head wide open. I look at the obsidian sword, then look at Moleb, then glance down at Hale. "Take his head off," Moleb orders.

My eyes fall to the sword once more, and I realize it's nowhere near sharp enough to do the job. "Now!" Molib hisses. I raise the sword. Hale's eyes bulge more and more. I bring the sword down right on his neck. His left eye pops, but his head stays attached. The sword is wedged into the man's neck, and I have to brace my right foot on his chest in order to get the leverage to pull it out. When I do, blood spurts in tiny little geysers from the wound.

But Hale doesn't die. The blow has dislodged whatever is in Hale's mouth. He spits it out onto the ground. It's a clump of wet, matted hair. I watch as it crawls off to the side of the road and buries itself in the sand. "I have millions," Hale says to me. "I know," I say. "You can have it all," he pleads. "Your wife already promised me three mil," I say. "Right, yeah, to bring me back," he says.

"This was my plan. You were supposed to bring me out of hell, and then you'd be set for life." "Except for the 'sacrifice me' part," I say and raise the sword once again. I bring it down, and the man screams as I hack just a little deeper into his neck. Blood sprays up and coats me from head to toe. "Your wife set me up," I say as I raise the sword once more. It comes down even harder, and Hale's head settles at a strange angle.

but it's still attached, so I raise the sword once more. Blood drips down the blade, past the guard, and onto my hands, creating a sticky grip that for some reason makes me smile. "You set me up," I say and the sword falls one last time. Hale tries to scream, but the sword takes his head off before he can make a final sound. "Wonderfully done," Molib says as he lifts his hands and claps. The other demons clap with him. "Bravo, Peyton, bravo!"

"Yeah, thanks," I say, and drop the sword now that the sacrifice is done and my body is my own again. "And what is the other lovebird doing?" Mola basks, amused at the sight of Nola turning the car around. "Is she planning an escape?" Nola backs the car right up to me and hops out. "I've got one and a half million riding on this body getting back to the city," Nola says as she pops the trunk and points at Hale's corpse and head. "Can your minions help load this asshole up?"

Molib blinks, then looks around. He points at his chest. "Are you speaking to me, little lovebird?" he asks. "Never mind," Nola says, and walks over to Hale's body. She nods at me. "Grab his legs!" I give her a look like she's lost her mind. She widens her eyes and purses her lips at me, so I grab Hale's legs. We carry the corpse to the trunk and throw it in.

"Grab the head," Nola says, then walks to the driver's door and gets in. "Now, Peyton." I grab the head, toss it in the trunk, and then slam the lid. "This is highly amusing," Molib says. "Where, if I may ask, do you think you two are going?" "The city," I say. "You have things under control here, and I need to get back to all my cases. It was nice catching up, Molib. See you later." I hurry around to the passenger side and get in the car.

"There seems to be a misunderstanding," Molib says, having returned to the backseat. "Sacrificing Hale was only to counter his plans. Hundreds of thousands of traitorous demons that had pledged allegiance to Hesseka are now piles of ash. Nothing like a hellish beheading to sort things out." He yawns and stretches his arms. "But that doesn't mean your business here is finished, Payton," he continues. "You leaving once was a fluke, an oversight.

Those responsible were dealt with horribly. Nola and I share a look as her hand reaches for the door lock. I give my head a small shake. The corners of her mouth turn up in a smirk. I shake harder. But I'm sorry to say, Baton, that there is no way you will be leaving Hell on my watch. He says then frowns. Are you two even listening? Not really, Nola says and hits the door locks. The interior of the car flashes blue and Moleb sits upright quickly.

He hisses when he grabs one of the door handles. Yellow smoke drifts up from his palm as he stares at the damage. "How are you doing this?" he asks, then tries the other door with the same results. "How are you doing this?" "Demons aren't the only one making deals," Nola says as she starts the car up and puts it into drive. "What does that mean?" Moleb snarls. Nola floors it as four leprechauns appear in the back seat, two on each side of Moleb.

"Pee!" he says and growls low. "You will regret this, Olive." One of the Leps punches Molep in the face. His nose explodes and black blood coats the inside of the car. "What the fuck?" he shouts. "You can't touch me in Hell!" "Not true, ugly!" one of the Leps says. "Well, 'tis true enough. Except that you are not in Hell. You are in our car!"

Moleb tries to say something but closes his mouth instead. He glares at me and I give him a sorry smile. To be fair, I didn't know about this, I said. I thought maybe we were getting a fey army. We didn't need an army, Nola says as her foot presses down on the gas even more. The car lurches forward with the increased power. We just needed a way out of hell. You sure about this? I ask Nola out of the side of my mouth. I don't take my eyes off Moleb.

Trust me. She says and the car goes even faster. I do. I say and look past Moleb and out the rear window. Except we have a horde of demons on our ass. I know. Nola says. Relax. May I offer my own deal? Moleb asks. No! Nola and I shout in unison.

If you were to let me out right here, Molib says, ignoring our answer, I could guarantee you safe passage back to your city. You will not be harmed in any way, shape, or form. Now that sounds like a fine deal, doesn't it? Bullshit, I say. Molib shrugs. And we need you, Nola says. Oh? I'm intrigued, Molib says. Do tell.

It's better off if I show you, Nola says. Fine, be that way, Moleb says and his body begins to shift. I guess we do this the hard way. I think not, birdie demon, Alep says, then punches Moleb in his already broken demon nose. Strop that, Moleb shouts. Time for a wee bit of fun, lads, Alep says. Let's light the demon up a little and see what makes it shine. Then all four Leps jump onto Moleb and start pummeling him.

The demon screeches and spits. He fights and claws and kicks. But there are four Lep's and he is only one demon. Although, as my eyes drift back to the horde that's pursuing us, Moleb may not be alone for much longer. "They're gaining on us," I say. "We'll make it," Nola says. All of her focus on the road ahead of us. I turn around and jump. I forgot about his seca chained to the hood of the car.

"She's slowing us down!" I say and roll down my window. "I'll climb out and see if I can get her free." "That's one of your dumber ideas," Nola says. "And we need her!" Demon blood splatters against the back of my head, and I try to wipe it off as fast as possible before it eats all of my hair off. But now I have demon blood all over my hands and it stings like a son of a bitch. I wipe my hands on my pants and wince as the material smokes slightly.

We race past the black glass and the middle fingers. We race past the gouts of flame. I look back, and the demons are literally a hair's breadth away from the back bumper. Then one of them leaps from the horde and lands on the trunk. "Can I do something now?" I ask as I pick up a shotgun. "Sure," Nola says. "Good." I say and turn in my seat. I take aim at the rear window. "You all may wanna duck." The Lep's hit the floor, but Moleb is too dazed to respond.

One of the Leps reaches up and pulls him down flat onto the seat. "Thanks!" I shout, just as I squeeze the trigger. The rear window explodes and glass peppers the demon that jumped on the trunk. It hisses and grins and tries to climb in through the opening. I pump two shells into it and send it flying back into the horde. It trips up a handful of demons. But the problem with the horde is there are a lot more than a handful. Two new demons leap onto the trunk and I blast them.

Then three and I blast them. "Empty!" I say and throw the shotgun at the next two that try their luck with a rear window attack. I risk spinning back around to grab a fresh shotgun. It's a stupid risk. Demon talons tear into the back of my scalp and dig deep furrows through my flesh. I don't even bother to turn around. I jam the barrel of the shotgun over my shoulder and squeeze the trigger.

Demon brains, or whatever the muck is in their skulls, shower the inside of the car. "Is him a goddamn mouth-painting?" Nola yells as she wipes demon yuck away from her face. Then she leans forward and wipes more yuck from the inside of the windshield. "Shit!" The car swerves as Nola drives us around a massive foot that is dropping right for us. I feel the car lift up into the air from the shockwave caused by the giant foot destroying the road.

Leviathan! Alep shouts, then clambers up onto the backseat and stares out of the glassless back window. He lifts both hands and gives the giant two middle fingers. The other three Leps join him, and in half a second, there are eight leprechaun middle fingers flying free. I shall boil your souls in the rendered fat of your ancestors! Volip shouts as he picks himself up and grabs at one of the Leps, but his taloned fist closes on empty air.

The leprechauns shift their attention from the giant that is now pursuing us and back to Molib. They pounce and their little fists start flying once more. Molib screeches. The leps laugh. "The good news is, the horde isn't much of an issue anymore," I say. "Leviathan kinda stomped on them when it tried to stomp on us. Good to know," Nola says, completely focused on the road ahead.

The bad news is, Leviathan is going to catch us in two steps, I say. We're about to be squashed like those demons back there. Nope, Nola says. We're gonna make it. I shift my attention forward and see we're almost to the gate that leads back into the grove. Uh, Nola, I say. The gate is closed. Yup, Nola says. Maybe you should slow down so we don't crash into it and all die, I ask. Nope, Nola says. She turns and looks right at me.

"I got this, Payton!" Then she focuses back on the road, grips the steering wheel even tighter, hunches her shoulder, and pushes her foot all the way to the floor. A massive footstep shakes everything, and Nola struggles to keep the car on the last bit of road left before we crash right into the gate. "You're not scheduled to leave!" The watchman shouts at us as we pass him at full speed. Then the front of the car hits the gate and it breaks wide open.

Haseka screams as her demon body explodes into flames then scatters into a billion cinders that fly up into the air. A split second later, there's a screech from the back seat and the inside of the car is filled with more flames and cinders. I struggle to put out the hundreds of tiny little cinders that have landed on the car's upholstery and on my clothes. But all the smoldering material is the least of my worries as I feel another massive footstep shake everything. "It's gonna get us!" I yell.

Not anymore, Nola says and brakes hard. She spins the wheel and the car turns a full 180 degrees, so we're now facing the gate, which is closed again. One demon to open the gate, one demon to close it, Nola says with a smug grin. The Leps lean over the front seat, and we all watch as Leviathan tries to step over the gate, but is repelled by the power of hell itself. The beast roars, and the few windows left intact in the car shatter.

"We'll want everything fixed!" Alep says just before the four of them disappear. "What does that mean?" I ask Nola. "I traded my car for their help," Nola says. "You did?" I ask. "But you love this car. One and a half million can buy me another one," Nola says. "Maybe two." She looks over her shoulder. "If we get paid," she adds. "Oh, we'll get paid," I say.

When Gloria Hale opens the door to her penthouse apartment, the look on her face tells me she hadn't expected to ever see me again. "I'm glad you're home," I say as I push past her and wheel the luggage cart into the penthouse. "I have something for you." Gloria's man is waiting in there, and he pulls a pistol from inside his jacket. Too bad mine is already in my hand. Two slugs from my 45 go through his forehead, and he drops like a sack of rocks.

I spin around and point the pistol at Gloria before she can come at me. Her hand is raised with a dagger, ready to strike. I shake my head and motion for her to drop it. She does the smart thing and lets the dagger fall from her grip. Then she tries a different approach and starts to cry. "None of that either," I say. I cock the hammer and her tears dry right up. "What do you want, Mr. Payton?" she asks as her eyes go from the two bags on the luggage cart to her dead driver and back to me.

"We had a deal," I say. "Unbreakable on both sides." "The deal was for you to bring me my husband," she replies, pure hatred in her voice. "Except it turns out that the job was a little more nuanced than just a simple delivery lady," I say. "Well, you have failed anyway, so the deal is off," she says, and starts to walk past me. "I am calling the police commissioner. We're good friends. He'll have you on death row by the end of the week,

"Because I killed your driver?" I ask, as I grab her arm and yank her back to me. I get in close and smile. "Or because I locked your husband's head off "with a dull sword made from the very substance "that lines the pits of hell?" I let her go with a shove, and she stumbles back against the wall. Then I put my pistol away, lean down, and unzip the two bags on the luggage cart. Mrs. Hale gasps, then turns, and vomits ectoplasm at the sight of her husband's corpse and severed head.

"Deal fulfilled," I say. "The phone call you're actually going to make is to your bank. I'm going to want the three million ready this afternoon. My rent's due at my office." Gloria slides to the floor. When her ass hits the tile, she looks up at me but says nothing. "Quick question," I say as I walk to the door. "Was it going to be a threesome? This whole take over the city with your husband's demon lover's horde? How was that going to work? One of you is going to be the odd one out at some point.

Gloria watches me close. She shakes her head and a small bit of ectoplasm drops from her chin and onto her chest. Then it hits me, of course. Demons and hell and double crosses and all that jazz. I nod and laugh. Haseka was your lover, not his. You were going to get rid of him later. You just needed his crime syndicate long enough for Haseka to establish control of the city. Then it was going to be bye-bye Lionel.

"You are a moron!" Gloria says and spits ectoplasm from her lips. "You are a nothing. Go ahead and leave. We'll find a new way to take over the city." "Who? You and Hisaka?" I smile and shake my head. "I don't think she's part of the plan anymore, if you catch my drift." Gloria's eyes widen with realization, then narrow with pure hate.

"He won't get a dime from me," she says, and spits more ectoplasm. "Because, like I said, Mr. Payton, I won't be calling the bank. I'll be calling my good friend, the police commissioner." I interrupt. "Yeah, yeah, you said that." I snap my fingers. "Oh, wait, you don't need to call him at all." I go to the penthouse door and open it. "You can talk to him in person."

A dozen uniformed cops rush into the penthouse, followed by the police commissioner himself. "I know you two are friendly," I say as I grab the commissioner's arm. "But a deal with a ghost is a deal with a ghost. You understand me, commissioner?" He pulls away and gives me a look of disgust. "You'll get your money, Payton. Now get out and let justice take its course." "Sounds great," I say as I leave. "Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page."

I set the satchel down and look around the empty garage. "The lebs already pick up their car?" I say, kicking the satchel toward Nola as she leans against an oil drum. "They did," she says. Nola pushes away from the oil drum, walks to the satchel, squats, opens the satchel, smiles and laughs, closes the satchel, then stands and picks it up. "Big risk making deals with Faye," I say to her.

"Bigger risk making deals with you," she replies and turns and walks to the metal stairs. "Goodbye, Payton." "That's it?" I ask. "Now celebratory drink? I just handed you one and a half mil." "Goodbye, Payton," she says as she climbs the stairs and steps into her office. Then she closes the door behind her. "I can smell that couch from down here!" I shout up at her office. I shrug and leave.

When I get back to my office, I take my own satchel and lock that away in my safe. It almost doesn't fit, which is a wonderful thing to have to deal with. "Excuse me, Mr. Payton?" A voice asks from my doorway after a quick knock. I turn and see quite a dame standing there with all the right measurements. She's wearing dark sunglasses and a tight dress. "Sorry, miss," I say. "I'm done for the day, maybe done forever."

"But I could really use your help," she says and crosses to my desk. "Isn't that what you do, Mr. Payton?" I glance at the safe. I look back at the dame. I glance at the safe. "I'm either an idiot or I really love what I do." "Have a seat," I say and gesture to one of the ratty chairs in front of my desk. "Looks like I'm an idiot." "But before we get started," I say, "can you take your sunglasses off?" "Okay," she says and does so. No milky eyes.

"You aren't a ghost, so that's good," I say. "You wouldn't happen to be a demon, or a demon's lover conspiring to sacrifice me on an altar in hell, are you?" "Of course not," she says. "No, I need you to find my brother. He's taken up with the bad crowd." "But no demons, right?" I ask. "Because I've had my fill with demons for a while." "No, it's a gang of Haints," she says. "Oh, Haints I can handle," I say, and light a cigarette. "I might even know the gang."

How about you start from the beginning?