Appointments
“Passport please.” The bored-er guard in the both requested as I rolled on up. I dug into the lining pocket of my jacket and produced the requested documents. Streets teach a lot of lessons, but one of the fastest for those that don’t end up frozen is not to keep anything you care about too far from your skin. It’s bound to wander off when you’re not looking.
“Mr. Green?” The thick set man in his booth asked, leafing through my documents. “Mr. Fredrick Green?” I nodded. Fourth rule of demon summoning, come Fimbulwinter or endless night you don’t let those beasties get a hold of your name. Means if you’re going to be stupid enough to make a habit of it you lose the name your parents gave you early and you make sure it stays lost.
The guard nodded back. “Everything seems to be in order here Mr. Green. Just one question before I wave you on your way. What in the blazes happened to your car?”
I smiled my most endearing, I get asked this all the time, smile and replied, “I got a kid back home who likes to play with fireworks. Frankly sir I’m just glad it was the car that got the worst of it and not one of the poor boy’s hands.” My own clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel, sending little spikes of discomfort at the abuse they’d taken not hours before. He laughed and let me through. Boys will be boys as all the world knows.
Slim chimed in again as I pulled past the border, having regained at least a semblance of his sense of humor. “You know it’s funny Shingle, if it’d been me telling that story instead of you I’m not even sure it would’ve been a lie. Funny world we live in, funny, funny world.” He paused, thinking. “Wasn’t it Brown last time by the way? Oswald Brown I think? What ever happened to him?”
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“He died Slim,” I said, and it tasted like ashes. “Just like all the rest.”
“Well obviously.” Slim Chuckled. “But why? You seemed pretty well set up the last time we chatted. Nice apartment, nice ride, you even had a girl didn’tcha? What was her name?”
I grinned at that. Tricksy things demons, always fishing. They can’t help themselves it’s written into their code. “Jessie,” I replied, “but she had less magic than your average can of beans Slim, so you got no pull on her.” The small smile faded. “And the same thing happened that always happens. I got a call I had to take, and it didn’t go well. Mr. Brown was wanted for murder and I can’t do my job right from the inside of a cell. So I left and he died. End of story.”
The car was blessedly quiet for a while, all the way down the big roads just starting to get their early morning case of commuters. We’d put the rising sun to our backs and turned onto forested back roads before Slim spoke again. And when he did it was quiet and thoughtful, low and considerate. Frostbitten midge always did know how to twist a knife.
“You ever regret it Shingle?” he mused. “Choosing the side you did?”
I thought that one over for a bit as I drifted down the twisting country lanes, eventually pulling to a stop in front of a well appointed townhouse sitting all on its lonesome out in the woods. I had a couple minutes to spare, so I sat and idled the car, mulling over Slims words. Then I rolled my shoulders, shook out my hands, popped the car door, and stepped into the early morning sunlight.
There’re few things more beautiful than rising sun coming down through the mist and the tree tops to kiss your face. It’s the kind of vision that reminds you why you’re still kicking the old stone down the road instead of sitting down next to it. So I cracked my best devil may care smile at the demon in my head and said, “It aint polite to ask questions that everybody in the conversation knows the answer to Slim.” Then I got on with my job.