Death in the City by Kyle Giroux (read my book TXT) 📗

go now,” said Death. He reluctantly followed Pestilence to a gate of Hell.

“How have you been, anyways?” asked Death again as they walked down the street.

“Fine,” said Pestilence. “I have a new thing going in Australia. Poisoned some seafood. They won’t see it coming for a while. You’d love the work I’m doing with this one. It lies dormant for three weeks then it strikes. I just keep getting better and better.”

“You really do,” said Death. They turned at the river, across a bridge, and down a side street. “Very impressive.”

“Although, I wouldn’t mind having a little help,” said Pestilence, shaking a small worm from under his fingernail. “You know, what good is disease without death?”

Death did not answer, but when they reached the mall, a dreadful nervous feeling like someone was yanking on his insides overcame him. The two walked inside and Pestilence led Death to the elevator. “This is new,” said Death.

“Oh yeah, he’s done a lot with stuff like this,” said Pestilence. “All you have to do nowadays is go into the elevators in these mall things and press the big red button. The humans think it’s some sort of emergency button, but emergencies never happen on these things. It’ll send you right to Hell.”

“Wow,” said Death, opening the elevator doors and stepping in. “Technology these days. Beats the older times of saying incantations in church basements, huh?”

Pestilence nodded and chuckled lightly. “Good luck, buddy,” he said warmly. “Why don’t you give me a call sometime? I’ll be in Australia for a while, but maybe we can get some coffee soon. I’d love to hear about what else you’ve been up to.”

Death nodded. “I’d like that,” he said. As Pestilence vanished, Death scanned the row of buttons until he saw the red one labeled “Emergency Only,” and pressed it. Immediately he was hooked by the neck and sent spiraling downward.

Death descended into the bowels of Hell, flames licking up and singing his eyelashes, demons swirling around him, menacingly licking their chops, damned souls being tortured, their screams echoing across the great chasms in the scorched ground. Satan had really cleaned the place up since the last time Death visited, in 1692 (when they had a good laugh about the Salem Witch Hunts). The flames were brighter, the demons clean-shaven. The lake of fire had no trash in it like it always used to, and more damned souls were smiling. Ever since Satan realized he needed to attract more people to Hell to build his army, he worked to make the place look downright spiffy.

  Death found his way to a reception desk that was situated in front of an office door that read “L. Satan, Prince of Darkness” on the window. He rung the bell on the reception desk and a receptionist appeared before him, a pretty, skinny brunette woman with large breasts. Half of her face looked as though it had been chewed away until all that remained was meaty texture over bone and cartilage. Satan always did have a taste for the ladies.

  “Hello, can I help you?” asked the receptionist with a smile.

  “Yeah, I’m here to see Satan,” said Death.

  “Ah, well do you have an appointment?” asked the receptionist. A demon flew up to Death’s ear and began buzzing frantically. He swatted it away and said,

  “I didn’t make one, but he’s looking for me. My name is Death. I think he wants to talk about my retirement.”

  “Oh, goodness, of course,” said the receptionist, standing up and nodding. “I didn’t know what you looked like. Forgive me; I’ve only been here for sixty three years. Please, go ahead in.”

  Death walked up to the door and opened it. In front if him stood Satan, dressed in red suspenders and a silk tie, wearing a pair of gold Oakley sunglasses and practicing his putting.

  “There he is,” he said, smoothing out his jet black hair. “Please, sit down. Want a coffee? Something to drink?”

  “No, that’s okay,” said Death. As he sat down, Satan rang a buzzer on his desk.

  “Candice, bring my friend Death here a coffee, cream and sugar,” then, as an aside to Death, “Great isn’t she? You got her in an ostrich attack on a farm. Nice work.” Candice the receptionist brought a coffee for Death and left, still smiling.

  “So,” said Death, clearing his throat. “How have you been?”

  “Oh, me?” asked Satan, leaning back in his chair and revealing a great, toothy smile. “I’ve been great. Just building up my army, torturing damned souls, practicing the old golf swing for the tournament next month. How about yourself?” His voice was warm but Death knew his true intentions.

  “I’ve been fine. I, uh, retired. You probably heard.” Satan nodded solemnly. Death continued. “I suppose that’s why you called me over?”

  “Is that what you think?” asked Satan. “I mean, I haven’t seen you in a while. I can’t just call you to catch up with an old friend?” His voice was so sincere that Death actually felt guilty.

  “Oh, I guess so,” said Death. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”

  “No, no, no problem,” said Satan, waving his hand in the air. “But...hm.” He stood up and rounded the desk, his hand on his chin, his brows furrowed in thought.

  “What?” asked Death. “Go on.”

  “I just figured, now that you mention it, we could talk a little about that,” said Satan, crossing his arms and smiling.

  “I knew it.”

  “No, it’s not like that. I just figured we could talk. I haven’t seen you in some time and I was just wondering why you wanted to leave your post so arbitrarily, at such a crucial moment in history.”

  “It wasn’t arbitrary,” said Death, crossing his own arms and unable to bring himself to look Satan in his deep red eyes.

  “I just wanted to know, what happened? Why retire now?” asked Satan. He sounded more concerned than anything.

  “I just...hm,” said