“My God.”
“I killed him, so the story has a happy ending.”
“I’m glad for you.”
He drops his grapes into an ashtray and sits on the sofa looking shaken.
“Listen, man, I keep telling you that I’m not sure the excommunication thing matters anymore. When I say I have an in with God, I’m not kidding. I know the guy and at least one part of Him likes me.”
“What do you mean one part?”
“Didn’t I tell you? God had a nervous breakdown and split into five little Gods. But like I said, I’m pretty well acquainted with one of them.”
“You are?”
He shakes his head. Holds up his hands and drops them into his lap.
“If any of this is supposed to comfort me, I’m afraid it’s not working.”
I go to the buffet and get the Aqua Regia bottle and two glasses.
“Ask me whatever’s on your mind.”
He takes a breath.
“Let’s say that I really am going to Hell with no hope of salvation. You said you could help me. That means you know someone in power? I guess what I mean is . . . have you ever seen Lucifer and does he hate the clergy as much as I’ve heard he does?”
I set the bottle and glasses on the table between us.
“Father, I am Lucifer.”
He looks at me, waiting for the punch line. When I don’t give him one, he leans back on the sofa and laughs his weary old-soldier laugh.
“And here I thought you were my friend. The prince of lies is right.”
“I am your friend and I didn’t lie to you. I wasn’t always Lucifer. Trust me. I didn’t ask for the job. The previous Lucifer forced it on me. That’s how I know if you end up in Hell you’ll be taken care of. I run the goddamn place.”
He gets up and goes to the buffet. Shovels fruit and cheese onto a plate and brings it back.
“God is in pieces and you’re the Devil. You’re right. I might as well eat.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I go back over and spoon black caviar and sour cream onto a plate.
“You know, if anyone should be freaked out here, it’s me. You’re like the third person I’ve told about the Lucifer thing and everyone is taking it really well. I mean, I’d like just a little polite shock and horror when I tell people I’m the king of evil.”
Traven spreads Brie on a cracker with the care and attention of a sculptor.
“If people don’t seem shocked, maybe it’s because it’s a bit much to process all at once. And you do have a colorful history.”
“So that’s what people say behind my back. That I’m colorful.”
“Would you rather be boring?”
“Sign me up.”
There’s nothing sadder in this word than a true-blue Satanist. I don’t mean the ones who dress in black, listen to Ronnie Dio, and use the Devil as an excuse to throw graveyard key parties. I mean the ones who’ve bought the gaff that if they pray to the baddest of the bad, he’ll drop doubloons, luck, and hotties in their laps all the livelong day and then, when they die, they’ll get their own castles and pitchforks and get to join the endless torture party. They’re the ones I feel sorry for. Haven’t they figured out that Lucifer cares even less about his flock than God cares about His? Some of these nitwits have actually met Lucifer and he treated them like expired meat.