“What’s he doing here?” squawks the pretty boy.
He points at Traven.
“He has the stink of God all over him.”
“He’s a colleague. If that’s a problem, you can all ride down the elevator shaft headfirst.”
Muttonchops says “There’s the proof, eh, Amanda?”
She nods.
“A crude threat not worthy of our lord. We’re leaving.”
They’re headed for the door when Traven says, “Which one of them carries the least sin?”
All three stop and look back like questioning their dedication to sin is an insult.
I look them over.
“The kid.”
Traven walks to him and puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“What’s your name, son?”
The kid leans back away from him.
“Luke.”
“Do you want to go to Hell, Luke?”
Luke looks at the others for help. Muttonchops takes a couple of steps in their direction but stops when the knife I throw at his feet embeds itself in the tile floor with a metallic twang.
“Do you want to go to Hell?” Traven asks.
Luke puts his hands in his jacket pockets. Stands up straight, trying to look defiant.
“To be with Lord Lucifer forever? Yes. Of course.”
“I can help you with that right now.”
Traven shoves Luke against the wall so hard his head bounces off the marble. When the kid opens his mouth to yell, Traven holds it open and leans in like he’s going to kiss him. Luke pulls back but there’s nowhere to go.
Black vapor drifts from Traven’s mouth into Luke’s. A breeze of dust. A wet, oily stream of fluid. Buzzing things like microscopic wasps. It smells like burning feathers and rancid onions. The kid’s face darkens with sin until he’s as black as Manimal Mike. When Traven steps back, Luke collapses on the floor, coughing and drooling on his designer lapels. Amanda and Muttonchops rush to him.
Traven looks down at Luke and says, “Did you think damnation would be easy?”
Amanda screams, “What have you done to my son?”
“I damned him for all eternity. Isn’t that right, Lucifer?”
“The father here gave him a black karma enema. Luke is stuffed with more sin than the entire NBA.”
I kneel down and push up Luke’s eyelids to have a look at his pupils. They’re pinpoints. Barely visible.
“You understand that there are traditions and procedures Downtown. My guess is that bloated with this much sin, there isn’t much I can do for him. He’ll end up on a paddleboat on the river of fire. Or in the Cave of the Despised, with razor crystals and flesh-eating spiders. Which do you think he’d prefer, Mom?”
Muttonchops looks at the kid. Takes out a silver coin and puts it on the kid’s tongue. Black tarnish creeps over its face. In a few seconds it looks a hundred years old. He looks at Amanda.