The Inferno Assignment

 

One

 

The sense of urgency that I’d experienced only slightly up till now suddenly rose several levels, as the first bullet slammed into the wall just to the right of my head. A handful of hot brick needles sprayed the side of my face and ear with the force of a bitch slap and I had sense enough to duck back into my place of concealment.

As the roar of the gun diminished, I discerned the nervous shuffle of another predator, trying to pick his way silently through the garbage several yards behind me. Hidden from view behind the large dumpster I had modified slightly, and through the small space between it and the wall, I saw only a movement of shadow on shadow, roughly fifty yards down the dim alley. The figure that materialized was semi-smart, attempting to hug the wall but keep his Gucci loafers from contracting the plague in the sludge he’d been forced to walk through. As he approached the small sliver of light cast by the single obscene bulb, I raised my weapon slowly, biding my time.

As his foot broke through the dark, I squeezed my fist and four darts flew from the tiny barrels on my wrist. Silicone-cased, these bad boys were specially designed to home in on heat which, in this case, was the body heat of any exposed skin on the man. The load I’d chosen for these two was a relatively slow-acting toxin, paralyzing only the voluntary muscles at first, quickly but very painfully. The thought that it would take him several minutes to die in excruciating agony was the farthest thing from my mind as I saw him stagger and slam into the wall, the poison literally exploding into his system.

As I went to turn and shuffle a pace forward, listening intently for my other adversary, I hadn’t the time to even curse, as a dark wingtip came sailing toward my face at an incredible speed, the heel catching a glancing blow off my favorite forehead. The small wedge formed by the dumpster and wall that had been my defense so far now turned traitor, as I flew backwards. Slammed painfully into the crevasse, just managing to miss the three foot deep window well, I found my back and shoulders stretched in a way that just wasn’t natural. Stars danced in my vision, as my left hand managed to snag the small filament line that was invisible and ran up the wall through a half dozen small rings.

The two metal spheres resembling naval mines that were resting atop a small ledge, about ten feet above my assailant, suddenly gave in to gravity after a barely perceptible yank. With some killers, they like the deed over quickly while others enjoy being able to revel in a job well done as the light slowly fades from their victim’s eyes.  This one took his time looking into my face and tracing a slow sight picture up my chest, while the barely discernible sneer on his features spoke volumes.

I glanced up quickly as two dark spheres left their resting place and the idiot followed suit, the first ten pound spiked ball finding a new home low on the forehead, the points being driven forcefully and directly to his brain. The second one that tore into his right shoulder became redundant, as he was literally smashed to the floor of the garbage-strewn alley, his face invisible under the mound of steel. He reflexively squeezed a finger and a round went off, the thunderclap almost deafening as I dove to my face. Managing to right myself somewhat and not wake up the dead - no pun intended - I felt no gaping wound and thanked obscure gods that they hadn’t come armed with automatics. I waited in concealment and shadow, taking a full 5 minutes to ensure there were no other players laying in wait.

Satisfied, I stood, fed some slack into the line so the trap could be reset when I came back later. Still wary, I stuck my head around the corner once more slowly, received no incoming fire, and then stood and stretched. Bending down to retrieve my two spheres, I pulled it from his face, or rather the remnants of it, as well as the other and brought them the over to edge of a three foot long ditch that lay immediately outside of what used to be a basement window.

A quick pocket search was somewhat disappointing, but not unexpected, as I snagged two additional magazines for the bulky Glock still clutched in his left hand and a crumpled pack of Camels with a gold Zippo. No wallet or keys, but he sure didn’t clean up too well. Yeah, that’s what they should put on his tombstone, but I doubt his grave would be a marked one, once the pick up team I use disposed of his mortal remains.

 

 

Reaching into a pouch at my waist, I withdrew a small dark disk, gently tapped a nib on its smooth surface and placed it in the man’s jacket pocket. Transferring his pocket trash to one of my own, I grabbed two long unmade cardboard boxes and laid them over his still form, ensuring that it wouldn’t be detected in a cursory glance. Not that I had many worries on that account. The alley was closed in with a twelve-foot wooden wall at this end, three feet from the road that paralleled the lazy river. I was either slipping badly in my defenses or they were sending out the A Team this time. Getting around the numerous traps I had spaced unevenly in the thirty-foot alley was no easy task and to get as close as he had was almost inconceivable. But it had been done and by this literally faceless man.

It was definite food for thought as I made my way slowly in the opposite direction, stepping only where I knew to be safe, and approached the second attacker. His dark Armani suit was now soaked with the bacterial stew of the rotting garbage littered everywhere, but at this point in time, I doubt he had much concern for appearance. The second part of the toxin I’d used on him was just becoming evident, and I could see his autonomic system had now became infected, causing his lungs to slowly seize while his heart became a pneumonic hammer, pounding mercilessly to try to force oxygen to his starving cells.

Taking no pleasure in the kill, I rifled through the man’s pockets, avoiding eye contact, and came away with a set of car keys, a photo of yours truly and, in his pant pocket, I snagged a single piece of dirty white paper that I stuffed into a pouch at my waist. His weapon, still clutched in his hand, was one that was unfamiliar to me and I stowed it away with the one I’d taken from his partner. I withdrew another homer, tapped it gently to begin broadcasting and then slid it into the man’s trouser pocket. Covering him took a mere fifteen seconds and I tried not to imagine the horror he must be feeling at being buried alive. They took their chances, like me, and would gladly have carved me up like a Thanksgiving turkey if our roles had been reversed. No, pity would be sorely misplaced on these two.

Returning to where I’d deposited my two spiked balls, I jumped nimbly into the small hole and gently pushed on an unobtrusive brick above my head. A small dark opening appeared as what had been a window, now a heavy metal plate, rotated upwards on silent hinges and I moved inside, feet first. Grabbing hold of the spiked cylinders, my gloves made a squishy contact with the sticky blood and goop from the alley, as I slithered backwards. The tunnel was a mere fifteen-foot crawl but, to one not accustomed to it, the confining closeness of the crawlspace could be very disconcerting.

 

 

Gingerly, I placed one foot down on the concrete floor inside, and used my left hand to feel for the slim metal rod and pulled. I could barely hear the metal flap slowly close to my front and then pinched my eyes as a red light suddenly illuminated the musty basement room. Standing, I drew the two cylinders to me and set them to one side, flipping a handle resembling that from a breaker box and two thick iron rods slid across the now-closed entry with a grind like Excalibur being driven into the stone.

The rickety wooden stairs groaned in protest as I took them upwards, pausing at the top of the flight to flip one last switch, a plain toggle used in most rooms to extinguish the lights, as this one did. Closing the steel door and relocking it, I followed the dimly lit corridor to its end, a total of one hundred feet, and stepped into what appeared to be an out of order elevator.

The car lurched perceptibly as it slid downwards slowly for a half dozen seconds, stopped briefly with a clanking of gears and then continued, parallel to the ground above for another twenty seconds before slowing to a halt. The door opened to a large chamber, as I stepped onto the bottom floor of another building, two streets away. This time, my legs carried me up sturdy wooden stairs with a carved banister running its entire length and deposited me at another door, this one leading to my sanctum sanctorum, as it were.

I had just stepped into the high ceiling foyer when I stopped short, sensing something amiss. Was it the tendrils of a scent that arrested my attention or the inbred sense of survival that gave me pause? In either event, my hand automatically went to the Browning in my hip holster. Outside it would only give away my position to use it but in here, that was hardly a consideration. With skill that had been accumulated over more years than I cared to acknowledge, my thumb and forefinger slid the quick release and, in a flash, the safety was off and the hammer was drawn back as I palmed the weapon and crouched.

My senses tingling, I made a wide arc of the huge chamber, the gun tracking, trying to peer into the diffused lighting of several weak overhead spots. A figure slowly emerged from behind an old Harley that I’d been restoring and I swore softly. The woman that barely glanced at me returned her gaze to the half-completed project and sighed audibly.

“Ah, to have the freedom to ride with the wind. I almost envy you,” she said, with a facsimile of reverence.

Replacing my weapon with a heavy sigh, I bent and began to untie the stained Doc Martin’s on my feet. “You envy me? That is a joke of cosmic proportions, considering the fact that you can come and go at will,” I replied evenly, but with little malice. I understood full well that we all had our own paths that we were forced to follow, as well as our own unique purpose.

The woman that turned to face me was dressed fashionably in a dark colored pantsuit that did little to hide her feminine curves while piercing cloud gray eyes regarded me with feigned innocence. Her stiletto heels made a faint clacking sound as she did one more tour around the unfinished motorcycle and then turned to look at me directly, her auburn hair swept up in a bun that, ironically, resembled a bent halo.

Sliding out of my Doc’s, I padded silently toward my living room area, slipping out of my dark combat jacket and unsnapping the web belt with a resounding crack.

“It’s good to see you again, Nevarro,” she said sweetly but I wasn’t fooled for a second.

 

 

Sliding out of my Doc’s, I padded silently toward my living room area, slipping out of my dark combat jacket and unsnapping the web belt with a resounding crack.

“It’s good to see you again, Nevarro,” she said sweetly but I wasn’t fooled for a second.

“I bet,” was my retort, as I dropped the items haphazardly onto a long loveseat and stalked to my refrigerator. The beer opened with a satisfying hiss and the first swallows were heavenly, no pun intended. I drew a forearm across a sweaty brow while absently regarding my visitor more closely, and then took another swallow of the cold brew. I made no effort to offer her one, as she clacked her way toward me, and her scent, which I could only describe as springtime, ran an intoxicating interference.

Eyeing her in the now effusive light, I had to admit that she definitely wore one very pleasing appearance, if I didn’t know any better. And I did, all too well.  “Whatever it is, will have to wait. I need a damn shower,” I said stiffly, turning with my beer and making my way to the large washroom down a wide corridor, where I stripped off soiled clothes, tossed them into the half full hamper, and propped myself under the steaming spray.

I heard as much as sensed her enter and then sped up my ablutions, not relishing the prospect of what I knew was to come. “I see they’ve been keeping you gainfully occupied,” I heard her say over the shower’s steady beat. By “they”, I knew she was referring to my assailants in the alley and I cringed, despite myself.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with them, now would you?” I asked pointedly, poking my head from behind the curtain, while massaging foamy Dove into my gray-tinged hair.

She was perched almost regally on my long vanity, her legs crossed at the knee, one spiked shoe making slow swirls in the air. Looking over at me, she raised both hands in a gesture of innocence. “Unlikely. You know the rule about our non-interference on this plane.”

Giving a grunt to indicate my dissatisfaction at her answer, I popped my head under the spray to rinse out the last of the shampoo and then turned off the single faucet, sliding the shower curtain aside and stepping out. With a sly grin, she tossed me a small washcloth that I caught and threw back at her in mock disgust.

  “Do you mind?” I said, grabbing a towel from a nearby rack and patting myself dry.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Nevarro,” she responded playfully. “Not like I haven’t seen it all before, and no insult intended, but your human carnal desires are far below my station.”

Shaking my head, I slid into a terry cloth robe draped over a nearby hook and went to stand in front of the long mirror above the double sink. Running a brush through my short hair, graying just a little at the temples, I dabbed some deodorant on, while she watched impassively.

“I certainly don’t miss the human form or the amount of effort required to maintain it,” she finally commented, with furrowed brows and a slight shake of her head. “All that sweating and scratching and we won’t even talk about waste removal…”

“Then don’t talk about it,” I interjected quickly with a wry grin and slid out the door, taking a last pull from the beer bottle as I walked. The thick carpet of the hallway absorbed my bare feet until the parquet-floor kitchen materialized and my steps took on the sound of gentle slapping. I palmed another cold one from the fridge, the empty becoming a memory now on the counter top, with a half dozen other silent bottles. Not in the mood for sustenance, I plunked onto a tall stool beside the island and lit a cigarette from the open pack that lay sprawled on the gray marble surface. The smoke that emerged from the first puff I blew intentionally toward her, which drew another scowl and I grinned innocently.

“So, I want you to assure me you know nothing about those two tonight.”

 

 

She clicked her way across the marble kitchen floor and set herself almost delicately onto another stool, cloudy eyes regarding me warily. “You are beginning to display a certain paranoia, Nevarro, that is wholly unbecoming. You know the rules of non-interference that bind me while I inhabit this plane. What was it about these two that has fuelled this unfounded assumption? It’s not as though they were the first hunters that you’ve had to contend with.”

Her response was sincere, it appeared, but after several hundred years of experiencing their brand of truth, I was not easily swayed. To these creatures, what the human race would describe as “beings of light” or more commonly “angels”, the omission of crucial information was not considered deceit. But the obligation for total honesty was ingrained deeply into their psyche. That is not to say that they weren’t capable, but the punishment for that infraction in particular was quite severe and impossible to hide; the numerous reasons I will not take time to explain to you presently. Nothing, and I mean nothing, escapes the notice of “Them”.

Who is “them” you might ask? The only semi-understandable answer is what the world now refers to as God, but is neither masculine nor feminine and, at the same time, both. I know, it sounds confusing and, over the millennia, religion has tailored itself so that the general masses would have to rely on priests or seers to discern Their true will.

I sensed no deception from Ardra, the being that now sat cross-legged on my other stool and I sighed heavily, taking another absent pull from my cigarette. Blowing the smoke skyward, I commented, “One of them got close enough to actually get the drop on me. If he hadn’t paused like a moron to savor his not se sweet victory he would have blown me away. And that was not my imagination.”

“Pfff,” she replied dismissively, as if talking to a child. “How many times do I have to remind you that you are immortal as long as you remain a Helper?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” I countered brusquely. “Of course I know that. But it doesn’t mean that I’m bloody bulletproof! Do you know what it’s like to be shot? No, of course you don’t! Let me tell you, it frigging bites. And while I’m helpless, who the hell knows what they could do to me? ”

“Oh, quit complaining. You’d be reanimated and then returned. I don’t see what the big deal is. You humans and your preoccupation with corporeal death is something I’ll never understand,” she replied, shaking her head sadly and glancing around my cavernous dwelling.

“Why do I even try to explain?” I asked softly, stubbing out my smoke and taking a long pull from the bottle in my hand. “So what brings you here this time, Ardra? Another errant soul who sneaked their way into heaven again? Or maybe a wild goose chase after someone who doesn’t wish to reside in your palaces of gold? Your quality control is somewhat lacking, if I say so myself.”

“Don’t you dare even joke about things like that!” she shot back, as close to anger as I’d ever seen her or it or whatever. “You well know how devious Lucifer can be. He’s has no restrictions on his actions, as we do, and his penchant for deceit knows no bounds. Surely, you of all people understand that?”

I felt a sudden rush of regret at my ill-chosen words but what the hell did she expect? After nearly two decades of earth time since my last “assignment”, time spent quite comfortably as a history professor in a small but influential university, I was actually settling down, the battling against periodic hunters notwithstanding. I was well-respected, had even had several papers published on obscure and undocumented periods of history that no other person alive could refute – the reason was because I had intimate knowledge, having actually lived during those times.

“Lucifer has kidnapped a soul, Nevarro,” she said quietly, as a hand seemed to curl slowly around my very soul and squeeze, “He’s taken The First Innocent.”