Earthbound
By sidewinder
Chapter Four
It was sometime past midnight, into the bleak early morning hours, when they finally made it to San Francisco. Zeke wasn't at all familiar with the city, so he drove around without any real direction or plan until he ended up in an industrial area that showed no signs of life beyond a few street bums. He felt tired from the long drive, even though he knew the sense of exhaustion was all in his head. He had no physical need for sleep, yet he found it hard to lose the mindset that a human being required a certain amount of rest every day.
But that was the thing he had to keep reminding himself--he wasn't human. He was a demon. He was a dead man imitating the living.
Lucifer, on the other hand, was quite human at the moment and had been sound asleep for hours. He didn't have the money left to try to find a flophouse for the rest of the night, so instead Zeke chose a place that looked reasonably safe and quiet to park for a few hours. He shut off the engine and got out of the car to walk around and stretch, and to check out his immediate surroundings. The temperature was noticeably cooler here than in Los Angeles and a dampness clung to the air, suggesting a recent or impending rain.
He felt as disoriented as he had after first moving to Los Angeles from New York; it made him uncomfortable not knowing the streets, the good areas and the dangerous ones, the general "feel" of a city. And already he felt an ache inside at the distance now separating him from Rosalyn...he sighed and tried to shake off that thought. The less he dwelled on her, the better.
He walked back to the car, sat down inside and got out the stack of newspapers he'd picked up at a gas station along the way. He'd hoped they might give him some leads about the recent crimes in the area he suspected were the handiwork of one of the one-thirteen: victims' backgrounds, names of investigating officers, bizarre details, anything that might be useful to him.
It was, at least, a way to keep his thoughts occupied with things other than Rosalyn. And Ash. And of course his newly-constant companion, Lucifer. When he'd exhausted three papers front to back and taken a few notes, Zeke put the rest away and decided he would try to catch a little rest at last. He eased the seat back, and turned to look at the sleeping man beside him, studying him in his unguarded state.
"It really is pathetic, isn't it?" a familiar voice queried from the back of the car.
Zeke sat up and spun around in alarm, eyes widening in surprise at the sight that greeted him. The voice belonged to someone who, except for the way he wore his hair tied back from his face in a tight ponytail instead of loose, looked exactly like the devil. There was no mistaking him for Zeke's guardian angel, either. This one's dark suit, sneering smile and sulfurous scent clearly marked him as one of the fallen.
"The ruler of Hell reduced to sleeping in a stolen car like a common bum. How the mighty have truly fallen this time," the angel said, disgust evident on his face as he looked at Lucifer.
"Who are you?"
"Just someone who believed in him, once." The angel nodded toward Lucifer. "I was his second in command, which of course now leaves me in charge of things down under during his...leave of absence." He snorted and added, "And not a moment too soon. Look at him. He's grown soft. Vulnerable. If I'd been in charge of things before now, those one hundred and thirteen would never have escaped in the first place."
"So I take it you're my new employer?" Ezekiel asked.
"Bright fellow. At least my brother seems to have done one thing right, in choosing you to clean up his mess." There was a coldness in this one's eyes that Zeke did not like at all. The angel leaned forward, grasped Zeke's shoulder tightly, and continued in a harsh tone, "But don't think I harbor any ridiculous affections or love for you. You'll get your job done and I won't tolerate any insubordination...nor will I be around to bail your ass out of trouble if you fuck things up again. I might look like him to your eyes, but I'm not. Don't ever forget that. I'll honor the promise he made you, should you succeed in bringing back the remaining escaped souls...but if you fail, I'll just find another to finish the job. Is that clear?"
"Yeah. Perfectly."
"Good." The angel released his grip and clapped Zeke on the shoulder. "I'm so glad that we understand each other."
"What about him?" Ezekiel asked.
"What about him?" his question was echoed. "He's not my problem, Mr. Stone. Nor, quite frankly, is he yours. You have enough to worry yourself over with...what is it now?...seventy-eight more demons to capture? And I've got enough to do trying to get things back under control back home." The new ruler of Hell got out of the car, but paused by Zeke's open window. "It's all about priorities, Detective. Make sure you don't forget what your priorities are. I really don't want to be bothered having to find a replacement for you, but I will if I find your work...unsatisfactory."
With a curt wave good-bye, the figure turned and walked off, dissolving from sight into the darkness of the deserted streets.
Zeke sighed, and sunk wearily back into his seat.
Now he had to worry about not pissing off his new boss and his old one. Life just kept getting more interesting--and aggravating--by the minute.
He eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep, demons real and imagined chasing him through his dreams.
* * *
The next morning over a greasy breakfast and too-strong coffee, Ezekiel told Lucifer about his late-night visitor.
"Well, at least I know now that things are in good hands in my absence," the devil remarked casually.
"Good hands? He more or less said he didn't care what happened to you--in fact I got the impression he'd actually be pleased if you ended up dead and out of his way."
"Precisely! He was always an opportunistic bastard who didn't care what it took to be on top. I can't think of a better man for the job--except for myself, of course."
"So it doesn't bother you that he said you'd gone soft."
"Of course it does. That's the point. He knows just the right things to say to piss someone off. Even me." Lucifer took a sip on his coffee and added, "He's wrong, of course."
"Is he? I was thinking maybe he was right," Zeke said. "After all, I couldn't see this guy doing what you did to save me the other night. The devil being compassionate? That's definitely unheard of."
Lucifer said nothing, so Zeke continued, "Why did you do it, really? I mean, you're always telling me how you could just find someone else to do my job. I fucked up; I let those guys capture me. Why didn't you let them send me back to Hell?"
"An admitted momentary lapse of judgement, as I've already said."
"It's gotta be more than that," Zeke pressed. "You don't do 'nice' without a reason, and you knew it would get you in some serious trouble."
"Are you going to eat that bacon, or may I, before it gets cold?"
"Your brother told me why you did it."
"Which one?"
"Both of them, actually. I just don't know if I can believe what they told me, even though they basically said the same thing."
"Your instinct for disbelief is a good one. I wouldn't put any merit on anything either of them said."
"They said that you were in love with me." There. He'd said it. Might as well get it out in the open. Zeke watched for even a flicker, a hint of shock or surprise, or indignant denial.
Lucifer just raised an eyebrow at him and responded calmly, "As I said, I wouldn't believe anything my brothers might have told you."
"So you're denying it?"
"You really believe I could be in love with you?" The devil burst into laughter. "Please, Ezekiel. I'm flattered, I suppose, that you could imagine yourself as the object of my heart's desire. But I told you, I haven't loved anyone--"
"--since God. I remember. And I didn't believe you then, and I still don't."
Lucifer sighed impatiently and tossed his napkin on top of the congealed remains of his omelet. "Thank you, Mr. Stone, for giving me my first taste of indigestion."
"Only returning the favor of so many meals of mine you ruined." Zeke waved over the waitress and asked for the check. He decided it was time to change the topic to more pressing matters. "Anyway. I was looking through the local papers last night, and another priest was attacked the night before. Some guy grabbed him on the street and tried to pull him into a van parked in an alley. This one got away, though--the assailant got scared when someone spotted what was going on and started shouting for help. The priest...one Father Stanton," Zeke read off his notepad, "couldn't provide the police with a very good description of his attacker. But they're certain this case is related to the murders of the other priests. I want to talk to this guy myself. Find out if there's anything important that didn't get printed in the papers--maybe that he felt he couldn't even report to the police."
"A wise plan," Satan agreed.
"You're not going to give me any leads here, any clues as to which one it is--if it even is one of them?" Stone asked.
"Quite honestly, Detective, I don't really have a clue. Considering we're talking about escapees from Hell I should think any number of them could be on a vendetta against those who claim to represent God on this Earth. I didn't have the time to follow them all around, keeping tabs on each one's every moment while they ran amok on Earth."
"Okay. But which ones might have had something against the church--priests in particular--before their deaths?"
The devil looked pensive for a moment, then shrugged. "Six or seven at least, off the top of my head. It is one of the escapees, of that I'm certain. Otherwise my brother would have discouraged you from this investigation last night. Which one it is, perhaps this Father Stanton can help us determine."
Zeke nodded. "Then let's get going."
Chapter Five
Zeke stopped outside the rector's office door and turned to his companion. "Let me do the talking, all right?"
"I have no intentions of interfering, Detective," Lucifer assured him. "I will merely observe. In fact, I should think this will be rather illuminating--having the chance to follow you through the steps of one of your investigations first-hand."
"Uh huh."
"I'll save any critical comments for later."
Ezekiel was going to tell the devil just where he could stick those critical comments, but he held his tongue. They were in a church, after all, and this wasn't the place to start bickering--especially not with the devil. Zeke had been hesitant enough about bringing him along for this interview in the first place. It felt wrong for the devil to be here, and wrong to make a priest who'd already suffered enough recently have to deal with the devil strolling into his office.
Oh well, Zeke sighed to himself. What Father Stanton didn't know hopefully couldn't hurt him.
He turned back around and knocked lightly on the door. It opened a few seconds later to reveal a bespectacled gray-haired man who looked to be in his sixties. Tall and thin, he regarded his visitors with cautious friendliness.
"Good morning. May I help you, gentlemen?"
"Are you Father Stanton?"
"Yes."
Ezekiel pulled out his NYPD badge and flashed it in his customary too-quick-to-be-closely-inspected manner. "I'm Detective Stone, this is my partner...Detective Gonner. We'd like to talk to you about the attack the other night."
"I see. Well, I did make my statement to the police already. I'm not sure there's anything else I can tell you."
"My partner and I were only assigned to handle the investigation this morning. We were hoping we could hear about what happened directly from you...just in case you might remember any details now that you'd left out before, anything that might not have seemed important..." Zeke trailed off, hoping the priest would buy his story. Most of the time people did; he had learned during his years as a cop how easy it was to get a lot of people to talk with just a pleasant smile, a confident manner, and a simple story.
The priest gave them both a more considered once-over, then nodded his head. "Very well. Come in, and have a seat. Certainly I want to help your investigation in any way I can. It's a tragedy, a terrible tragedy, about those other three men who were killed. I am truly fortunate to be alive, if this was the same individual responsible for their deaths who tried to abduct me."
"We have every reason to believe it is," Zeke assured him. The other three priests hadn't merely been killed. Their bodies--each one returned, mysteriously, to their church about a week after their disappearance--had shown signs of severe and brutal torture, even mutilation. In all cases a slit throat had been the final cause of death. All three, like Father Stanton, had been Caucasian men of at least middle age. The first murder had occurred not long after the escape of the 113 from Hell, the last one only three weeks ago.
"Did you know any of the murder victims personally?" Zeke asked.
"I'd known Father Gartner, in passing, but not the others."
So much for an obvious direct link between the victims, Zeke thought. It had been worth a shot. "And you said you didn't get a good look at your assailant...nothing's come back to you about him since you made your statement?"
"No, I'm afraid not. He came up behind me; I never saw his face. I only saw him from behind when he was running away, and it was dark outside... He had short light-brown hair, average build, dark clothes...that's really all I can remember."
"Could you just briefly go through what happened again? How you remember it."
"Of course. It was a little past nine, in the evening. I'd just stepped out of Rosie's--the diner over on 5th Street, around the corner?" Zeke nodded. He'd seen the place, made a mental note to himself that they might want to go inside and see if anyone remembered any unusual customers lately. "A nice place, nice people. Rosie makes the best apple pie in the city, and, well, I'd had a craving for it." Stanton smiled. "Anyway, I was walking back here, to the church to finish up some business before turning in for the night.
"I was walking past the laundromat, just down the street, when it happened. I didn't hear or see anything, or anyone--that time of night there isn't many people on these streets. All I knew was suddenly this man had me by the throat, and he told me he would kill me right there on the street if I fought him or shouted for help."
"He had a knife, you said?" Zeke prompted, remembering what details had been given in the papers.
"Yes, he held a knife to my throat." Stanton rubbed his neck self-consciously. There was a small cut, Zeke noticed, where apparently the blade had been pressed close enough to break skin.
"Was there anything about the knife that you remember? Anything...unusual or distinctive about it?" A number of Ezekiel's previous quarry had employed very unique weaponry; details about what this attacker had used might help him pinpoint who this one was.
"Distinctive?" The priest frowned and sat back, looking thoughtful. "Not that I recall. I didn't honestly see much besides the glint of metal. It was certainly larger than a pocketknife, but that's about all I could tell you."
"That's all right. So...he told you not to fight him... What else did he say?"
"Nothing...nothing much, that I can recall. He was just rambling on, cursing, telling me not to fight him while he tried to lead me away into the alley next to the laundromat." The police had found a van parked in the alley, which according to the papers they'd assumed was the assailant's. Stolen, of course, therefore it hadn't provided any good leads on the attacker's identity.
"What about his voice," Zeke tried. "Did the man have any kind of accent? Foreign, or just from another part of the country..."
"Why, no... No, none that I was able to identify. And I can remember his voice quite clearly, if nothing else." The priest got a far-away look in his eyes and said, "I doubt I will forget the sound of his voice for a very long time."
"And it was a young girl, just walking down the street, who ended up interrupting the assault?" Zeke asked.
"Yes, yes, Cara. She's the daughter of the woman who operates the laundry. She was looking for Bogey--a stray cat who comes by the laundry most evenings to sleep. She saw what was going on and started screaming, calling for her mother. The man seemed to panic; he pushed me down onto the ground, and by the time I got back to my feet he was gone."
The girl had been the one who'd managed to supply a very basic description of the attacker, apparently, but she was only eight and the details she'd managed to convey to the police were vague at best.
Zeke ran through a few more routine questions, but it was mostly all a regurgitation of what he'd read in the papers, nothing new, nothing of much use to him. He was about to thank the priest for his time and leave when Lucifer suddenly spoke up.
"I have a feeling you haven't told us the entire story, Father. What is it you're hiding?"
Zeke glared at him. Hadn't he told Lucifer to keep his mouth shut?
Father Stanton looked taken aback. "I...I don't know what you mean, Officer."
"Oh, I think you do," Lucifer disagreed. "I think you saw something, or felt something...or perhaps heard something that disturbed you so much, you decided it had to simply be your imagination."
Father Stanton shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I...well, I tried to tell the other officers about that. They wouldn't listen; they told me it was probably just the stress of the attack making me...hear things. Things that weren't there..." He gave a small, nervous laugh. "The more I thought about it afterwards, the more I became certain they were probably right."
"Maybe, maybe not," Zeke said. "Why don't you tell us."
The priest looked back and forth between them, and after a moment sighed and said, "Voices. I heard...children's voices."
"When?" Zeke asked.
"As he was trying to lead me away. Whispering, crying voices. All around him, around us. Telling him to stop. Asking him what he was doing, begging him to stop. So many of them...but there was no one there! No one at all..." Stanton trailed off. Zeke noticed his hands were shaking now.
Zeke glanced at Lucifer and caught the devil's smug grin. It was time to leave Father Stanton alone and find out what the devil knew that he was keeping a secret. "Thank you for your time, Father. If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch."
Stanton managed to compose himself enough to see them to the door and wish them the best with their investigation. Once they were outside, Stone turned to Lucifer and said, "So what was that about? The voices. I thought you said you didn't know which one of these demons was responsible for the attacks."
"I didn't, but I had a few ideas. I took a guess. I could tell Father Stanton was leaving something out." The devil shrugged under Zeke's questioning gaze. "I may have lost my powers, but I haven't lost thousands of years of experience observing mankind."
"The voices?"
"Part of the unique punishment I devised for our little lost soul," the devil explained, but he said no more than that as they walked down the steps and onto the street.
Zeke stepped in front of him and pressed, "So? Come on, if you know who it is, how about you let me in on it?"
"I'm not here to spoon-feed you information, Ezekiel. Hunting down the demons is your job, not mine."
"It's not your job to do anything right now, is it?" Zeke snapped. He turned away and took off down the street toward the laundromat, wanting to take a look at the alley, check for any clues the police might have missed.
Wanting to get away from the devil.
Lucifer caught up with him, and with a snappish tone to match the detective's said, "I can't say that I care for this new attitude you're developing, Mr. Stone."
"Yeah? Well I've never cared for yours, so I guess that makes us even." He'd reached the alley now, and he knelt down low to the ground, looking for...something. Anything. Anything the demon might have dropped or left behind when he'd fled. Something as simple as a coat button had proven to be a vital clue in the past, and he didn't want to miss such a lead this time--especially if Lucifer wasn't going to help him out.
"If you think I'm going to forget about the way you've been acting when I get my powers back, you are seriously mistaken."
"If you get your powers back. Until then you're not the one I work for," Zeke said, glaring up at the devil. "Frankly you're nothing but a pain in my ass, and if it wasn't for the fact that I owe you for saving me and that I made a promise to look after you, I wouldn't give a damn what happens to you."
Lucifer stared at him, dumbstruck. Under that unblinking, gray gaze, Zeke felt sorry, almost, for the anger with which he'd spoken. He was just too frustrated with the situation and not in the mood for things to continue like they had been. If they were going to be able to do this, work together, live together (Ugh! Zeke grimaced; that was a disturbing thought), things had to change. No more bickering, no more goading. No more damn games.
Lucifer finally snapped out of it and managed a weak smile of acquiescence. "Joseph Holland," he said.
"Joseph Holland?" Zeke repeated with a frown.
Lucifer nodded, and leaned against the brick wall of the laundromat, arms crossed over his chest. "He was raised in a Catholic orphanage--raised, and repeatedly sexually abused by a priest who had a fondness for little blond-haired boys. Clearly those early childhood traumas left a lasting impression on our dear Joseph. Like so many of the abused, he went on to commit the same crimes himself when he grew older. The sins of the father, as they always say..." the devil trailed off with a shrug.
"So he's a child molester."
"And a murderer. He grew too paranoid about one day being caught or reported by one of his victims, so he started killing them once he was finished with them. The sorry bastard got away with all of it--until he died forty-odd years ago of heart attack." The devil tilted his head and smiled. "I thought it was quite a fitting punishment, to be forever tormented by the cries of his victims. Looks like it stuck too, since he carried those voices back with him here to Earth."
"And now he's going after priests. Was the priest who abused him ever brought to justice?"
"After his death, most certainly. During his life, I don't know."
"So is Joseph from this area?"
"Can't recall, but it would seem to be a likely bet. Demons are rather fond of returning to familiar territory when they can--even when the memories are less than pleasant."
"So what was the name of the orphanage...and the priest?"
"I don't know."
"You don't?"
"No!" the devil answered testily. "Be glad I can remember as much as I do about him. Once, I could tell you the entire life story of every soul in my domain. This now-human brain I'm stuck with is woefully incapable of such tasks. I've forgotten more in the past two days than you could ever imagine learning in a thousand lifetimes!"
"Sorry," Zeke offered in gruff apology, this time really feeling a tinge of honest sympathy. He could see the tension in Lucifer's face; for a moment the devil's calm exterior seemed in serious danger of collapsing.
Yet Lucifer recovered his composure within the space of a deep breath and curtly replied, "Apology accepted, if insufficient. But I'll let it pass this time."
Zeke went back to searching the ground for anything of note, but came up empty-handed. The alley was clean, not that he'd held much hope of finding something, but he never could tell. Still, with the devil's story he had much more substantial information to go by and it was time to move on.
"Are we done here?" Lucifer asked as Zeke stood up, brushing his hands off on his coat.
"Yeah. Seems like a dead end here."
"Or a not-so-dead end, from Father Stanton's point of view. So what's next?"
"The library. Time to do a little research. We have a name; hopefully we can dig up something of use from that."
Chapter Six
Research was tedious work. Zeke found himself wishing he had spent a little more time with Max, learning how to use the internet to do this instead of spending countless hours in the library. He always got completely lost when she started rambling on about "dot.com" this and "yahoo" that, but he had a feeling she'd have been able to find the information he was looking for in no time at all.
The thought crossed his mind that he could give her a call and see what she could find for him, but he quickly vetoed the idea. He had to remind himself that he'd left L.A. not just to protect his own skin, but to protect his friends' as well. He needed to keep his distance from all of them now, if he wanted to make sure Ash left them alone. Besides, he knew his way around index cards and microfiche machines. With a little patience, he knew he should be able to find at least some information about his quarry, Joseph Holland. Hopefully, that information would put him on the demon's trail before Holland could attack another priest.
Lucifer, while not offering Zeke any help with his task, at least stayed out of the detective's way. He settled down at a desk with a pile of current newspapers, claiming he needed to spend some time catching up on current events. "Just because I'm out of the game temporarily doesn't mean I should fall behind on what's going on in the world," the devil had explained, "especially when I orchestrated so much of it!"
By late afternoon, Zeke's search had yielded some results, but not much. He found an obituary from October 12, 1957 for a man by the name of Joseph Holland, resident of 815 Cole Street. The man had died of a heart attack at the age of fifty. That matched the cause of death and approximate timeframe that the devil had given Zeke for this particular soul's arrival in Hell. This Mr. Holland had run a small bookstore on the first floor of the building where he'd lived. He'd died unmarried and with no children, and no known surviving relatives. There was no reference to any family at all in the obituary--no parents or siblings--supporting the fact that Holland was an orphan.
While scanning through newspapers from around the time of Holland's death, Zeke also found a small item on the discovery of a young boy's body in a nearby park, just a few days before Holland had died. The body had shown signs of sexual assault before death by a broken neck. It wasn't much to go on, but it was confirmation of the devil's suspicions as to who Zeke's quarry was this time--a child molester returned home to San Francisco, out for vengeance against the priests he blamed for his deviant ways.
If it was still standing, Holland's old residence would be a good place to start the hunt. Even if the building was gone, Holland could still be hanging around in the general area, so Zeke could try asking around about him. As the devil had said, demons liked to stick to familiar territory. Zeke had been no different upon his return to Earth, visiting his old home, staying in New York City and hovering near familiar places until he'd found out Rosalyn had moved to Los Angeles. And there he'd stayed, hanging close to her, to that "familiar territory", until forced to move on.
With research concluded for the day, it was time to take care of a slightly different problem--finding a place for them to stay for at least the next few days, perhaps even longer, if it turned out Holland wasn't the only demon haunting the streets of San Francisco. Zeke didn't fancy camping out in their car every night, nor did he think Lucifer would, either. He searched the library for some tourist guides to the city, looking specifically for information on the seedier areas of town that the guides recommended travelers avoid if at all possible. Zeke figured those would be his best bets for finding a room within his budget.
"The Tenderloin", as it was called, proved to be just the kind of neighborhood he was searching for. A section of the city filled with strip clubs and seedy bars in buildings that looked ready to be condemned, it was there that he found a run-down boarding house with a room rate Zeke could afford. The place made his old room in L.A. look like a penthouse suite, but it would have to do. It had the bare essentials they needed--two beds, a bathroom, and a small kitchenette down the hall.
Lucifer took in their accommodations with obvious disdain but, for the most part, kept his mouth shut and didn't complain. He crashed and slept most of the afternoon while Zeke zoned out in front of the TV. It only picked up two stations clearly but he didn't care; he wasn't really paying attention to the programs. He just needed a few hours to relax and not have to think about anything of importance. He only perked up when the early evening news came on. He listened to hear if there was any new information on the attacks on the priests--or even a new victim. But there was nothing new to report.
Zeke was getting ready to head out to resume his hunt when the devil finally awoke from his nap.
"Where are you going?"
"Out to do my job. You coming along or staying here?" Zeke asked, rather hoping Lucifer might stay behind so he could have a little time to himself--and no interference while he worked.
"Why, I'm coming along, of course. Where are we going?"
"To check out Holland's old neighborhood. I want to see where he lived. If we're lucky he might still be hanging around."
With evening the temperatures had turned colder and a drizzling rain had begun to fall. Having a car made it a lot easier to get around, even if Ezekiel got lost a few times trying to navigate the unfamiliar city. They finally found Cole Street and Ezekiel was able to park just across the street from their destination, building number 815.
"Damn this weather," the devil cursed as he stepped out of the vehicle, shivering even though Ezekiel had loaned him his long coat to wear. The detective could sense the strong chill in the air, even though he was immune to an actual physical reaction to it.
"I like cold. And wet," Zeke mused aloud, remembering far too well the conditions in Hell. "It certainly beats the heat."
"Heat? Please, don't mention heat. You're making me homesick."
Ezekiel looked across the street, at the building where Holland had lived nearly a half-century ago. The two-story brick building showed its age, but it was still in reasonably good condition. The first-floor bookstore was gone, replaced by "The Crimson Moon" coffeehouse. Dark red curtains in the large storefront window obscured most of view inside. There were no lights on upstairs that he could see.
"Well, at least we can get something to eat while we're working tonight," Zeke said. Though with these trendy new coffeehouses that had sprouted up everywhere while he was in Hell, he knew they'd be lucky if they could just get two cups of coffee and maybe a cookie with the cash he had left in his pocket.
They crossed the street and entered the establishment, finding it to be a cozy, warmly lit room filled with mismatched second-hand tables and chairs. Ethnic music of some sort rumbled beneath the chatter of the coffeehouse patrons. It seemed to be a pretty young crowd of student and artistic- types--he could see Max fitting in perfectly in a place like this. A waitress with a pretty face but shocking blue hair and multiple piercings smiled at them from across the room and said, "Take a seat anywhere, I'll be with you in a sec."
They sat down at a small table just inside the doorway. From there, Zeke had a good view of the place and he could also watch the street, from an opening in the curtains. He gave the other patrons a better once-over while Lucifer studied the menu on the wall across from them. The devil laughed a little and shook his head. "Double-latte caramel mochachinos and fusion-berry frappes...what nonsense you humans blissfully buy into, all in the name of being trendy and 'chic'."
"You humans?" Ezekiel repeated. "You would be one of those 'you humans' now, don't forget." On this point, though, Ezekiel had to admit the devil's mockery wasn't entirely off-base. He'd take a plain cup of good coffee for a quarter any day over these five- dollar-a-shot-confections of burnt espresso and sugary syrups.
The blue-haired waitress came over after a couple minutes and said, "Hi, do you guys know what you want?"
"Actually, what we'd really like right now is a minute of your time, if that's possible." Zeke quickly flashed his badge at her. "I'm Detective Stone, this is my partner, Detective Gonner. We're looking for a suspect in some recent crimes. We have reason to believe he might have been here, some time in the last few days or weeks. He might even be a regular customer," Zeke wagered.
"Really? Wow, that's freaky," the woman said. "Is this guy dangerous?"
"He could be. But probably not to you or any of your customers here. His name is Joseph Holland. About fifty years old, light brown hair, average height and build. Not the kind of guy that would really stand out in a crowd." Of course in a place like this, a guy like Holland probably would stand out, though Zeke didn't say as much. "He used to live in this building," Zeke added, and at that the woman's eyes suddenly lit up with recognition.
"Hey, wait a minute, I think I know who you mean!" She grabbed a chair from a neighboring empty table and sat down next to Zeke. "Yeah, Joe. I know Joe. He comes in here every couple nights. I remember him saying something about living here a long time ago."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. Weird old guy, talks to himself when he's not trying to hold me or one of the other gals up in a conversation." She shrugged. "At first he made me nervous, but then I figured he was just kind of sad and lonely. So I put him at one of the tables in the back of the room when he comes in; that way he doesn't bother the other customers."
It seemed as if they'd found their man. Zeke asked, "He didn't happen to say anything about where he was living now, did he?"
"No," she answered, shaking her head, "not that I remember. He just said he'd been away for a long time, for years."
"When does he usually come in?"
The waitress thought for a moment, then checked the clock on the wall behind them. "Close to now, actually. If you wait around you might get lucky and catch him here. It's been a couple days since I've seen him."
"Yeah, I think we'll stick around for a while," Zeke answered. He looked at Lucifer, who merely shrugged, offering no other suggestions.
They ordered some coffee and a sandwich. When the waitress came back with their order a few minutes later, Lucifer asked her, "Tell me, young lady, the apartment above this fine establishment--do you know if it is currently occupied?"
"Last I knew, there was this old hag named Marta living there. God, I hated that woman! She was always coming in here bitching about the noise and music, complaining to the landlord about us. But you know, she hasn't come by to hassle us in a while, so maybe she finally got fed up and moved out. Or croaked." The woman shrugged. "I see the lights on upstairs sometimes so someone's up there--places around here get rented out quick. Must be someone new who's real quiet."
"Must be," Lucifer said, raising an eyebrow at Ezekiel once the woman left. "Care to take a guess as to the identity of that new tenant, Ezekiel?"
"Wouldn't be surprising, would it?" Zeke checked his watch. "If Holland doesn't make an appearance in here before closing time, I'll check it out." He didn't want to attempt any breaking and entering upstairs while there were so many people here in the cafe.
"Very well," Lucifer agreed, and then he grabbed their plate of food, claiming the sandwich all for himself.
"Hey. I thought we were going to share," Zeke complained.
"You eat out of habit. I eat out of necessity. Go flirt with Marge Simpson's love child back there and I'm sure she'll offer you some tasty favors," the devil said with a nod toward their waitress.
"No thanks. Blue's not my color." Zeke sighed and took a sip of his coffee, and settled in for what he figured was going to be a long night.
* * *
They waited, and waited, until the steady stream of customers slowed to a last few night owls, but there was no sign of Joseph Holland. In the meantime, they had both consumed far too much coffee as their chatty waitress kept them going with free refills. The caffeine had no effect on Ezekiel, but Lucifer was practically bouncing off the walls and had had enough of just sitting around, waiting.
"This is pointless. Holland's not going to show. Go check out the upstairs and see if our little lost demon has made a messy eviction of the former tenant."
"Be patient," Ezekiel advised.
"Fuck being patient. This sitting around for hours staring at the walls is driving me crazy."
"You're going to make me crazy if you don't switch to decaf."
The waitress came over and said, "Sorry boys, closing time. Looks like your man was a no- show tonight."
"Yeah, well, there's always tomorrow," Zeke answered.
"So you'll be coming back?" She looked hopefully at Ezekiel.
"If we don't have a better lead by then, most likely."
"Well, good luck with your investigation and all that. And maybe I'll see you around again, right?"
"Yeah. Maybe." She smiled at him, obviously pleased at the prospect of him coming back. He returned her smile, but sighed and shook his head as soon as she left to settle up with the other remaining customers. "Let's get out of here," he told Lucifer.
"It's about time."
Ezekiel led the way outside and then across the street to their car. "I thought you were going to check out the apartment," Lucifer remarked.
"I am, as soon as everyone's out downstairs. Until then we sit and wait in the car."
They waited. Zeke watched the building, the upstairs windows, but there were still no lights on, at least not in the front room facing the street. After about twenty minutes, the lights went off in the coffeeshop, and Zeke watched as their waitress and a few other employees locked up the storefront and left. The detective waited a few more minutes, mostly just gearing himself up for a possible confrontation. He was trying not to think about how poorly his last confrontation with a demon had gone, and the torture he'd gone through as a result of his missteps.
"Nervous, detective? Doubting your ability to capture Holland?"
"I thought you couldn't get into my head any more."
"I know you well enough, Ezekiel, that I don't need my powers to see your thoughts right now." There was silence, for a moment. Then Lucifer touched Zeke's hand. Zeke turned to look at his companion, angry at first but then just puzzled. Lucifer's expression, for once, was serious, and there was no mocking tone in his voice when he said, "You made a mistake the last time. Accept it and move past it. I would not have chosen you for this task in the first place if I did not believe in your ability to complete it."
The devil's words and honesty surprised Ezekiel. Maybe mortality was having a good effect on Lucifer after all. "Thanks," Ezekiel said. Their gaze held for a moment longer than the detective was comfortable with. He drew his hand away and quickly got out of the car, checking to make sure he had his gun tucked against his side, under the baggy folds of his sweatshirt.
"Stay here," he said to Lucifer, "If it looks like there's going to be bad trouble, don't come after me, just take the car and go back to the hotel. All right?"
The devil nodded.
"Let's get this over with," Zeke said to himself, and then he crossed the quiet, empty street and stood before the apartment entry to 815 Cole.
He tried the buzzer, just in case. He didn't want to bust into the place if Holland wasn't there and it had just been rented to another individual. When there was no response after a few minutes and several rings, he tested the door. It was old and not very secure; with his better-than-human strength he knew he could break it open without too much trouble. One quick glance around the street, and one deep breath, and then he gave the door a solid kick. It flew open and Zeke rushed up the stairs, not looking back, knowing he should work quickly. There was a second locked door at the top of the stairs, which he made quick work of again. He entered just as he would have during any police raid, gun drawn, at full alert.
No lights were on. The apartment seemed truly empty. He stood frozen, for a moment, listening, straining all of his senses to detect any sign of movement, of there being anyone else on the premises. When he convinced himself that he was alone, he felt the wall for a light switch. He turned on an overhead light and took in the contents of the apartment living room quickly.
Everything was fairly neat, though there was definitely a musty smell to the air. He saw a large pile of unopened mail sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the room. He glanced at one of the envelopes--it was addressed to "Mrs. Marta Diamond". He went into the kitchen, and found nothing in the refrigerator except for some extremely fuzzy fruit and a pile of mold that at one time might have been cheese.
One thing caught his eye in the kitchen--an open Yellow Pages, next to the phone. He walked over to take a better look.
Holland had been here, all right. Zeke was certain of it when he saw where the book had been left open--a page listing "Churches- Catholic-Latin Rite". There looked to be nearly a hundred listings, though many had been crossed out with a red pen. About a half-dozen churches had been circled, and one of them Zeke recognized as Father Stanton's. Zeke put his gun down for a moment as he reached in his pants pocket for his paper and pencil to write down names and numbers. Holland could be at one of those circled churches right now, stalking his next victim. Zeke wanted to take this information and get out, as quickly as possible.
Zeke paused in his writing, once, thinking he'd heard a voice. Just a soft whisper. He listened closely for a minute, standing dead still and tensing for action, but he heard nothing more. He shook it off as just nerves and went back to writing down the information.
He finished up and shoved the paper into his pocket. He was just reaching for his gun and turning to leave when someone plunged a knife into his back.
The pain and shock to his body left him helpless for a moment, but he fought against the pain and spun around, grabbing his assailant and slamming the figure against the kitchen countertop.
Joseph Holland glared back at him, fire rising up in his demonic eyes as he hissed "Who are you?" and struggled against Zeke's grip.
"Your ticket home, Holland." Zeke's gun had slid down the counter, out of his immediate reach. His pencil lay just inches from Holland's head, though. If he could let go for a moment, he could grab it and--
"NO!" Holland screamed. He broke free of Zeke's grasp and sent the detective flying into the opposite wall. Zeke gasped as the knife in his back was slammed in deeper, radiating pain all through his body.
"No, I'm not going back there! You can't make me go back! Leave me alone or I'll kill you!"
"You can't. I'm already dead," Zeke ducked a swing of Holland's fist at his head, then landed a solid blow of his own to the demon's stomach. Zeke ran for his gun, grabbed it and spun around, firing madly in Holland's direction.
But Holland was on the run now, looking to flee instead of fight. Zeke heard glass shattering and ran into the bedroom in the back of the apartment. He saw the broken window and ran for it, feeling glass shards ripping at his clothes and flesh, not thinking of anything except not losing Holland. He fell hard on the pavement but got to his feet as quickly as he could, looking all about the dark alley behind the building, looking for any signs of Holland.
Nothing. Not a trace. The alley led out into open streets to Zeke's right and left, but Zeke couldn't see the demon anywhere.
Zeke fell to the ground, breathing heavy, cursing himself for losing Holland. The pain in his back reminded him of the blade still lodged there, and he reached behind him to find the hilt of the knife. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pulled it out and threw it away in disgust. He knew he had to get out of there. Between the break-in and the gun shots it wouldn't be long before one of the neighbors called the cops. He staggered to his feet and ran out of the alley, around the corner back to Cole Street.
Lucifer was standing out on the street next to the car. Relief was clear on his face as soon as he spotted Ezekiel running toward him. "I saw Holland go inside. I heard shots. Did you get him?" Lucifer asked.
"Get in the car," Zeke ordered. "Come on, let's get out of here. Now!" He practically pushed the devil inside.
"What happened, dammit!"
Zeke slammed shut his door and started the engine. "He got away," he finally said once they had pulled out onto the street and were driving away. "The son of a bitch attacked me and then ran, right out through the back window. I lost him."
"Hell," Lucifer swore.
"Soon enough," Stone promised.
Go on to Part Seven...
