What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [112]
“It’s really not much of an army.”
“I don’t care,” said Satan. “Look, I’m going to go back upstairs to get my body.” Harold squinted, evidently mystified by this statement. “And then I’m going to head to the parking lot, where, I expect to find you, everyone you can muster, armed and ready to travel. Understood?”
“Okay,” said Harold, with a weary shake of his head. “Okay.”
“Alright then.” The Devil turned to go, but then stopped. “I’m going to grab an ice cream. Would you like one?”
Harold looked as if he might cry.
“I’ll get you a swirl,” said Satan.
Chapter 43. A Van Powered by Love
Cool air and the smell of ozone poured into the guitar shop through the open door. Lola stood in the doorway, her cellular telephone pressed to her cheek, and watched the last few red raindrops fall as she tried to get a word in edgewise with her boss. “I know,” she said, “but—”
She had her back turned to Raju, but that didn’t stop him from attempting to contribute to the conversation. “Festus said there’s a bunch of military guys there, too,” he said.
“Hang on a sec.” Lola covered the mic on her phone. “Wha—? Would you please shut up?”
“Festus said something about gas masks. Soldiers wearing gas masks.” He paused, his eyes glazed over with a far-away look. “They look rubbery, you know.”
“Cas, can I—this idiot here is saying something about gas masks and military trucks. Yeah, okay. I’ll call you back.” She stepped back into the shop. “What on Earth are you talking about?”
Raju shrugged. “They’re rubbery.” Wasn’t that perfectly obvious? Didn’t everyone know that?
“Raju,” said Lola, “Tell me about the gas masks, or I am going to stab you with my phone.” She held the phone up.
“What? That’s not going to work very well.”
“I’ll make it work,” she said.
So Raju told her. He told her all about the gas masks, and the military trucks, and all the uber-patriotic, Independent-Texas-Now! paramilitary types that Festus had described. And then he told her he loved her. And that he wanted to make babies with her. And that they should start immediately, just as soon as he could get his pants off, if she was up for it. He tried to tell her some other stuff, but she punched him in the face and left the shop.
Fifteen seconds or so passed, and Lola came back in. Raju, of course, saw this as a sign from God.
“Where the hell is my car?” asked Lola.
Raju popped up from the stool and ran around the counter to stand before her. “You are a vision,” he said.
Lola ignored the compliment. “My car?”
Raju’s expression changed from adoration to confusion.
“It’s gone,” she said. Still no response. “My car is gone.”
“Oh, no! Your car is missing? That is terrible.” Raju went outside to see for himself. Lola followed him out. “Where was it?” he asked, staring at her bottom.
She smacked him and pointed to the side of the parking lot. “Over there, on the side,” she said.
He folded an arm across his chest, and scratched his chin, and thought. “Hmm… What did it look like?”
“It was a purp— maroon sedan.”
“Yes,” said Raju. “I see the problem now.”
“What?”
“I had this car towed away from here.”
“You what?!”
“I love you,” said Raju.
Lola spent the next two minutes acting out the “hate” part of her love-hate relationship with Raju. Once he was incapacitated and on the ground, she pulled out her cell phone, dialed, and started to pace. “Hello? Yes, I need a cab. I’m right next to Holy Land Coffee on Guadalupe. Right. That’s the one.” She walked back over to where Raju was still curled in the fetal position and kicked him.
“Stop it, you heartless witch!”
She turned and paced some more. “No, sooner than that.” She listened. “You can’t get someone here any faster? All right. Thanks.” She snapped the phone shut and walked back over to where Raju was now sitting up. “Apparently it’s going to take twenty-five minutes to get a cab here.” She kicked him again.
“Ow,” said Raju, as he fell over onto the ground again.
Lola sighed and glared at him, her hands on hips and one toe tapping.