What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [126]
The Devil stepped over for a closer look and scrunched up his face. “Stop making that disgusting sound,” he said, delivering a good kick to the side of Whitford’s head.
The kick did not have the intended effect – unless, of course, it was intended as a purely punitive measure, in which case it was wildly successful. Whitford continued his writhing and gurgling, though perhaps with somewhat more enthusiasm than before.
Satan administered another kick, which was as unsuccessful (or successful) as the first. Whitford responded by blowing a bunch of bloody bubbles out of his nose.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Lola.
Festus piped up. “Wait, this makes you sick, but Raju exploding that guy’s dong, you could handle?” He didn’t wait for an answer, because he was distracted by the sounds of shock and dismay uttered by his companions. The Devil had apparently evaporated Whitford.
Satan turned back to Festus. “Where’s the other one?”
“Uh…?” said Festus.
“The preacher,” said Satan, “who was just here a minute ago?”
“He left,” said Lola.
Satan threw his hands up.
“Wait a minute!” said Raju. He stepped forward, shaking his head and looking disgusted at the Devil. “That’s it? That dude was so – so evil? And you didn’t do anything to him!”
Satan turned to stare at Raju in a not very nice way. Raju plowed ahead, oblivious. “That was so wussy, dude. I mean,” he said, holding up one of his palms, apparently undaunted by the fact that he was getting a full dose of the Evil Eye from the guy who invented the Evil Eye, “that guy sucked. You should’ve, like, tortured him first or something.”
Satan pondered this. His eyes grew less evil, and more contemplative, which caused his eyebrows to creep up his forehead – presumably in disgust at the diminution of evil in his eyes. “Yes,” he said, nodding and stroking his chin as if it featured a trim little Satanic chin beard – which it did not. “You are correct.”
Dick Whitford popped back into existence, making a kind of robot, zipper sound (“Zworp!” for those unfamiliar with cyborgian clothes-fastening devices) as he reappeared. He swayed and nearly fell over, but then caught himself, and looked surprised at everyone. Everyone – other than Satan and Raju, who were busy directing satisfied nods to one another – stared back, just as surprised.
“What the hell just happened?” he said, swaying slightly. He reached up and felt his throat.
“Dick,” said Satan.
Whitford stopped fondling his now-healed throat and glanced up at the Devil, looking haggard, but – in the scheme of things, i.e., as a man who’d just been evaporated and then brought back to life moments later – fairly well. “What do you want from me?”
“You’re not allowed to try to end the world!” said Satan, sounding a little bit like a little girl complaining about a breach of her rules for having a make-believe tea party with Mr. and Mrs. Bear.
Whitford smirked.
Satan grabbed him by the collar, and lifted the enormous man off the ground with just one hand. The Governor seemed less affronted by this than just genuinely amazed that the Devil had managed to get him up in the air.
“I came here to avoid all of this. I’m not going to let some regurgitated shite such as yourself screw things up.”
“Regurgitated shite?” asked Festus.
“Poop that gets eaten and thrown back up,” said Raju.
“Oh, yeah. Of course,” said Festus, nodding.
Whitford’s mouth hung open for a second, and then closed, and then opened again, making him look a little bit like a big, fat fish out of water. “But you can’t. I— I just…”
“Yes,” said Satan. “I can. Watch.” Satan now held him with both hands and somehow began to shake the man up and down. He shook faster and faster.
“What the hell are you—?” The Devil shook him faster. “Arrgh!” said the Governor to indicate that he wasn’t enjoying the ride.
And then Satan stopped, and set Whitford down. The Governor immediately plopped down onto his bottom, seeming a little dizzy, but otherwise unharmed. Then he began to breathe short, sharp breaths,