What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [32]
Why couldn’t they leave him alone? He fumed. He’d had enough of these pestering, pain-in-the-arse humans with their rules and regulations and their law enforcement. He needed to get these buggerers off his back.
Going home wouldn’t help that. In fact, home was probably the last place he should go.
“Change of plans,” he said. “What’s the swankiest hotel in town?”
The cab driver, whose name was Faruq, had only learned English after he’d immigrated to the United States. In fact, “learned” was putting it too strongly, and the superlative form of the word “swanky” was entirely lost on him. But he knew that he had a fare who had come from a building that was on fire, who had tossed a lot of money at him, and who was now asking him for something that was probably illegal or, at least, very strange. He had heard of one hotel where they would provide you with a pet goldfish for the evening that you could keep in your room. That seemed weird, and it was either that or one of the seedier hotels with all the hookers. He pointed his finger skyward and announced, “Hotel Monaco!”
“Excellent. Take me there immediately.”
And so, off they went.
Satan sat back again and started to think about what he was going to do now. He had to get rid of this stupid human, this nuisance, this FBI agent. And he’d have to be proactive about it.
If the FBI was so interested in him, he’d just have to pay them a visit.
Chapter 11. The Devil Went Down to Pennsylvania Avenue
The next morning was bright and sunny. Clyde Parker moseyed down Pennsylvania Avenue, a cowboy Terminator made out of barbed wire, bullets, and the more dangerous parts of a rattle snake. He’d left his Stetson back at the hotel so as not to stand out too much. It wasn’t a particularly effective disguise though, given his too-tight cowboy jeans, expensive, ostrich-skin boots, and the steely-eyed look that he wielded at the suited professionals and fanny-pack tourists with whom he shared the sidewalk.
Parker hated D.C. Considered it to be a Godless pit for Liberals, queers, and communists. He’d survived eight years here, working for the VP, and all he wanted to do was to get whatever the hell this damned Project Baphomet thing was and get back to Texas – God’s Country.
It should have been a straightforward job. After all, bribing and threatening folks to get a hold of some classified files wasn’t exactly rocket science. At least, not usually. But this time things weren’t working out; weren’t falling into place. Every source, every contact, every lead – they’d all been dead ends. He was beginning to wonder whether Baphomet was real. He’d been here for over a week and had jack shit to show for it. That wasn’t how things usually went for Clyde Parker, and he found it irksome. In fact, it irked the hell out of him.
He stopped on the northwest corner of Pennsylvania and 10th, surveying the scene like an old-West gunslinger preparing for a showdown – you never knew when you might have to take down some uppity K-Street lawyer. Ahead of him loomed the malaise-era architectural nightmare that is the J. Edgar Hoover building – the national headquarters for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Parker sneered at the building and the bureaucrats it housed, but then didn’t give either any further thought. He was a serious Texan who devoted his mental energy to serious thoughts like: Where the hell was the goddamned kid he was supposed to meet? He pulled out the tourist guide he’d grabbed on the way out of the hotel, and tried to look inconspicuous.
He was roused from his nonchalant map reading just a couple of seconds later by what sounded like a T-rex and a jet fighter having a heated argument with some uncooperative and screechy automobile tires. He looked up and saw an orange Lamborghini skid sideways across the intersection, its tires squealing and smoking. It slid to a stop just short of the massive planters installed to prevent terrorists from driving truckloads of bombs into the building. The driver door popped open and a tall man in a well-fitted pinstriped suit emerged. His