What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [63]
The taco stand lady started to yell again, but was interrupted by the sound of screeching tires. The sound was from a shiny, black Lincoln Town Car attempting to come to a quick stop, which it did, right after hitting the man with no shirt. He doubled over, smacking his head on the hood, and then slid off the side of the car onto the ground.
The car doors swung open and two old men in engineers’ coveralls stepped out. They stepped around to the front of the car and stared at the shirtless man, talking quietly to one another for a moment. They stopped talking and, after some looking around and some nodding at each other, the two old men crouched down, picked the man up, and carried him around to the back of the car. They then proceeded to put him into the trunk. He went in without much of a fuss – probably on account of having just been run over – and so the two old men, each brushing his hands together in the way one does after a job well done, climbed back into their American-made leviathan and drove away.
Sometimes, when really screwy stuff happens, the casual observer finds it difficult to mount a coherent or logical response. Sometimes there’s just not much you can say or do. Liam and Festus did the only thing they could.
“What. The. Fuck?” said Liam.
“Yeah...” said Festus, nodding his head very slowly. The earthquakes, locust swarms, and weird, apocalyptic weather events of late were one thing. But now, things really seemed to be getting out of hand.
The taco stand lady bustled out to the edge of the porch, a broom in her hand. “You don’t steal my tacos!” she shouted, waving the pole end of the broom at the world at large.
“Should we call someone?” asked Festus.
“Nah,” said Liam. He looked at his watch again. “Let’s go.”
“Okay.”
They were too full from the tacos to attempt full, sliding-across-the-hood stunts, and so they just got into the car like normal guys, and drove a couple of blocks over to the guitar shop.
When they arrived less than a minute later, Liam was disturbed to see that the lights of the shop were already on. They went inside, and found Raju asleep on the floor behind the cash register, looking bored.
“Raju,” Liam gave him a love tap with his foot. “What are you doing?”
Raju sat up, wiping drool from his face, and looked up from under droopy eyelids. “What?”
“Are you high?”
“No,” said Raju. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“There’s a woman coming here. She should be here any minute. Don’t act like an idiot.”
Chapter 23. Whitford Flosses, Calls in the Secessionists
The angel talked and talked. He made everything sound so easy. He told them where they could get the sarin gas, and about the demon who was on his way to Texas to try to screw everything up, and all the things they needed to do to ensure the plan succeeded. His words seemed to flow, warm and comforting. Cadmon watched the anger drain out of Whitford’s face, and found himself nodding along with the rhythmical cadence of the angel’s speech.
Cadmon snapped awake. The angel was saying something to him.
“He is in charge now. You will do as he says. Your resources are his.” The angel turned away and rose to his full height, lifting his arms out to his sides.
“What? Wait a minute!”
Ezekiel dropped his arms and turned, flashing Cadmon a dirty look. “He is in charge now,” he stabbed a finger toward Whitford. The Governor, still a little dazed, managed a weak smirk.
The angel gave a curt nod and took a deep breath, regaining his composure. He started to spread his hands again. But Cadmon persisted.
“I don’t understand? Why is he—?
The angel’s eyes flashed red as he spun. “What do you want?” There suddenly seemed to be a lot more air moving around the room than is typically the case indoors. The wooden blinds that covered Whitford’s windows rattled.
Cadmon sat startled, his eyes wide. “Well, I—”
Whitford leaned over to peer around