What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [78]
Lola turned back. “I—” she hesitated at the sight of Ramón’s post-coital expression. “I don’t see the connection between goats and Baphomet.”
“Jou know,” said Ramón. “Jus’ cabras.”
“Goats,” said Festus.
“Jes.” Ramón pointed at Festus as if he were to blame.
“Just ... goats?” asked Lola.
“Jes.”
“Ramón,” she said, “I think you need to take us to Mr. Preston now.”
Ramón looked sullen. “Jou better come inside.”
They followed Ramón through an imposing entry that opened up onto an expanse of snow-white, crushed-leather sofas and other expensive-looking furniture. The room was sprinkled with a variety of small recreations of famous statutes – David, The Thinker, The Easter Island heads – which someone had improved via the liberal application of some homo-erotic artistic license.
The main sitting area was bordered on two sides by colonnaded walkways with darkened halls leading off to other parts of the estate. Thirty feet off, on the far side of the enormous room where the rear wall should have been, was another colonnaded walkway. But this one opened up onto a multi-level deck and pool that overlooked the Austin hill country.
Ramón stopped and turned. “Please hab a seat. I be right back.” He eyed Festus, and looked alarmed as he noticed the white couch Festus was poised to sit on. “Jou sir, jou chould sit ober hhhere.” He gestured to a dark and severe-looking wooden chair that looked like a leftover from the Inquisition. The seat offered no padding, and the back was just a board that shot up from the seat at a ninety-degree angle. “Is … mas comfortable,” Ramón said, pronouncing each syllable. He patted the austere chair.
Festus regarded the chair as if it were a medieval torture device. He looked back at Liam and Lola. Lola turned away, pretending to be interested in one of the priapic statutes. Liam just smiled and gestured toward the chair. “Looks comfy,” he said.
“I be right back,” said Ramón. He disappeared through one of the darkened doorways on the side of the room. After a moment, an older gentleman strode in, Ramón padding in barefoot right behind him.
Alistair Preston’s posture was aristocratic. He wore a smoking jacket and very loud, plaid pants of the sort that only rich, old British guys can get away with. “Hello, hello,” he said. “Do come in, please, do come in.”
“Does he have to be here?” asked Lola, gesturing at Ramón.
“I don’t have any secrets from Ramón,” he said with a lecherous old man look.
Lola winced. “We’re here for Project Baphomet. We need to get whatever you have.”
“Get Project Baphomet?” Preston chuckled. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
“Mr. Preston, this is extremely important.”
“I’m very sorry, my dear.” He smiled congenially. “But you see, there is nothing to get.”
Chapter 29. Mean Dude in a Track Suit
Eli and the Devil staggered and shuffled their way around downtown Austin, stopping here and there to watch the spectacle as naked guys ran wild as dogs through the streets. They came upon an old-carny type who sat in the front of one of those horse-drawn carriages that couples sometimes get into by mistake. Satan followed Eli, assuming – quite reasonably – that he knew the driver or had some other reason for approaching the man. But then he watched as Eli walked right past the man to engage the horse.
The horse was huge, like one of those beer horses – with the furry feet and a long, flowing mane that appeared to have come right off the cover of a romance novel. The gigantic beast, however, looked as if he’d seen better days – better days stomping on smaller horses, and maybe smashing through barns and brick walls or something.
Eli waved Satan over to have a visit with the quadruped. The old prophet produced a carrot from the depths of some secret compartment hidden in his flowery bathrobe, and fed it to the hormonally-challenged beast, addressing the animal by name. He turned to Satan and explained that the horse was called Sam, but that, if you asked him (the horse) – which