What Would Satan Do_ - Anthony Miller [92]
“What?” asked Satan. He’d been trying to figure out a way to lean over and pick the soon-to-be re-ignited pipe of divine retribution up off the ground without being noticed, and hadn’t been following the conversation as closely as he probably should have.
El Jefe looked over at Satan and jerked his head back toward the automobile. “Get in the car.”
Satan cocked his head, giving the man a polite, inquisitive look.
“Please,” said the man with a sardonic smile. The old man next to him – still wielding his action-movie grade firearm – held the back door open and gestured toward the back seat.
“Why?” asked Eli.
The man with the cigar stared at Eli for a moment with the cold eyes of a butcher sizing up a piece of meat. “We just want to talk.”
Another moment of silence passed. Satan turned to look at Eli, with his bathrobe, his wild-man beard, and his bunny slippers. Then he looked at the old men, with their shiny car and their guns. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”
“What?” said Eli. “You can’t. They’ll—”
“No, Eli. It’s okay.” Satan put his hand on the prophet’s shoulder. “I’m doing the Lord’s work.” And he got in the car.
Chapter 34. Frying Pans Suck
Liam woke up lying on a leather couch. He groaned.
“He’s awakeen,” said Ramón.
“Finally,” said Lola. She knelt down, and leaned over Liam. “What the hell happened?”
“What? I have no idea—” Liam’s head throbbed, but he still had to remind himself not to look down her shirt. “I don’t know. My head hurts.”
“They’re gone, Liam,” she said, the location of her eyebrows relative to her hairline indicating that she felt no small amount of displeasure about this fact.
He propped himself up on his elbows, and then rolled, haltingly, so that he was sitting up. Ramón, Lola, and Alistair Preston stood in a semi-circle around him. The leather couch made farty sounds as he shifted. He reached up and felt the knot on his head. “Ow.” Ramón and Lola stared at him. “They?” he asked. “There was another one?”
“Yes,” said Lola.
“I only saw the one.” Liam spoke the words to himself.
“No kidding,” said Lola.
Ramón held up a large, iron skillet. “He hhhit jou with this.”
“What the hell?” Liam rubbed the knot on his forehead again. “Frying pans suck.”
“Jes.” Ramón pursed his lips, squinted, and nodded a contemplative nod.
Liam got to his feet, wobbled a bit, and then took the frying pan from Ramón’s hand. “Who the hell attacks someone with a frying pan?”
Ramón shrugged and smirked. “I know!” he said, and the two men stood there, bonding over the heinous fuckery that was attacking someone with a frying pan. Liam decided that he liked Ramón after all.
“Liam,” said Lola.
“I mean, seriously.” Liam waved the frying pan around a bit, as if trying it out.
“¡Si! Ees crazy,” said Ramón.
“Liam,” said Lola.
“There are just so many dangerous weapons in a kitchen. So many things to choose from. Why… this?” He held the frying pan out as if it were a week-old trout.
“He totally could hab baked jou in the oben, jes?”
“Liam!”
Liam, who was reevaluating his stance on Ramón yet again, finally acknowledged Lola. “What is it?”
“They took Festus.”
Liam let the hand with the frying pan fall, and regarded Lola with the kind of steely, wary-eyed look that gunslingers get just before someone yells, “Draw!” “They did what?”
“They took him.”
“Where? You sure he’s not still hiding somewhere?” Liam glanced around the room as if he might spot Festus crouching behind a chair.
“He’s gone,” said Lola. “We checked.”
Liam sighed. “We’ve got to go after him.”
“No, we can’t. That’s not our—”
Liam gave Lola a look was not entirely unlike the kind of look that mama bears give to campers who try to interact