LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 14

      The tattooed man crouched beneath a stunted tree just east of FDR Drive. Behind him an orange-hued sunset turned the East River as bright as beaten copper. The man’s head was shaved, his shirtless torso and arms a nightmare of upended crosses, flaming pentacles, weeping eyeballs. Muscles like titanium cords rippled when he changed position or paced the concrete bordering the river before returning to his crouch.

      Jeremy Ridgecliff hunkered on a walkway above the street, studying though compact binoculars. He had followed the man for two hours, analyzing motions, gestures, facial expressions, studying the tattoos. He had watched the man wince when a Catholic church’s bells tolled the hour. Heard him curse a street preacher passing out tracts. Seen him spit on the walls of a temple.

      An hour ago the man had ended up here, either crouched in tense thought or performing machine-like repetitions of push-ups and sit-ups, veins pulsing across his engorged arms and shoulders.

      A tourist boat on the river sounded a whistle. The man craned his head to the boat, bared his teeth, then returned to a dark place inside his head. Jeremy made a decision. He crossed west over FDR Drive and hailed a cab.

      Near Times Square, he found a glittery novelty and electronics shop selling plastic Statues of Liberty, postcards, tee-shirts, and cheap, hi-tech gadgets. He scanned the display cases and found what he needed, hoping 130 lumens – whatever they were – would do the trick.

      “Excuse me,” he asked the clerk, “but would you also have a piece of strong thread? Perhaps two feet?”

      The clerk sold him a pocket sewing kit for a buck, black and white threads, a needle. Jeremy thought a moment, then added a cheap fountain pen to his purchases. Outside the store, Jeremy tested the thread between his hands, judged it strong enough.

      The man was still there when Jeremy returned. FDR Drive was behind a concrete retaining wall, drivers thundering through the tight corridor. The sole light was from a flickering streetlamp a hundred feet away.

      Jeremy crept through the shadow and leaned against a tree a dozen feet from the crouching man. He turned his head away, toward the river.

      “That’s interesting.”

      The man’s head snapped to Jeremy. “What the fuck did you say?”

      Jeremy kept his face averted. “I was listening to your thoughts,” he said quietly. “I thought they were interesting.”

      The man uncoiled from his crouch like an angry rattlesnake, eyes narrowed, muscles rippling with every move. He lifted his clenched fist, preparing to drive Jeremy to the concrete. “Fuck your dirty lies,” the man said.

      Jeremy turned to face the man and began speaking.

      “Ari oha denda see … a mani a satano bayt manio …” White light blazed from Jeremy’s mouth. He spoke in a language from beyond Time. His teeth were translucent with inner fire, his tongue a squirming eel. His voice was the echo of a hell-bound train through a valley of ice.

       “… ronda nul beljus empet … larati doma castara …”

      The light from Jeremy’s mouth illuminated the man’s wordless terror. He dropped to his knees and lowered his head as if awaiting the guillotine.

       “Aro tomani memow … synthicus wala pemb …”

      Jeremy held his forearm low. Light from his mouth spotlighted a meaningless symbol scrawled below the crook of his elbow, a halfmoon impaled on a spear. The man glanced at the drawing, spasmed as if seized by epilepsy, covered his eyes with his hands.

      “W-What do you want?”

      “I serve an entity,” Jeremy intoned as he stood. “The entity directed me to you.”

      Jeremy fought to contain a smile. He could have used the word spirit or demon or being, but the word entity was magic. Half of these fuckers thought they were Swiss-cheesed with entities.

      “The entity’s name …” the man whispered, “is it … Asmodeus?”

      Jeremy recalled Asmodeus as one of Lucifer’s demonic Kings of Hell, mentioned in Paradise Lost. His observations had been dead-on, he’d found a religious lunatic, a man toxic with broken saints and disgraced angels. A dangerous and disconnected man.

      Perfect.

      While the man cowered on the pavement, Jeremy turned away, pulled the slender thread hanging from the side of his mouth. The multi-LED key-chain light – smaller than a wine cork but guaranteed to be 130 Lumens! Brightest You Can Buy! – slid from behind his tongue. He snapped it off and slipped it in his pocket. The idiot thing was about to gag him.

      “Stand ye and act natural,” he intoned. “Spies are about.”

      The man stood with reluctance, his corded muscles twitching. He kept his head canted away, as if a glance at Jeremy would be instant death. Jeremy lowered his voice. Tapped the symbol on his arm.

      “Asmodeus sent me to show you his private name and convey his love.” Dramatic pause. “He also sends a task.”

      “A task?” The man dared to look into Jeremy’s eyes, unable to believe his good fortune. “Asmodeus sends a task for … me?”

      “A task set for you in the timeless eons of the Before. A task awaiting you alone.” They love their frigging tasks, Jeremy thought, his heart beating with glee. They’d wait their whole lives for some damn task, die for it. You just had to wind them up and point them.

      “What does my Dark Lord bid me do?” the man said, tears of joy shining in his eyes.

      Jeremy reached into his pocket. “Here is a special phone. When the time comes, the task will be revealed. Never use this phone, never lose this phone. It is your link.”

      The man took the pre-paid phone with hands cupped and head bowed. “On the hallowed name of Asmodeus, I promise.”

      Jeremy placed five Krugerrands beside the phone. “Gold. To buy what you may need for your task. The coins must not be seen by anyone. Do you have a hiding place?”

      Hard fingers curled tight around the phone and coins. The man tapped his lower abdomen.

      Jeremy nodded. “Kneel and be sanctified.”

      The man dropped to his knees. Jeremy tapped his finger six times on the man’s sweaty, tattooed shoulder while chanting more nonsense. The man trembled as if on the verge of orgasm.

      “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

      Jeremy turned and walked away, waiting until out of sight to grimace and wipe his finger on his pants. He crossed several streets and hailed a cab. Though

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