Page 13

Chapter thirteen

B ob strolled into his office with his nose in the stack of paper he carried. Humans were nothing more than lying sacks of crap.

“Altruistic, my ass,” Bob said to himself as he dropped the stack on his desk. “Money hungry, capitalist jackasses. That’s what that lot is.”

“Boss!” Abby shouted as she ran into the room at a full sprint. Her red hair bounced in the wind current she created as she almost ran over Bob.

“What in the hell?” Bob braced himself on the desk as he stopped Abby from knocking them both down. “Is there a fire in the building or did you get new sneakers?”

Abby looked down at her feet and her pristine pair of Mary-Janes. “No fire or shoes, but are you okay? I have been worried sick about you. I had everyone in the building monitoring their scans for you.”

“Why?” Bob eyed his secretary carefully to prepare for the horrible news he was sure was coming.

Abby adjusted her jumper and placed her hands on her hips. “You weren’t here when I arrived at seven.”

“And?” Bob glanced around the room, waiting for whatever else would jump out at him.

“You are always here before me.” Abby paced around the room. “It was seven-thirty. You still hadn’t arrived. Nobody had heard from you, and you were not in any of the usual places. What if the syringe bandit got you?”

“I’m killing Shorty,” Bob slapped his face. “What has that crazy fool been telling you?”

“I wasn’t believing him until eight fifteen rolled around, and you were late for court.” Abby waved her hands in the air. “I knew something horrible happened to you, and we were going to find you dead in a ditch.”

“Because calling my cell phone was out of the question?” Bob pulled his phone from his pocket and waved it in front of Abby.

“Wait?” Abby rushed to Bob and took his phone. “But if you have your phone, whose cell is that on your desk?”

“Mine,” Bartholomew whispered in her ear as he popped into the room.

Abby screamed at the top of her lungs and dropped the phone. “You did that on purpose!”

“I might have left my phone here earlier today,” Bartholomew confessed as tears of laughter rolled down his cheeks at the enraged Abby.

Bob ran a finger over his ear to clear the buzzing sound created by Abby.

“That’s it,” Bob said. “You are forbidden to teleport in the building.”

“You said I could use it to come in, but not around.” Bartholomew pouted.

“All rights have been revoked,” Bob stated. “You are only allowed to teleport to your office, and that’s it. Pass the message to Isis. No more scaring people to death and driving me deaf.”

“Not fair, but so worth it.” Bartholomew laughed. “You should have seen your face Abby, it was priceless.”

Abby slapped Bartholomew’s stomach. “You are not my favorite person right now.”

“Before you declare a national emergency, let’s aim to call me, okay?” Bob confirmed with his secretary.

“Yes, boss.” Abby dropped her head. “But are you okay?”

“For now, I’m perfectly fine,” Bob replied. “I might be dead once Constantine finds out the humans want over three million dollars for the underground land. Something about liability if the building collapses if we try to build.”

“Did you tell them the most superior builders in the world were getting ready to break ground in their city?” Bartholomew joked.

“Of course, I did.” Bob waved his hands in the air. “Right after I clarified that Union Station has an elevator to hell and three new subterranean levels with its own morgue. I’m sure that would absolutely help in the negotiations.”

“But they agreed to sell the land.” Bartholomew walked around the desk and took his cell.

“Humans would sell their mothers if they thought it would be profitable, you know that.” He handed the stack of papers to Bartholomew and took a seat. “Now, Abby, what else did I miss?”

Abby composed herself but struggled to get her hair under control. Bob examined the girl and noticed the deep circles under her eyes.

“Did you get the new prescription yet?” he asked before she could brief him.

“No.” Abby shook her head.

“What happened?”

Abby played with her fingers and shivered slightly.

“Abby?” Bob prodded.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Abby. “But doc seemed distracted yesterday when I stopped by.”

“Was she mean to you?” Bartholomew jumped in, looking at the folder with the papers.

“NO!” Abby said, louder than was necessary. “She was maybe just short.”

“Angela has a lot going on,” Bob explained. “Stop by today and see if she can change your prescription. You look like you need rest.”

“I was afraid to take the Ambien but then I couldn’t rest, had crazy dreams,” Abby admitted.

“Get the new meds today,” Bob ordered. “Please tell Shorty I’ll be at court in fifteen. We are changing court hours to nine starting today, and only Monday through Wednesday. Things will change around here.”

“Yes, sir.” Abby saluted and ran out the door.

“Wow, you are changing court hours, really?” Bartholomew asked with a smirk. “You have never changed times for less. The last few years, you have been extending hours more and more.”

“Yes, and all it has done is people bringing us their dumbest problems,” Bob replied. “They don’t need a court system. This community needs to get along better. Problems need to be resolved at the lowest level, not mine.”

“Uh oh,” Bartholomew teased. “This is the intern’s Burnt-out Phase.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Bartholomew pointed a finger at him. “You remember when Isis went through that phase and snapped at everyone around. You, my friend, are getting there. This means you need a vacation.”

“I don’t need a vacation.”

“You also should start dating as well,” Bartholomew continued.

“Are you serious?”

“You have no life.” Bartholomew dropped the files on the desk. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

“We are in the middle of a crisis, might have a serial killer loose, and you think I should date. Bartholomew, have you lost your mind?”

“Nope, but I’m preparing you for the conversations to come with Isis and Constantine. I recommend you have a plan or a vacation spot. The dating madness is coming.”

“Great.” Bob rolled his eyes. “But can we get back to work now?”

“Sure.” Bartholomew stood straight and saluted Bob with military precision. “What do you need from me, boss?”

“You are such a ham.” Bob walked around and sat on his chair behind his desk. “Shorty had me thinking last night.”

“This can’t be good.”

“Not about the spiders,” Bob added quickly. “But what if we have some weird rituals going on? Wouldn’t be the first time some satanic forces came to town?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I really hate to admit it, but we need to check with Jake.”

Bob was not a fan of having to deal with the devil. While he understood the delivery of souls had to be made to hell, he never enjoyed the interaction with the fallen angel. Jake, as he went by, was nothing like Bob expected. Instead of a beast of flames with horns and a tail, Jake was more like a GQ model. Everything about the being radiated power, seduction, and promises. Isis had joked she understood how people sold their souls to him.

If Bob could avoid him, he would eliminate all interactions with the devil. Unfortunately, as part of his job as an intern, it involved talking to the being. The good news was, with Reapers around, the job could be spread between them. Isis usually took one for the team and went on those errands. With her trailing behind her godmother in Africa, Bob feared he would have to do the deed.

“Do you want me to go?” Bartholomew offered, staring at Bob’s worried face.

“Do you want to?” Bob asked softly.

“Not really, but it’s probably safer than you.” Bartholomew pointed at Bob’s forehead. “You look like a vein is about to burst on your head.”

“I’m sorry,” Bob dropped his head to his hand. “I know it’s part of the job, but he freaks me out.”

“He is the devil,” Bartholomew reminded him. “He really should.”

“True, but.” Bob took a deep breath. “It feels like he knows our most intimate desires.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Bartholomew leaned against the desk.

“What if he makes me an offer and I can’t refuse?”

“What? An Emeril Lagasse’s kitchen? What could the devil possibly offer you that you couldn’t get yourself? Or that Constantine couldn’t match or top?” Bartholomew ticked off the options with his fingers and Bob glared.

“That’s a different way of looking at this.”

“Also,” Bartholomew interrupted him. “Your soul already belongs to Death. Even if Jake tried to make a play for it, he would be outmatched.”

“I knew that.” Bob slapped himself softly. “But he still scares the crap out of my soul.”

“Good. That is a very healthy fear.” Bartholomew gave Bob a thumb-up. “Do you still want me to go?”

“Would you, please?”

“Absolutely.”

“You are not afraid of meeting with him?”

Bartholomew shook his head. “I don’t trust him and will never make deals with his ass, but fear is not there. Something shifts in you once you die. I’m no longer human and in reality, I’m a part of Death. There is nothing he wants or could get from me.”

“Thank you so much, Bart.” Bob relaxed and let his shoulders droop a few inches. “But you really can’t go alone.”

“I can ask Eugene,” Bartholomew announced with too much joy that made Bob uncomfortable.

“I don’t know.” Bob tapped on his desk. “Isis said Eugene should never go back to The Cave.”

“That’s not what she said,” Bartholomew corrected. “She said Eugene should never go back to that club alone. But I’ll be there.”

“Do you honestly think you can keep that dancing-queen in check, at a club run by the devil?” Bob’s eyes were wide. “He is not dead or an intern for Death. If we lost him to the devil, Pestilence would seek a plague on us so that not even Moses could help us.”

“You have been spending way too much time with Shorty. The two of you are top-tier dramatic.”

Bob glared but focused on arranging the papers on his desk. “I don’t like it, but we don’t have a lot of choices. Fine. See if Eugene can go with you. Hopefully, it’s like River dance music and he won’t get lost at the party.”

“Please!” Bartholomew burst in laugher. “You know Eugene dances even to commercials. I wouldn’t be surprised if that guy has a pair of tap shoes ready for that occasion.”

“Bart, you are not helping me here.”

“Sorry.”

“Check with Constantine for theme and location for the Cave’s entrance for the night. Then see if Eugene can come out and play,” Bob ordered.

“Too easy.”

“Before you go, can you stop by the morgue and see if Angela has found anything for us?”

“Am I looking for anything specific?”

“I’ll take any clue.”

Bartholomew saluted and headed out of the office. “See, I’m using the door!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Bob shook his head at the young Reaper. It didn’t matter how old he looked, Bartholomew was still a teenager and did teen stuff.

“Boss.” Abby leaned around the door.

“Yes, Abby,” Bob replied, picking up a pile of reports on his desk.

“You will not like this,” Abby said softly, taking small steps into the office. “Mr. Shorty said a fight broke out in the waiting room and two witches got pixied already.”

“Could I charge someone for dirtying my floor?” Bob replied instead and Abby stopped walking.

“You could technically fine them the cost of cleaning the place from pixie dust, or any blood sprayed,” Abby offered.

“Abby, you are a genius.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Bob stood from his desk. “I’m going to change for court. I don’t want my nice vest to get dirty today. Call Shorty and let him know to keep all the fighters in the court but not to offer any medical aid. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Not a problem.” Abby turned around to execute her orders with a smile on her face.

“Abby,” Bob said softly.

“Yes, boss.”

“And when you are done, head to the sub-basement to talk to the doctor.”

“Yes, boss.” This time, the smile was gone, and Abby dropped her head.

Bob smirked. Once, he wondered if he had missed his chance in life to have children. No, he hadn’t. They just came in adult size with different issues.

‘Instant family, just add Bob.’

He reminded himself of Isis’s phrase to him. This was definitely the family he never expected, and he couldn’t be too busy to take care of them. But right now, it was time to be sheriff of this mess. He couldn’t get upset. It was his goodwill that had created the drama. Time for tough-love and lots of fines. If anything, he was going to be making some money from his new plan.