Tim Marquitz - Armageddon Bound

There was a time when being related to Lucifer was enough to keep the proverbial wolves from the door. Judging by the snarling bastard who stood over me, his meaty fist dotted with my blood, those days were gone.

“Well, good morning to you too,” I mumbled, looking up through watering eyes. My nose throbbed something awful.

The big bruiser-Marcus D’anatello-just smiled. While a pretty big guy myself, certainly not lacking in the muscle department, I had nothing on Marcus. Built like a silverback gorilla on steroids, he hovered over me enjoying the moment. His Armanisuited bulk blocked out what little light filtered between the buildings. Fortunately for me, his bald head and pearly white teeth provided enough to see by. I didn’t like what I saw.

He gestured for me to get up, taking a short step back to give me room. I did so, hesitantly, expecting to be hit again. He surprised me.

Marcus and I had a history. It wasn’t so long ago I took a 2x4 to that gleaming dome of his. I dented it up pretty damn good. Turns out, he’s not the most forgiving of fellows.

“What can I do for you, Marcus?” I asked, not really expecting an answer that didn’t involve his fists.

“It’s not what you can do for him, Mr. Trigg, but what you can do for Baalth,” a reserved, measured voice answered from behind Marcus.

I peered around D’anatello’s hulking shoulder to see an older man striding toward us. My stomach tightened into a hard knot as I recognized him; Alexander Poe, Baalth’s psychic enforcer. Dressed conservatively in an understated gray suit, a look of solemn determination etched into his face. I knew then it was business, not personal. Something was going down.

“Where’s the bitch?” Marcus asked, the smile gone, his eyes feral.

As a modern man, relatively speaking, I’ve known many women who would have stood up and declared themselves the bitch he was looking for. However, I knew the instant he asked he could only be looking for one woman; Scarlett. Only she would be so willfully spiteful as to rattle the cage of a demon as powerful as Baalth.

“Why, you looking to get lucky?” It wasn’t like I felt the need to protect Scarlett, she could take care of herself-being an angel tended to help in that department-it just went against my nature to give in to bullies.

The blur of Marcus’s fist smashed into my forehead before I even saw it. There was a meaty thunk, which I heard rather than felt, as my head collided with the brick wall. A whirl of stars filled my vision as the pain caught up to me. I slid to the ground and dropped unceremoniously onto my ass. Immediately, I felt the knot growing in the center of my forehead, easily the size of a golf ball already. I imagined I looked like a retarded unicorn.

“Once more, where’s the bitch?”

I looked up at Marcus, or at least tried to; my eyes wouldn’t uncross. I rubbed them to quell their revolt and through the blur, I saw the bruiser pull his fist back again.

“All right, all right.” I chose the better part of valor. I may not like bullies, but I’m no martyr. You gotta choose your battles. This wasn’t one I was willing to take on. Besides, it’s not like I knew anything. “I don’t know where she is.”

It wasn’t like Scarlett and I were friends. Cousins? Yes, but friends was a stretch. In my book, she wasn’t a whole hell of a lot better than the big ape in front of me, but she served her purpose. Had I known where she was, I probably would have given her up. Not liking my answer, Marcus reared back to hit me again. Normally, I would have just shot him and saved us both the grief; me from having to take a beating and him from having to live with all that anger rattling around inside. I’d have been doing him a favor, Page 4 but I promised Abraham I’d play nice with Baalth. My shooting his goon would violate the old guy’s trust no matter how good it would feel. So, I tucked my chin and waited for the hammer to fall. Abraham would be so proud. Yay me.

“Leave him be,” Poe interrupted. “He’s telling the truth.”

As a mentalist whose power few humans could match, Poe knew I wasn’t lying. Though he wasn’t able to read my mind, my devilish genetics distorting his readings, he could still pull off a surface scan, which told him all he needed to know. It worked better than any lie detector I’d ever seen.

Marcus growled like a dog who didn’t want to relinquish a bone. I could almost see the rusty wheels in his head spinning as he mulled over his options. None of them were good for me.

Poe’s icy eyes narrowed. “We’re done here, Mr. D’anatello.” He laid a narrow hand on Marcus’s shaking arm when the big man didn’t respond. “Now is not the time for your personal vendetta.” There was a finality in his voice, which was hard to ignore. Marcus huffed and lowered his fist with reluctance. He glared at me, straightening his tie unconsciously. It looked more like he was strangling it.

“You’ll be seeing me again, Trigg.”

“Always a pleasure.” I tried to give him a welcoming smile, but judging from the look on his face

I missed my mark. I probably should have kept my tongue in my mouth.

He backed up about ten feet, his cold eyes on me the whole time, then turned and stormed out of the alley. Poe cast one last piercing glance in my direction before he strolled off after Marcus. Once they were gone, I pulled myself to my feet, grunting. My head still throbbed on both sides. I ran my hand across the back of my shaved scalp and felt a small cut dribbling with blood, but nothing major. I touched the knot on my forehead and hissed. That was a good one. The bastard hit like a freight train. The things I do for people.

“You better be happy, Abraham,” I shouted, my voice echoing down the alley.

“I’m sure he is, Frank.”

I jumped when I heard the voice, and whirled about drawing my chromed. 45 from the small of my back. I lowered it as soon as I saw the golden mane and grinning face of the angel it framed. “Goddamn it, Scarlett! Don’t do that.”

“Wow, a gun. That would have come in handy a minute ago.” She smirked, clearly having witnessed Marcus’s assault. The one I’d taken on her behalf. I could feel my anger welling up as I stared at her. She leaned casually against the wall, her lithe figure defined by the skin-tight leather outfit she wore. Cousin or not, I couldn’t help but follow the swollen trail of her V-neck blouse, her breasts a sight to behold. I have to give it to God, He knew how to make ‘em. How could I be mad at those?

I slipped my gun back into my waistband and pulled my shirt out to cover it. It helped to cover everything else, as well. What can I say? I’m easily aroused.

“Oh, and don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. He doesn’t like it,” she warned, her palm absentmindedly fondling the hilt of her sword, Everto Trucido, loosely translated as Demon Slayer. I looked away from the mesmerizing sight of her hand sliding up and down the pommel, trying to keep my thoughts in check. Having seen the blade in action, I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. It lived up to its name. I couldn’t, however, pass up an opportunity to give her grief. “What’s He gonna do, strike me down?” I raised my arms and looked up to the heavens, chuckling. Her eyes narrowed and the smile dropped from her face. I stifled my laughter and lowered my arms, not wanting to upset her more than I already had. The last thing I needed was to add a pissed off angel to my list of enemies. I might not get along with her all that well, but barring what I’d do if I found her gagged and tied to a bed, I sure didn’t want to go to war with her. I think the worst part was she knew I could say whatever I wanted and God wouldn’t do anything. He wasn’t around to do anything.