Lilith - TI3 (42 page)

"It wasn't necessary. I thought you were happy the way we did things."

"You never thought at all. All you did was make yourself happy at my expense. You knew how Lilith felt about the position. If you had loved me, you would have known that I'd eventually resent you for the same thing."

"Father said..."

"Father was wrong!"

Adam gasped and looked around as if expecting to be struck by one of Father's angry lightning bolts. When nothing happened, he frowned. Could Eve be right? If Father knew everything, why wasn't he here defending Adam as he had when Lilith rebelled?

"What's the matter, Adam? Not so sure of yourself any more?"

"I... I don't know," he stammered.

"Prove it. Take a bite from the fruit and I'll believe you."

Feeling trapped and unsure of himself without Father's support, Adam relented. Following Eve to the Tree of Knowledge, he noticed the small serpent wrapped around one of the fruit. As he leaned in for a better look, it moved away, exposing a large white blemish where a bite had been taken. Looking back at Eve, he sighed and hesitantly placed his teeth against the white pulp and bit down. When nothing happened, he tore a piece away, jumped back and swallowed it quickly. It was sweet and juicy. Adam smiled at Eve, knowing for the first time what true knowledge was... and the sky darkened with angry black clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning flashed across the heavens. Neither Eve nor Adam noticed the small serpent slithering quietly away.

*  *  *

"It’s amazing how easy it is to get someone to believe what they want to,"
said the Child.

"Yes. Unfortunately it’s not just a human trait."

She knew Lilith was referring to her and the way the demons had manipulated her for their own purposes.

"No, it’s not."

Lilith reluctantly admired the ingenuity of her daughter. That someone so young could conceive such a plan was one thing... to carry it out so successfully against the Twin seemed inconceivable. After listening to her story, she was more determined than ever to free her daughter from her imprisonment, knowing that she and Dis bore responsibility for their demon child’s actions.

M
UDADA FOLLOWED THE men from the club and watched as they walked to the back of the building. Minutes later they reappeared carrying the body of one of the goons guarding the back door. Throwing him in a dark SUV that had just pulled up, they disappeared behind the building again and came out carrying a second body. After tossing it on the first, they climbed into the vehicle and waited. A short time later, another car pulled up. A short stocky man jumped out and opened the rear door. After helping two women out, he escorted them to the front door of the nightclub, passing Mudada on the way, unaware of her presence. The sound of an angry hiss caught his attention but he was too frightened to stop and investigate. When Bertie appeared, he quickly handed the women off to her and then hurried back to the car. Both vehicles drove away, wheels spinning.

Walking over to a black Suzuki Intruder 1200, she swung a leg over and started the bike. Flipping the kickstand up with her heel, she tapped it in first gear and gunned the motor. Releasing the clutch she spun her rear tire and took off after her prey. She was going to enjoy this, she thought.

Freddie was furious. Not only had the bitches humiliated him in front of his own men, but they had done it in front of a bunch of women and then had the audacity to take his whore. He knew it wouldn’t be long before word spread to the other pimps in town and he’d be targeted for elimination. Any sign of weakness was an open invitation for an attempted takeover. The only way he could save face was to get rid of the Sisterhood and their bosses. His first order of business, though, was to find Arnie the Arsonist.

If the bitch likes playing with fire,
he thought, unconsciously rubbing his burnt cheek.
I’ll show her I can play too.

"Where to, boss?" asked Jimmy.

"Find Arnie. I need his services."

"You ain’t thinking about doing something stupid, are you?" he asked nervously.

"You questioning me now, Jimmy?"

"No boss... it’s just that I know what them bitches can do. There’s something not right about them... like they ain’t human or something."

"Yeah, well, human or not, I’m going to teach them a lesson. No one messes with me like they did. If I don’t take them out, every pimp in the state will be after me and my stable."

"Okay, but I don’t like it!"

"I don’t pay you to like it. Now shut up and just do what I say!"

They found Arnie standing on a corner, near his apartment, smoking a cigarette. Opening the lid to his lighter, he would flick it on and then flip the lid shut, extinguishing the flame. He had spent most of his life lighting fires. A cigarette lighter was magic to him... his own little flame that he could carry with him wherever he went. This particular lighter had been with him for several years and he had a special attachment to it. The date of the first building he set on fire was engraved along the side. When Arnie saw the dark SUV pull up to the curb, he smiled, knowing the owner had a job for him.

"Hey Freddie. What’s up?" he asked, leaning through the open window to stare at the men in the front seat. Glancing at the others in the back seat, he noticed two men were unconscious.

"Geez, guys, what happened to you?"

"Nothing that concerns you," growled Freddie, making sure he kept his face in the shadows so Arnie wouldn't see the burn on his cheek. "I got a job for you."

"Sure... name it... usual price of course," replied Arnie, knowing not to press the issue.

"Of course. Lilith’s Den. On the west side. I want it gone by tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow? That’s too quick. I need to check the place out. Find its weaknesses and the hours it’s closed."

"It’s a nightclub for Christ’s sake. They keep the same hours as any bar. Just take some gas over and torch the place."

"Shit, Freddie! I'm an artist! It takes time for me to do it right. If you think it’s so damn easy, do it yourself!"

Fuck!
thought Freddie.
Guy's a damn fruitcake!

Unfortunately, Arnie was the best arsonist in town. The number of jobs he had done successfully without getting caught was impressive.

"Look, Arnie. I don’t care what it costs. Just do it!"

"I’ll check it out, but I ain’t making no promises. It’ll cost you big time if I pull it off... say the usual price upfront and the same amount when the job is done."

"Fine. Whatever it takes. As long as you get it done."

Flicking his lighter open and shut, Arnie smiled again.

"Consider it done. You know where to drop the cash off. I’ll expect it two hours after the banks open."

Pushing away from the car, he walked away, playing with his lighter. Neither of them paid any attention to the motorcycle and its rider as it passed by them.

"Where to, now?" asked Jimmy.

"My place. I want to invite a few friends over for an all night party. Nothing like having a good alibi when you need it."

"Yeah," replied Jimmy, skeptically. His gut told him this was a mistake and he didn’t want anything to do with Freddie’s plan. Once he dropped his boss off, he was going to follow his original instincts and disappear.

*  *  *

Arnie gathered up everything he needed for the job from a small storage area in the apartment building basement. Acetone was his favorite accelerant. It burned hot and quick and was available anywhere. A common substance used by painters, it would be impossible to track down purchasers. A few small bottles, strategically placed around the building would create enough damage to have the entire structure condemned... and give him the fix he craved... fire. How could anyone not love it? The beauty... the warmth... The flames and smoke were a work of art, dancing wildly as sparks rose into the night like orange fireflies, painting a picture of both life and death. The crackling was music to his ears as it consumed everything it could. Arnie thought of himself as an artist, creating his own priceless masterpieces. His patrons may have been crooks, but he didn’t care. As long as he could make a living doing what he loved the most, he was happy.

Engrossed in putting together the tools of his trade, he didn’t hear his front door open or the quiet footsteps moving toward him. The sound of a board creaking made him spin around. Before him stood a short heavy woman wearing a black motorcycle jacket and tight jeans... very tight jeans. Heavy thighs bulged causing the material to stretch and wrinkle. It was obvious she was a dyke and
packing
.

"Damn, woman! How’d you get in here? And what do you want?" he demanded, unable to take his eyes off the huge bulge protruding down her left thigh.

When she giggled and grabbed her crotch, he shook his head.

She’s fuckin nuts!
he thought.

"Listen, I think you’re in the wrong place. I don’t do dykes and they definitely don’t do me. Now get out!"

Again she giggled and smiled. Crooked, yellow teeth made her look a little freaky, not to mention the wild look in her reddish brown eyes.

"And I don’t do men, Sweetie," she said, winking. "At least not the way you mean."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?"

Laughing, the woman clapped her hands together gleefully. It was such a childish action, the arsonist was positive she had escaped from some nuthouse.

"Geez!" Arnie rolled his eyes and sighed. "Look! You have the wrong idea. Now are you going to leave or do I have to throw you out?"

"Hee... hee... hee... I choose... ummmm... neither!" Peeking over his shoulder, she noticed the can of acetone. "It makes a pretty flame, doesn’t it?"

"What do you know about this stuff? ... and besides, I use it for my art?"

"Oh... well... hee... hee.. hee... I have something better... and it doesn’t leave any traces like your stuff. In fact, it doesn’t leave anything behind that the pretty firemen can find."

"Really? Everything leaves something behind."

"Not everything? Wanna see?"

"Sure. Why not?" deciding it was best to humor her a bit.

The woman grinned and nodded. Rubbing her hands together rapidly and closing her eyes, she mumbled a few words and then flipped her hands toward him, palms facing upward. Blue flames shot from her fingertips incinerating Arnie within seconds.

"See!" she said, gleefully. "No trace!"

A distant scream made her laugh.

"And one more soul for the coffers of Hell."

Slapping her hands together as if knocking off dust, she bent down and picked up a small object lying on the floor.

My own little fire maker!
she thought.

Minutes later, Arnie’s neighbors heard the roar of a motorcycle but thought nothing of it. It would be several days before anyone thought about checking up on him.

*  *  *

Freddie was in his glory. Several friends had shown up to the party even though it had been a short notice. Booze flowed freely and several of his whores were wondering around trying to drum up future business. Tonight, though, they had to put out for nothing, which had irritated a few but no one dared protest. If Freddie told them to accommodate his guests, then they did. It was better than ending up in the hospital... or worse.

"Great party, Freddie!" yelled a short, balding man who saluted him with a bottle of beer.

"Thanks, Tony. Feel free to make use of one of the girls. It’s on the house tonight."

"Will do!"

"Hey, bro!" interrupted another man, wearing a flashy blue suit and matching tie. "I hear you lost one of your hos this yesterday?"