Straight to Heaven (14 page)

“That’s great,” I said, trying to bring some enthusiasm into my voice.

If J.T. noticed that I sounded down, he didn’t mention it. “Sam understands that the world is going to hell, and that there are people in power right now who are working to send it there. Congressmen, senators…they don’t give a rat’s ass about people like you and me. They’re in it for the money. To them, it’s just a game.”

I’ve had my share of frustrations with Washington D.C., but J.T.’s analysis seemed extreme. “I’m sure they don’t all feel that way,” I said.

“Don’t be a sheep, Lilith.” His voice had an edge.

Who was he calling a
sheep
?! I gripped the phone tighter, angered by the insult.

J.T. continued, “People follow the leaders no matter what bullshit they’re fed. We’re headed for disaster. Those of us who understand that are preparing right now. Not that the sheep care. When the world falls apart, those sheep can baa at my bunker door all they want, but I’m not answering.”

And to think all this time I’d considered J.T. to be a friendly puppy when he was more of a rabid dog. And after eighteen holes with Leo the Letch, I was in no mood for J.T.’s paranoid rhetoric. As far as I was concerned, Hell could have him and Craig both. In fact, maybe I would offer Miss Spry a two-fer.

“Sorry.” His voice softened, and he seemed to give himself a mental shake. “I get carried away sometimes.” He laughed. “My soapbox gets more use than most people’s.”

No kidding.

“The real reason I called,” J.T. said, “was to see if you could break away sometime next week. I thought we could go to the range.”

Though the idea of going on a date with J.T. appalled me, I wouldn’t let my personal politics interfere with this job. “That sounds like fun.”

My phone beeped to tell me that I had another call coming through. “Hang on a sec,” I said, and picked up the other line without bothering to look at who it was.

“Lil? It’s me.”

Tommy. “How are you?
Where
are you?”

“Still in Mumbai.” He said something else, but there was so much background noise that it was difficult to hear him.

“What?”

“I said that I’m trying to get a flight.” He sounded giddy, like he’d had too much caffeine and too little sleep. “Have you talked to Jas yet? I tried calling, but she won’t pick up.”

I felt a terrible wave of guilt. With everything that had happened over the weekend, I’d nearly forgotten about my stepsister. “Not yet,” I admitted, “but I will.”

“Okay,” he said, disappointed.

Grace, still looking sulky, wandered into the kitchen. “Who’s on the phone? Dad? Because he wanted to talk to you.”

I’ll bet he did, I thought. “No, it’s Tommy.”

“Tommy!” She shrieked his name and ran over to grab the phone from me. It occurred to me that if Tommy was back in town, Grace would be less eager to visit France with Ted. Tommy might even be able to convince her that she didn’t want to go at all. Suddenly, I was even gladder to have him back.

“There’s someone here who wants to talk to you,” I said. I handed the phone to Grace. Within seconds, she was jabbering away at him, talking about the new pool, and arts and crafts camp, and how Drinking Tea had brought an enormous dead moth into her bedroom the week before.

Only after Grace hung up the phone did I remember J.T. I hurriedly called him back and apologized for leaving him on hold for so long. “It was my editor,” I said, hating myself for lying. “He had a few more things to tell me.”

There was a pause, then J.T. said, “
He
?”

Shit, shit, shit!! “My boss’s boss was there, too. We had quite a meeting.”

“It sounds like it,” he said. I sighed, relieved he’d bought the lie. “I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he told me before hanging up.

I set down the phone feeling drained and wiped my damp palms on my jeans. If I wasn’t more careful with my lies, I’d be caught in one for sure.

The next morning, Grace and I reached a truce, and she was talking to me once more. Mostly, it was about Tommy’s impending return. “He thought he’d gotten a flight to Amsterdam, but he didn’t,” Grace told me. “So now he’s trying for one to London.”

“How do you know all of this?”

She rolled her eyes. “I text him all the time.” Then she went off to watch TV, pressing the keys on her phone as she went, and reminding me a lot of Jasmine.

I thought about chasing Grace down and asking her more about Tommy’s plans, but I still had work to do if I wanted to capture Craig’s soul and get Miss Spry to change that contract.

The first part of my plan involved finding out as much as I could about the Great Lakes Militia. Despite what Mr. Clerk thought, I was convinced that if I could get inside the mind of the Militia, I could get inside my client’s head.

I didn’t expect it to be easy. The Great Lakes Militia was a subversive organization of homegrown terrorists, after all. Trying to find its headquarters would be as impossible as trying to locate the head of the Illuminati.

Or so I thought until I Googled them.

To my amazement, not only did the militia have a snazzy homepage – decorated with more American flags than a war memorial on Veterans’ Day, they also invited the public to watch their drills. But, like a scent of garbage from a dumpster on a beautiful spring day, a subtle whiff of hostility pervaded the opening message.

“We are an organization that accepts people of all genders, races, and religions…”

Translation: We’re the Great Lakes Militia, but we’re not
that
Great Lakes Militia.

“We welcome visits from the media, provided that you are not jack-booters in disguise…”

Translation: Only Nazis would give us bad press by calling us ‘Nazis’…

“Many of our drills are conducted in a local public park. Although, some members who own acreage will occasionally conduct private training on their land.”

Translation: We have nothing to hide unless we have something to hide.

“So come out and see what the Great Lakes Militia is all about.”

Translation: We
dare
you to come and find something bad about us.

The militia was doing its utmost to appear as mainstream and harmless as a book club, but I wasn’t fooled. Though the group hadn’t been in the news for a while, I hadn’t forgotten the fear and anger surrounding their attempted attack on a federal building. Nor could I ignore the fact that they celebrated Timothy McVeigh’s birthday every year, calling the terrorist ‘an inspiration to us all.’ No, the Great Lakes Militia could claim to be as friendly and upstanding as they wanted, but I wasn’t buying it.

There were a number of pictures on their website as well as several YouTube videos that showed clips of the drills. In one video, Craig demonstrated the right way to wear a gas mask. In another, he gave instructions on the use of ‘zombies’ in training drills. Zombies were life-sized dummies made of old clothes stuffed with straw that represented the enemy. Some were hung from trees by ropes around their necks or planted in the woods. Zombies were shot at, bludgeoned, and stabbed by militia members carrying bayonets and wearing camouflage and gas masks. Zombies were not allowed to live.

“The purpose of zombies is to help members in training drills,” Craig said. “They are not representative of any particular group of people. They are just there to prepare us for real-life emergencies.”

Although Craig dominated the videos, there was one featuring J.T.

He sat on the open tailgate of his truck, wearing dark glasses, camouflage pants and an olive-drab T-shirt that stretched tight across his chest. His hair was a little shorter than I’d seen it. A rifle lay casually across his knees.

J.T.’s eyes blazed as he spoke. “You must take precautions to keep your family safe. Be prepared! The future is uncertain, so you must plan now. No one is going to protect you when the times comes. Not the government, not your neighbors, not your friends. Look out for yourselves. Don’t be a sheep!”

Ugh, that word again. J.T. hadn’t been kidding about using his soapbox more often than most people. Although his words were harsh, it was the venomous way in which he spoke them that really burned. There was no sympathy in his face. Not a trace of compassion.

Disgusted, I clicked out of the page. Now, it wasn’t just the reward that was spurring me on to do my job.

As soon as my problem of where to find the militia was solved, another one took its place. After looking at all their video footage, I realized that I couldn’t show up at the shooting range empty-handed. No, I needed to bring a gun. A really big gun.

My first stop was the Internet. Yes, there were plenty of gun dealers there, but no one who would overnight me a rifle with a scope. My searches for unregistered guns only brought up news stories and other articles. Who knew it would be so hard to break the law?

As I was bemoaning my fate, Mr. Clerk showed up. He stood behind me and looked over my shoulder. “Shopping?”

I turned off the computer so Grace wouldn’t catch me trolling the Internet for illegal firearms. “Do you have another appointment for me?”

He shook his head and sat on my sofa. His face was haggard, and he badly needed a shave. His necktie had been loosened so far that it looked like a hangman’s noose. A nice, white-and-silver checked, Michael Kors noose. But still. “Your client is so complex! Just when I think I’ve pinned him down, the dynamics shift.”

“So why are you here? Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I
have
been working. Now I need a break.” He picked up the TV remote. “There’s a Housewives marathon on right now.”

I plucked the remote from his hand. My patience was gone. I wanted to get to Craig, and I had to do it soon. “I’ll bet that if William was asking for this appointment, you’d fall over yourself to help him.” It was just my luck that Miss Spry’s secretary was an incubus man. The most I had to offer Mr. Clerk was a little gossip and reality TV. Compared to a smoking-hot demon, it wasn’t much of a trade.

“You know that’s not true,” Mr. Clerk said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Yeah, right. I saw the way you looked at him yesterday. Face it, you’re still crushing. If William wants something from you, you’re going to give it to him.”

Mr. Clerk flinched as if I’d hit him. “I don’t play favorites. I help both of you in whatever way I can.”

Suddenly, I had an idea. “Okay, then. I need a favor.”

He looked warily at me. “What is it?”

“A gun.”

He nearly jumped from his seat. “A gun! No, that won’t do at all. Guns are dangerous, Lilith.”

“If I want to get close to Craig, a gun would be a way to start,” I argued. “He’s in the militia, remember? He likes to go to the shooting range.”

Mr. Clerk remained adamant. “No gun.”

Okay, so a direct request wasn’t going to do it. I needed something else. Miss Spry had started using incentives, so why shouldn’t I? I nudged my succubus to amp up her charm. “I hate seeing you so tense. Backrub?”

The word slipped out, a gift of my demon. Mr. Clerk was such a fussy man that I doubted he wanted me to touch him, but to my surprise, he agreed. I went behind him and began massaging his bony shoulders. “I was right. You
are
tense,” I said. “After this assignment is over, you should take some time off. Do you ever get a vacation?”

He closed his eyes. “Not in the past hundred years.”

I continued to knead his shoulders. Before I had known any better, I’d thought that demons were completely spiritual creatures, but that wasn’t the case. We required food and rest. Pain was a big part of the picture, too. And pleasure. As was clearly evident by Mr. Clerk’s contented smile.

When I finally thought that Mr. Clerk was as relaxed as he was going to get, I said, “I only need
one
gun.” I hated the wheedling note in my voice. I was like a teenager asking to borrow the car.

He kept his eyes closed. “You needn’t worry too much about it. Helen is working on a way to help you out.”

“Really?” I was shocked. “What is she going to do?”

He smiled without saying anything.

My demon encouraged me to dig my thumbs in a little deeper, so I did. Mr. Clerk sighed. “What does she have planned?” I asked.

“I believe that your client will find a painful lump in his groin tomorrow morning when he showers.”

I let go of his shoulders. “She’s giving Craig
cancer
? Can she really do that?”

“First of all, Lilith, it isn’t cancer. It’s a painful lump that will make your client
think
he has cancer. And, secondly, yes of course Helen can do that if she wants.” Mr. Clerk sat up and adjusted his tie. “It’s not something she does very often, though, since it’s risky.”

“Because it might kill him?”

“No, because humans are unpredictable. Like I’ve said, times of stress can sometimes make them turn to the wrong camp for support.” He stood and pinched the crease in his trousers. “What you’ll need to do is convince your client that all of his troubles – the loss of his job, his breakup with his girlfriend, and this lump – are because the man upstairs hates him.”

Get Craig angry at God. That shouldn’t be too hard. “Okay,” I agreed.

“I want you to promise me, though, that you won’t rush in until I give you an assignment.”

I started to argue, but he held up his index finger. “Promise me,” he said sternly.

“Okay. I promise.” But I mentally crossed my fingers. Just in case.

Seeing that I wasn’t going to get a gun either through Amazon.com or Mr. Clerk, I decided it was time to shop for one in person. I called Kate Poppinjay, the woman I’d hired as an on-call babysitter, and asked her to watch Grace for a few hours.

One of the things that I loved about Kate was that she minded her own business. When I told her that Ariel wasn’t living with me anymore, Kate didn’t pry. She just patted my shoulder and said she was sorry without demanding that I give her every last painful detail. Then she went and unearthed my daughter from her bedroom. By the time I’d left, Kate and Grace were three hands into a game of gin rummy.

Where would we demons be without help from humans?

After visiting only one ammunitions store, I realized that I wouldn’t be walking out with a gun. Certainly not by Tuesday. I’ve always supported gun control, but I was so frustrated that I cursed everyone who stood between me and my impulsive gun shopping.