Excerpt: The devil and the Detective

Chapter one
“If you hit jesus you've gone too far!” - pam

“Crap! I need to turn the page.”
It was a very strange thing to over hear as the first statement of the night. Though it was a very welcome intervention after the last hour he had spent agonizing to himself.
“I wouldn’t have thought coming up with a name for my new business would have been such an issue.” Cliff Stone thought to himself. He paused from his Singapore Sling to take a look around the bar. Curious at what had occasioned such a strange exclamation. He turned on the barstool and caught sight of a short stocky figure a few tables over. Black curly hair, manly in his dress and still cursing up a storm. Though at least the volume had quieted to a faint muttering eminating from the table.
Cliff turned back to his drink and -as yet- unfinished task.
Clifford Angus Stone
Clifford A. Stone.
Cliff Stone
C. A. Stone
Cliff Angus Stone.
Cliff A. Stone.
Throw the stone off the cliff but avoid the angus.
“Ah hell!” Cliff exclaimed. Tossing his pen down to the bar and his drink down his throat.
“Problems?” Asked a deep and amused voice. Its resonance seemed to vibrate through his head and along his very nerve endings. It was a feeling that he had become accustomed to over the last few weeks.
“Hmph” he said, glancing from his pad of scratched up paper to glance at the bartender.
The bar tender of the Inferno Bar N Grill was definately NOT the typical bartender. First of all he was Satan.
Yep, that satan, the one buried up to his waist in ice. Of course that made the rest of him reside in a fairly warm (one could say tropical) temperature. Though one would have to have a VERY unreal idea of what consistuted the idea of tropical.
It was hot.
Not just really warm, but melt your car metal hot. In fact they had special glasses made for the bar. And over the years Satan had managed to combine the two elements that enchambered him to create a unique if not always terribly comfortable setting.
“I suppose you could say that.” Cliff said, sliding his glass toward the muscular red toned figure. “I wouldn’t have thought that coming up with a new business name would have been such an inferno pain in the butt!”
The rumbling laughter shook the glasses along the bar counter. Cliff reached out and steadied a bowl of peanuts that was rapidly moving towards the edge and reached for a sip of his new drink.
“I mean what a crock!” he went back to his list of names and was just as disgusted with the list. Finally he just closed his eyes and pointed. “Picking a name for my door should not be this hard.”he thought to himself as his finger dropped to the paper.
And the C. A. Stone Detective agency was born.
“Well, that wasn’t so hard now was it.” Satan stated matter of factly. He reached over and dipped some of the used glasses into a solution only he knew the contents of and after a quick shake went back to polishing them. It was a strangly relaxing gesture. It reminded Cliff of a dozen other bartenders in a dozen other bars. For their lack of a tall figure trapped for all eternity in the center of the bar -it was like every other bar he had ever frequented.
“So you never did tell me why you decided to leave the great united states postal system office and go into Private Detective work?” Satan leaned one muscular red arm on the bar and tried to sound confidential. “Tell me truly... it was the babes wasn’t it?” he grinned at Cliff’s silence. “Come on lots more hotties in the p. I. business than in the postal business”.
Cliff was saved from answering by the beginning strains of music from the stage area. A blues version of Jesus Christ Superstar overture was starting up it proved its usual ability to stop the chatter and introduce a regular and very popular headliner to the stage.
Jesus Christ- son of god -sashayed his leggy way on to the stage. His electric blue feather boa and tea length dress were a tribute to the greatest show man ever Liberace! (Of course one could argue that if you go back to the original showman it was Zeus or maybe God but the argument had never been decided).
Shoulder length hair and dark skin glowed with a strategic addition of sparkling foundation. Ziggy Stardust could not have put on a better entrance (though he had often tried).
Cliff turned back to Satan as Jesus started his act.
He tried not to listen to the conversation taking place next to him, and found he couldn’t help himself.
“So really? Liberace?” a short skinny man with a whiny voice asked his companion. His voice took on a tone of offended disbelief “But liberace never dressed like that?!”
“Never dressed like what?” asked the other man, “Sparkly or with a feather boa?”
“The tea length dress.” The short man stated in surprise. “I hadn’t thougth about the boa.”
The other man shrugged and replied, “Mah, he’s the son of god... what cha gonna do?” They both glanced back at stage, then at each other. Apparently some look of understanding passed between them and they clinked their glasses and drank.
Cliff shook his head in wonder and turned back to the overlarge bartender, “Let me ask you something.” he said curiously. “Why does he play here? and why do you let him?” he queried.
Satan glanced at the outrageously dressed performer and shrugged. “No mystery. Jesus likes to perform for an appreciative audience, the audience do really like him” he leaned forward confidingly again, “truth be told that is a problem. I mean this is hell after all and he’s actually good.” Satan leaned upright again before continuing, “And, of course, the big guy likes to think he has someone who is privy to my moves.”
“Is he?” Cliff asked, “Jesus is a spy?” more to see what his companion would say that of any real hope of an honest answer.
Again the shrug. Though after a moment Satan glanced up from polishing the glassware to grin evilly in Cliff’s direction.
“So with a name like Cliff Stone don’t you think you should be out scaling a mountain or fighting off a bear of something?” he asked, blatently changing the subject. His purposful nonchalance almost as annoying as his evil grin was earlier.
“Been done.” was Cliff Stone’s non excited reply. Polishing off his drink he closed his ill used notebook and shoved some money across the bar. “Thanks for the shell to bounce ideas off of.”
“Hey no problem,” satan said. “You know me... always glad to lend an ear.”
“Or a little chaos?” Cliff threw in truthfully.
“Yeah, a little of that too.” Satan said with a grin, while swiftly depositing the money into the jar of calculating at the end of the bar and turning his attention to the one next customer to be waited on.

Cliff wended his way through the crowd. He found himself glancing, once again, at the swarthy cursing man. The cursing had quieted and seemed to be drowning his anger in a tall cold one. The tall leggy latino waitress was leaning down, waiting on him. Her full breasts framed by a shimmery halter top seemed to be helping with the distraction of his anger. Her small wings moved softly almost caressing the air around her prey / I mean her client / I mean customer. Cliff shook his head at his own thoughts.
Weaving his way through the crowd he headed towards the door. Pausing to take in the very sparkly effects of the Christ Ensemble as they performed one of the favorite numbers.
He did have to admit they were good. Definately one of the best acts in the bar. Cliff always found it a bit odd that the acts were good here. He always thought it must be some combination of bribery and debts owed. Otherwise who would expect the acts in Satan’s bar to be good? Kind of went against that whole punishment thing. thought that only worked if you thought of the patrons as the ones being punished. If you thougth of it as the acts being punished by being forced to play night after night for mediocre audiences it started to seem like a genius plan. The Inferno Bar n Grill gets a reputation for the best music around and he keeps his bills non-existant!
Cliff shook his head at his thoughts.
The chair hitting his head brought him out of his reverie. “Ouch!!” Stone exclaimed as he picked himself up off the table he’d fallen on and the luscious brunette who helped to stop his fall. He rubbed his head to find a bruise starting. “Son of a -” he stopped as his gaze fell on to the luscious brunette. Taking in her Thick brown hair and startled green eyes. He found himself reaching out towards her - he thought he would ask her how she was. instead he pressed his body back over hers as he heard the tell tale sounds of a bar fight breaking out around them.
“Please excuse me,” cliff yelled in her ear as he eased off of her to assess the situation.
Behind them a full fledged old fashioned bar fight was raging. Chairs and tables, beer bottles and glasses flying and crashing. Cliff caught a glimpse of Satan grinning and laughing at the chaos going on around him. Cliff wondered, briefly, if Satan had in fact started it.
He ducked as a large man with a computer flew over them, landing near the stage. His black shirt covered in white letters that read ‘NANO’ causing confusion as he sailed over the crowd.
The Christ Ensemble was still playing -dedicated to the music. Thought Jesus himself’s, brown eyes seemed much wider and very sad as he watched to chaos boiling up around him. Cliff felt that Jesus was continuing to play to keep some level of peace. Then he stopped and moved forward to the edge of the stage.
Opening his mouth to speak he got out one small “Peop-” before a flying punch connected with Jesus’s jaw and took him down.
“Hey!” Cried an indignant voice. “That man just hit Jesus!”
Another figure errupted from his seat “If you hit jesus you've gone too far!”

Chapter Two
I hate it when I walk in to the middle of a conversation that they are having with themselves. - Kendra

“If you hit jesus you've gone too far!”
The statement relaunched the tussle, causing it to errupt again this time right in front of the table that cliff and the Brunette were at.
Looking at each other they both took off for the nearest door.
He looked around as they emerged from the foray, taking in the small board by the door listing the acts to come in the next few days. Robert Johnson and Bo Diddly. Some of the best blues men ever were set to play the next few weeks. Glancing at the brunette beside him, he wondered if he’d bring her back with him.

“My oh my, is this always the technigue you use for picking up lady friends?” the brunette asked. Her voice soft and sultry as she paused outside of the Inferno.
Cliff paused as well. Taking a bit of time to relax from their quick retreat. He turned and looked over his new companion apreciatively. His gaze starting at her trim shoes and travelling up her black silk stockings (covering well formed legs) to a full figured body. He tried very hard to not pay extra attention to her breasts and only failed for a moment before continuing to take in her form. A oval face with full lips and dark smoldeing eyes that captured his attenitno. She had the look of trouble with a firm chin and aristocratic nose. Her hair looked like it would be heavy and full if released from its 1940’s looking coiffure.
Cliff found himself torn between whistling at her looks and chuckling at her comment. He settled for the chuckle. “Please accept my apologies, it is not my normal technique. Neither is that terribly intrusive view I just took to appraise your, might I say glorious, look at you.”
Her grin was easy and seemed to express some of the humor he would later find made up a good part of her character. She tossed her head back and looked down her nose, the grin still firmly in place.
“What is your name?” she purred, “I feel its only right to know the name of the man who both saved me from a bar fight and introduced me to an intrigueing way to meet someone.”
His answering grin was quick and easy like hers, “Clifford A. Stone, Private Eye” he said, holding his hand out to shake hers. “But please call me Cliff or Stoneif you prefer”.
Her brow raised at the profered hand and took it. It was still a time when a handshake was felt to be a male only greeting.
“Molly Groom” she said clasping his offered hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Stone.” Her handshake was firm yet still feminine. Cliff gave a small bow over the dainty gloved hand.
“Cliff,” he said, other hand to his heart as he added, “Please.”
She paused, “Alright, Stone.” she said playfully. Her lips twitching with that humor again.
“Wonderful, now that we are aquainted,” he said, pulling her forward by their still clasped hands and tucking her arm into his elbow. “Perhaps you will allow me to buy you a cup of tea.”
Startled she nodded agreement. “You certainly are bold Stone.” she said. startled but intrigued by his actions.
They walked towards one of the large and pleasant late night cafe’s. The moon just beginning to shine as the sun finished its plunge below the horizon. They were seated quickly under the art deco lights, a menu and tea delivered almost as they arrived.
A heated conversation broke out at the table next to them only moments after they received their menus and they studiously studied the menu and glanced once or twice at each other while trying not to listen to the angry, though quiet voices.
They ordered and each gave a small sigh as the couple arguing moved to pay their bill and travelled out into the dark night.
“Honestly,” Molly murmered quietly, leaning towards her companion for a small amount of privacy, “I hate it when I walk in to the middle of a conversation that they are having with themselves.” she said, leaning back into her chair. “Don’t you?”
Cliff glanced curiously at her, “Seems to me they were having the conversation with each other don’t you feel?”
“Oh I don’t know. Haven’t you ever heard the tales that once a couple than two are as one and so if married,” she paused, “as they most obviously were, they they count as one and the two halves were conversing with themselves. Hence,” with a shrug of her lovely rounded shoulders “some one was having a conversation with ones self.”
Cliff stared at her for a confused moment. unsusre if he should have ben impressed by the logic or backing away from that type of argument. Then a laugh burst out of him. Her answering grin was all he needed to see to guess that he had guessed correctly.
“So tell me,” she said. Pausing to thank the waitress as she poured the tea and left the trimmings for them. “Did I hear you correctly that you are a Private Eye?” she took a sip of the dark Earl Grey tea that was the standard here.
Cliff nodded, taking a sip of his own before adding a spoon of sugar and fair amount of cream.
“How long?” she asked, “And how does someone decide to be in that line of work?” She rested her elbows on the table, clasping her hands and resting her chin on them. the listening attitude intrigued him.
He shrugged before answering. “Oh I suppose the same way anyone else gets into it. One day you find something for your grandmother, then its a co worker and soon you find that you are better at doing that then whatever your normal every day job was.” He shrugged agian and added “but one day that’s what I did, left my regular job, filed some paperwork, got a license and badda bing! I’m a detective. A Private Eye,” he leaned forward dropping his voice, “A shamus.” he drawled making the unkind slang into something loathsome sounding.
Her laughter was strong and sent ripples of something running along his spine. “YOu are making that up.”
He shook his head, “Nope, I spent 14 years as a mail man and finally found somehting even more suited to my many qualities.”
“NO” she exclaimed. “Really? Mail man turned private eye. that must have been a fascinating switch.” She added, “how long have you been a private eye?” She asked, her husky voice laced with intrique.
“Oh, eight weeks now.” he said confidently, “in fact I was working on my business name and business cards at the Inferno. that is why I was there and what alowed such a fortuitous meeting between us.”
“Eight weeks?” she said, managing to sound both intrigued, impressed and unsure of how good he could be with so little time under his belt.
“You sound as if you think eight weeks is not long enough to be good at what I do?” She had the grace to look a tad sheepish, though not unrepentant of the sentiment. “Well, even Sherlock Holmes was only working eight weeks at one point and he went on to do quite well.”
“Yes, but Sherlock Holmes is not a real shamus” Alicia said, whispered. “That is not a fair comparison.”
“True,” he agreed, “based on that just think how much better my results will be.” The intensity of the comment sparked some more of that throaty laughter from her.
“touche,” she said. Laughing as the waitress came back depositing their meals before them.
“I must say it was very fortuitous that we met.” she said, finishing her meal and dabbing delicately at her luscious lips. Cliff found himself breifly enveying the napkin the feel of her lips on them. Shaking himself he caught her continued statement.
“I need your services.” Her voice was low, with a tremble of uncertainty in it.

Chapter 3
“Cultists, they're like worms after a rain!” - Sister Mary Temperance

“I need your services.” Her voice was low, with a tremble of uncertainty in it.
He was taken aback, but felt he hid it well. “Would you like to talk here or wait until we get to my office? it is only a few blocks from here. we could be in a cab and there in moments.”
She paused thinking about it. Looking around the restaurant she noted the waitresses and incoming clients.These types of places would start to fill up now that the eveingin was fully here and the clubs were just starting to get going. She though then nodded, “Yes, I think your office, that might be better.”
He rose and helped her up, then offered her his coat while he went and took care of the bill. Exiting quickly but easily they grabbed the first car for hire and headed to a gracious building a few blocks over. Leading his shapely ‘client’ up to his office on the third floor he opened his new (and still unbedecked door) and gestured her in. He lit the large desk lamp, took his coat from her and hung up. Gesturing her to be seated in front of the desk as he moved to take his seat behind it.
“What interesting providence brought you to the Inferno Bar n Grill to find a Private Detective?” he asked, remembering how incidental the meeting had seemed to him at the time.
“Oh... I... well” she cleared her throat. The gloved hand raising to press against her chest as if holding her heart or the worry in. “I had not really gone in search of a Detective. I had really gone to try and easy my worries. You see I had been trying for weeks to get the police interested and... well...” she shrugged and glanced up through lowered lashes at him. “You know what police are like.”
She stated it matter -of-factly. Cliff didn’t really know what she meant. Having been a mailman for so many years, he had never had an incident with a policeman.
“Perhaps you had better begin at the beginning and tell me about it.” he said patiently. Taking a battered note book and pen from his desk and finding a clean page. He watched her graceful fingers move from her throat to the long string of pearls. They twiddled and played with them, it was distracting Cliff he shook himself free from the vision as soon as he realized the distraction.
Though he found himself wondering if it was a sign of nerves, fear or if she was trying to get her story straight. It was one of those unsure moments that could have meant anything.
“Oh my,” she finally began, her voice a little unsure, quiet. Her hands stilled on her necklace; then suddenly she was out of the other chair and pacing his office. She picked up a book here, the blotter there, as she began.
“It started three weeks ago,” she replaced the blotter and glanced at him, “it may have begun for him earlier, but it only became known to me at that time.”
“Who is he?” Cliff asked curiously.
“My father.” she said, retaking her seat as she said it. “My father is Professor Paul McGuffin. He is a professor of Mayan history at the University of Michigan. His specialty is unusual phenomenon connected with the art and myth of the South American peoples.”
“Okay, seems like a very strange subject to be teaching?” He commented, sitting back in his chair as he listened.
“My father has always prefered the term ‘esoteric’ when describing his chosen profession and speciality.” Molly’s grin appeared fleetingly on her delectible lips as her mind remembered the last time she had heard her father make that statement. Sorrow quickly retook over her face.
“What happened?” He asked. Cliff had always felt that getting folks to actually talk would both clarify the situation and give a bit of release.