The Demon Deception (7 page)

The man walked up and put his arm around
Lilith’s waist, “hey, pretty lady, how’s about you come over and
spend some time with me and my friends. I promise you, we can show
you a good time.”

Lilith giggled, and wiggled again. The thug
pressed his case. “I think you should come on over. My boys and me
would be real interested in talkin’ to you.”

As the thug talked, his hand slid down.
Lilith looked over the table at Eli, and put one hand over her
mouth, aping surprise, “I guess he’s serious. I think you may have
to defend my honor.”

The thug sneered at him, “Little man, if you
know what’s good for you, I suggest you sit there and shut up. I’ll
crush you if you get up.”

Eli kept sipping coffee, and continued to
sit. Lilith’s eyes darkened, hellfire flashing, “If you want my
cooperation, I suggest that you do your bit here.”

He sighed. He knew it would come to some kind
of confrontation. It always did when it came to Lilith. He reached
for his gun, but Lilith swayed, blocking any shot that he might
have. He considered shooting through her, but he didn’t think the
bullet would penetrate far enough to kill the thug. He started
sliding across the seat. The thug stepped around Lilith, and put a
hand in his shoulder, “I said stay out of it little man. You won’t
like what hap . . .”

He grabbed the thug’s hand with his right
hand, his fingers on the outside of the hand, his thumb in the meat
between thumb and forefinger. He twisted with the right, and used
his left hand to give more leverage. He continued his slide out of
the seat, turning tightly, the hand and arm of his adversary coming
with him as he turned, and the body following. He stopped, turned
in the other direction, and the thug flew through the air. The thug
landed on his stomach, arm extended behind him, the impact shaking
the room around them.

Eli put more pressure on the wrist. He felt
it snap. The thug began screaming as the bones ground together. Eli
finished by stomping the back of the thug’s neck. The screaming
stopped. The thug’s friends started to stand up, hands clawing at
their waistbands. He pulled his XD, and shook his head. The three
sat back down, hands up in the air. Everybody else in the
restaurant shrank from the confrontation. One man kept saying,
“it’s cool man, it’s cool.”

Eli holstered his pistol, watching the three
at the front table. They watched everything he did, hands still in
the air. He picked up the coffee cup, and took another drink,
watching them over the rim. One of them started to lower his hands.
Eli sat the cup back down. The hands went back into the air. He
walked over to the counter, and pulled his wallet out. He pulled
out a twenty and sat it on the counter.

He smiled at the waitress, “Sorry about the
inconvenience. You serve very good coffee here.”

Carol studied him, a look of unease on her
face, suddenly afraid of Eli. The situation had changed
dramatically and now she was afraid he was going to shoot everybody
in the restaurant. He smiled, “Don’t worry, we’re leaving now.”

He looked back at Lilith, “Well, are you
coming with me?”

She looked at the corpse on the floor, then
looked back at him. “You’ve become too familiar with the use of
violence. What happened to the man I once loved.”

“You never loved me. You seduced me, turned
me against my family. I’m only here by the intercession of the
Carpenter, and the prayers of my sisters. If they hadn’t begged him
to save me, I would’ve spent all eternity in hell. As it was, he
took pity on my sisters, and on me, and brought me back. I’m very
lucky he decided to use me to make a statement to your boss. So,
now, can we dispense with the false tears?”

Eli motioned towards the door. Lilith stepped
over the corpse on the floor, and walked in front of him, her hips
swaying suggestively from side to side, the slow, erotic stride
punctuated by the click, click, click of her heels. He hated
himself for it, but his humanity responded to her sensuality.
Still, he didn’t lose his caution. He walked behind her, ready to
deal violence if necessary, paying particular attention to the
three friends of the man he had just killed. As Lilith approached
the door, he leaned forward, and opened it.

“My, always the gentleman,” Lilith stepped
out into the cold of the early morning. Lazarus stepped through the
door behind her, watching the sun of the new day as it begin to
lighten the eastern sky.

The police arrived thirty minutes later. They
canvassed the crowd, but they weren’t able to get a good
description of the man who had killed Marcus Santiago. Nobody could
remember the incident at all. It was as if they had all wakened
from a dream and found the body on the floor. The police were
puzzled, but they didn’t worry about it too much, not with
Santiago’s police jacket. They felt that whoever killed him had
done the community a favor. Being a saint had its perks.

----------------------------------------------------

Lazarus’ first stop
was the neighborhood of little Caughnawaga, in Brooklyn. Lazarus
walked down the street, the tree leaves orange and red in the
October cold. Old brownstones framed the riot of color. A few
leaves were just starting to litter the street. It was Sunday
afternoon, and children were playing under the watchful eyes of
parents or older siblings. It was an inviting street, reminding
Lazarus of an older New York, a time before drugs flooded in,
making entire neighborhoods untenable for families.

Mohawks were the ironworkers that built most
of the spectacular landscape of New York, and Little Caughnawaga
had been their home for decades. The size of Little Caughnawaga had
shrunk in recent generations as work became more competitive and
jobs were harder to find. This section was still firmly Mohawk
territory, though, with brownstones that had been in the family for
four or five generations. Sam Diabo was one of those Mohawks, and
had family that had worked on all of the major construction
projects in New York City.

Lazarus was here to see his old friend. He
hadn’t seen him in almost two years. The last time Lazarus had seen
Sam was before Brazil. Sam Diabo was a Mohawk ironworker and
warrior. Sam was a decorated war hero who had joined the Marine
Corps right after September 11, 2001. Part of it was the warrior
tradition of his people. Part of it was patriotism, even though his
tribe was a separate nation. Sam had been born in the USA. His
family had lived and worked here for generations. It was this
reason that he felt that he owed something to the country. A lot of
it had to do with his family’s legacy as well. His grandfather,
Joe, and his father, Jimmy, had worked on the twin towers. The
terrorists had destroyed his family legacy when the Twin Towers
came down, so Sam felt justified to destroy theirs.

Lazarus met Sam after a confrontation with
three men. Lazarus watched the situation go down from across the
street. Three men walked up to Sam, gang bangers with something to
prove. They probably picked Sam because he was the biggest guy on
the street. The leader of the three said something that Lazarus
couldn’t hear. The leader pulled his shirt up to show Sam the
automatic in his waistband. Lazarus could call the three mistakes
from where he was. First, the gang toughs were on the wrong street.
Second, they had messed with the wrong guy. Third, they didn’t have
their guns in hand when they accosted Sam.

Most people would have frozen in fear. Not a
decorated Marine who had survived the battle of Fallujah. Sam
kicked the tough right square in the groin. It wasn’t with his toe.
Instead, he caught the groin with the top of his foot where it met
the ankle, giving a solid blow. From where Lazarus was standing, it
looked like a size fourteen or fifteen foot, so there was a lot of
surface area. The tough guy rose up onto the tips of his toes,
hands instinctively shooting down to cup his crotch. The blow was
hard enough that Lazarus heard, and winced at, the impact from
across the street. The fight didn’t stop there, however.

Sam had great instincts, and knew what was
going to happen if he only went half way. He stepped forward,
holding the gang banger up with one hand, and pulling the pistol
with the other. As soon as he had the pistol in hand, he let go of
the gang banger, allowing him to fall to the ground, whimpering,
holding what was left of his crushed testicles. Sam racked the
slide, not relying on the hope that there might be a round in the
chamber. Then he shot the other two, who, surprised at the result
of the confrontation, were still fumbling for the pistols in their
waistbands. They hit the ground, cooling rapidly from the double
taps that punctured their hearts.

The leader was mewling on the ground, curled
in the fetal position, hands cradling his destroyed manhood.
Lazarus walked over and held up his hands as Sam rounded on him.
Sam lowered the muzzle of the gun towards the ground, “Who are
you?”

Lazarus nodded towards the bodies on the
ground, “I’m your witness.”

Sam looked cautious when he asked the next
question, “What do you mean, my witness?”

Lazarus explained, “Well, I was walking down
the street, when I saw this one,” he pointed at the tough on the
ground, holding his groin and moaning, “Shoot those two. Then I
watched you disarm him so that he wouldn’t be a threat to the
neighborhood.”

Sam smiled at the explanation, “You know, I
wasn’t even thinking that far ahead.”

Lazarus nodded, “Yeah, I kind of figured
that. I thought I would lend a hand. You have some people around
here that can corroborate?”

After that introduction, Lazarus visited the
gang that the three had come from. More dead bodies persuaded them
that Little Caughnawaga was not an area to mess with, and that they
shouldn’t think about approaching Sam or his family. Lazarus found
a fast friendship with Sam, and began mentoring him in uses of
controlled violence. When he was satisfied with Sam’s capabilities,
Lazarus told him what he did. Sam didn’t believe it at first. It
took a visit to Wall Street before Sam understood what he was up
against if he worked with Lazarus.

Sam was a Marine. He had been raised as a
Catholic, and still attended church. When he found out who his
friend Eli was, he’d been in awe. He jumped at the chance to help
Lazarus. It didn’t hurt that Lazarus was willing to supplement
Sam’s income. Ironworkers made good money, but property taxes in
New York had risen steadily, making home ownership more expensive.
Eventually, the awe subsided as they continued to work together and
train together. Their partnership had parted ways on a mission in
California. That was when Lazarus had gone to Brazil.

Now, Lazarus walked down the street, smiling
at the children, waving at people that he recognized. They waved
back, recognizing Sam’s benefactor and mentor. Some yelled
greetings, some asked where he’d been. This was a tight knit
community. The people were friendly as long as they knew you
belonged. If they didn’t think you should be there, though, Sam
would get a call and he would deal with the situation. Nobody had a
problem with Lazarus though. Where Sam was concerned, Lazarus slept
with the angels, literally. Still, there was that problem with
California, but he didn’t think that Sam would hold that against
him. Lazarus walked to Sam’s brownstone, checking the address to
make sure he was in the right spot. He walked up the sidewalk, onto
the steps, and rang the doorbell.

Sam Diabo was making a sandwich when he heard
the doorbell ring. Mooch, his gray tabby was meowing on the floor,
hoping for a piece of cheese. Sam had been spreading mayonnaise on
wheat bread, and put the knife down. He walked over to the door and
looked through the peep hole. A frown crossed his face. His craggy
features made the frown seem more severe. He unlatched the various
locks on the door and then opened it. Lazarus looked at the
mountain that stood just inside the door. Sam looked around to see
if anybody was with Lazarus. Lazarus stood with his hands in his
coat pockets, “Are you going to invite me in?”

Sam thought about it, “Dunno, maybe.”

Lazarus walked through the door, not waiting
for the invitation. Sam frowned again, “Yeah, come on in, make
yourself right at home.”

Lazarus saw the sandwich makings on the
table, “Ah, just in time for lunch.”

Sam smiled, “It’s ham and cheese. You want me
to make you one?”

It was Lazarus’ turn to frown. Raised from
the dead, he had incontrovertible proof about the source of his
resurrection, but he still tried to follow the laws of Moses. He
was Jewish, after all. A lot of water had gone under the bridge
since then, though. He thought about it, and shrugged, “Yeah, sure,
I’m hungry.”

Sam walked back to the kitchen, Lazarus
following. Sam stood a good nine inches taller than Lazarus. Sam
was an iron worker, with the muscle and broad shoulders that came
with the job. He was dressed in a white tank top, blue jeans, and
work boots. His arms were cabled with muscle developed working on
the One World Trade Center, and from his time in the Marine Corps.
He had rugged, good looks that reminded Lazarus of a young
Elvis.

Sam talked as he walked, “So, Eli, you don’t
visit, you don’t call. I was thinking we wasn’t friends no more.”
His Brooklyn accent punctuated the cadence of the accusation. Eli
came from the original pronunciation of Lazarus’ name, Eleazar. In
fact, Lazarus’ registered name on his driver’s license was Eli
Bethany. Most people wouldn’t get the ancient references, and it
didn’t pay to advertise too much, anyway.

Lazarus shrugged, “Yeah, after that incident
in California, I had some things I had to track down.”

Sam continued making sandwiches. He tore off
a corner from the processed American cheese slice and dropped it on
the floor. Mooch quickly gobbled it up, and began mewing for more.
Sam pulled down another paper plate and made an additional
sandwich. His hands looked huge. The muscular slabs manipulated ham
and cheese onto the wheat bread. He pulled out tomato and lettuce
and put that on both as well. He placed the sandwiches on the
table. He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out two
Labatt’s Canadian Ales. He held them up, the question on his face.
Lazarus nodded.