Holy Socks And Dirtier Demons by J.A. Kazimer

rendering her
    helpless.
    Now it’s “we’re not enemies” when ten minutes ago she was kicking
    my ass. “Tell it to your maker.” I pulled a hammer from the other pocket of
    my jeans, and poised above her head to smash her into a million dastardly
    pieces.
    A tear glittered behind the sugary shield of her eyes as I swung the
    hammer back. It slid along the curve of her cheek, and dried against her
    heated skin, evaporating, and disappearing forever.
    I pictured a world without Lilith, a world without her saucy wit and
    killer left-hook. The hammer fell from my hand, clattering against the
    limestone floor. “Stay out of my way, and keep your hands off the kid.” As I
    walked away, I knew I had made a mistake, but killing her would have been
    a worse one. In my life, the edge between good and evil had blurred many
    times, but never far enough to condone outright murder. Commandment six,
    or was it eight? Did they have a Bible for Dummies?
    Sneaking from the dungeon, I searched the shadows for Samuel, or
    any of his minions. But the place appeared deserted, no sign of Hades, or the
    rest of the Gods-crew either.
    Once upstairs in the club, I located my nine-millimeter underneath an
    overturned chair. Gooey brown stuff stuck to its barrel, and no matter how
    many times I wiped it away, it remained. I aimed and pulled the trigger. A
    bullet, smelling of sugar and gunpowder, whipped through the barrel,
    disappearing into the disco ball above the dance floor. Mirrored bits flew off
    it, and with a groan, it crashed to the floor shattering much like Lilith would
    have.
    I smiled, shoving the gun into my jeans. At least it still worked.
    Heading out the backdoor and into the alleyway, I did a quick mental review.
    My ribs hurt. My face hurt. Hell, even my fingers hurt. Tonight had not gone
    as planned.
    Dreading the subway ride home, mostly because I’d have to jump the
    turnstile since I’d spent my last four bucks on three pounds of sugar, I limped
    up the alley, wondering when my plan had going to hell. It should’ve
    worked. It was simple, really. With the help of Hades and his crew, I’d kill
    Lilith, maybe pretty boy Samuel too, and then track the kid down.
    Lilith’s Gremlin sat at the end of the passageway. It would serve her
    right, I thought as I opened the door and climbed in. The keys hung loosely
    in the console. I sent a prayer to the big guy, pumped the gas, pounded on the
    58

    dashboard, and cranked the key. The engine purred to life.
    The passenger side door flew open. Hades crammed himself in and
    looked me over. “Well?”
    “Lilith won’t be a problem anymore,” I lied. Why worry the God of
    the Underworld after all?
    “Good.”
    “Yeah, great.” I shoved the Gremlin into first gear and we set off,
    Hades eyes boring into the side of my face.
    59

    Seventeen

    I dropped Hades off at the Underworld, and a few minutes later, a
    loud pounding rang from the hatchback like a one-armed drummer on crack.
    I turned up the radio—out of hearing, out of mind.
    “Apple farmers are bitter over their latest withered crops. Many
    associate the dying trees to a recent wave of vandalism in the area,” the radio
    reporter for the weekly crop report gave me the dirty details. I shook my
    head, and flipped the channel to an 80’s rock station. Personal Jesus burst
    from the speakers.
    Oh Shit. Dead apples. The kid hated apples. He spit, flung, and
    puked apples at will. It had to be him. I swerved into the opposite lane to
    pass a slow moving car. Where did apples grow in the city?
    A garbage truck blew its horn, its headlights blinding me. I spun the
    wheel, overcorrected, and slid up and over the curb on 11th Street.
    The car crashed through two fences and dropped into the Dry Dock
    Pool with a splash. The water parted, sinking the Gremlin to the bottom,
    before sloshing over the top, and trapping me inside.
    “Fuck,” I burbled as the Gremlin filled with chlorine treated piss
    water. Jerking the door