The Devil's Beat (The Devil's Mark) by R. Scott VanKirk Page A

up.
    “Hello, this is Mike.”
    “Hey, Mikey! This is Max!”
    “...Max? Max who? I think I knew a Max once. His name was Maxwell Niemand. Went off to get a singing career. Changed his name and then just dropped off the face of the earth and refused to talk to any of his old buddies...”
    The guilt barb struck home. Max winced. “I know Mike, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. You might have heard that this has been a bad couple of years for me.”
    “That would fly if you hadn't stopped talking to me five years ago.”
    “I know, I'm so sorry Mike...”
    Mike let Max continue to grovel for several more minutes. Finally, Mike interrupted. “Okay! okay! I believe you! You are a faithless, juvenile, egotistical jerk with delusions of godhood.”
    Max said, “Well, I wouldn't go that far... I don't think I'm juvenile.”
    “Yep you are. Did I mention irritating and self-centered?”
    “Yes, yes! I give!”
    Mike laughed. “I'm glad you called, bud. Me and the gang have been worried about you.”
    “I'm surviving. It's been tough, but I'm still alive.”
    “I hear ya. This housing bust has been brutal. I haven't been able to find steady work for the last 6 months.”
    “Ouch. That hurts, but actually I'm glad to hear it.”
    “That's not making me feel the love, Maxy.”
    It was Max's turn to laugh. “No, I didn't mean it like that. See, I've inherited this house. Actually, it's an old southern mansion. I need you to come out and help me fix it up.”
    Mike laughed back. “That's rich! Me help you in a construction project? In your hands, a hammer is a deadly weapon. You are the only person I know who could saw a crooked line with a miter saw. What happened, did you get hit in the head?”
    Mike sighed. He'd never live down the miter saw. He looked at the blue and black fingers sticking out of his cast, “More times than I care to count. So, I want you to come down and fix my house. Do you want to help me?”
    “Of course I do. Where are you?”
    “Outside of New Orleans, in Mississippi.”
    “Uh Max, hate to break it to you, but last I heard, New Orleans was in Louisiana.”
    “Ya, ya, smart guy, it's close to the border.”
    Mike laughed. “Okay, what do you need done and what is your budget?”
    “Well, this place was damaged by Hurricane Mark, and it looks like it was decorated by the Munsters. I want to fix it up so it looks as good as it did two hundred years ago.”
    Mike whistled, “Sounds insane. What's the budget?”
    “Whatever it takes,” said Max. “Whatever it takes.”
    “Okay, when do you want to start?”
    “When can you get here?”
    “As soon as you can get me tickets, bud. I got nothing holding me here, and beans are getting old.”
    “Great. I'll get it arranged. This is exciting. I can't wait to see you.” Max paused and then said a little less enthusiastically, “Uh, does it matter that the house is haunted?”
    Mike snorted. “As long as the ghosts stay out of my way or can wield a hammer, they are okay by me.”
    Max pictured the fire extinguisher crashing into the wall next to his head. “I wouldn't be surprised if they could wield a hammer.”
    “Then, we'll sign them up.” said Mike, plainly not believing a word of it. Max smiled, thinking what his friend’s expression would be like when he met Old Bone. That would be something to remember!
    The two old friends worked out the details for Mike's trip and stay, and then Max called Fritz, his old personal secretary, to arrange everything. Because Lucian had originally hired Fritz, he was automatically the subject of suspicion to Max, but he was keenly organized and exceptionally adept at getting things done. Max knew Fritz was the only reason he had been able to drop untraceably off the grid.
    Max called his money manager, Tony, and left another message asking for a report on his finances. Max hung up and sat back down to watch the end of One Life To Love with Old Bone.
    He was watching the ending credits of his show, when