Robert The Devil:

Chapter 1: Sympathy For The Devil

By John Westcott

© Copyrighted by John Westcott.

As I have recently had issues with people stealing my stories and selling them as their own, I feel I have to put an explicit copyright warning on my stories. Be advised that I have properly documented and protected my copyright of these characters and situations and have enlisted a lawyer to protect them. Any violation of my copyright will result in legal action, beginning with, but not limited to, a cease and desist order. If that fails, further and harsher legal actions will be aggressively pursued to the full extent of the law.

Author's Notes: Robert The Devil is based on a real Wikipedia entry I once came across, about a woman who, unable to conceive a child and, getting no help from her prayers to Heaven, laid down with the Devil and was finally able to bear a child. And I quote from Wikipedia:

"From the moment of his birth the boy shows his vicious instincts, which urge him, when grown to manhood, to a career of monstrous crime. At last the horror which he inspires everywhere causes him to reflect, and, having found out the awful secret of his birth, he hastens to Rome to confess to the pope. He undergoes the most rigorous penance, living in the disguise of a fool at the emperor's court in Rome. Three times he delivers the city from the assault of the Saracens, but, refusing all reward, he ends his life as a pious hermit. According to another version he marries the emperor's daughter, whose love he has won in his humble disguise, and succeeds to the throne."

This novel is an updated version of that tale, taking place in modern times but still wholly inspired by this simple Wikipedia entry. Adding to that original inspiration, I have added a variety of other influences, including comic book titles like Hellboy and Hellblazer (and the movie based upon the comic: Constantine), and also The Punisher and a bit of a Highlander influence as well (the original film only, not the disastrous sequels that followed or the TV series). Of course, being a child of the 80's and 90's, this story will end up owing a whole lot to the DOOM video game series, as well (including some homages).

Hopefully, you'll enjoy it. As always, please let me know if you do or don't and why or why not. I'm curious to hear all opinions.

A brief warning to all who continue onward.

I'm known for writing stories about superheroes and huge conflicts between colorfully clad individuals. With this novel I'm trying something different. This will be dark. This will be violent. The moral lines will not be as black and white as in other writing attempts I've made (the world will be even more gray than even Den Of Thieves, something I'd not thought possible).

There are also religious overtones to this novel, a healthy dose of Heaven and Hell, and those inclined to believe the strict word of the Bible or persons of devout faith may find my interpretations not to their liking, though no offense or sacrilege is intended. That being said, no changes will be made to this novel just to appease anyone's faith, either. If you don't like it, then please don't read it.

About my own personal beliefs, so you know where I stand. I don't belong to any organized religion. I'm not really a fan of it. Worship your toaster for all I care, but I always fear when people who worship their toasters get organized and start to look down on disbelievers of the great toaster deity as less than human in some way. I do believe we are more than this mortal shell, because we are also composed of energy, and energy never dies and can't be destroyed. Anything more than that is beyond my limited intellect. It astounds me that others can be so absolutely positive about anything in this field when so little is known for fact. Belief is indeed a powerful force.

All I know is, going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car. And as my grandmother-in-law was fond of saying, "the hands that help are holier than the lips that pray." God doesn't live in my church, or in someone else's Mosque. He doesn't belong to anyone and it's not anyone else's job to make me see God as they do or relate to him as they do. So, if my writing offends you, please turn the other cheek. ;)

This is just a story, nothing else. It isn't a pulpit and it's not a sermon.

Read on, MacDuff.

Wikipedia Entry: Robert The Devil:

Robert the Devil: a legend of medieval origin. Robert is the devil's own child, for his mother, despairing of heaven's aid in order to obtain a son, has addressed herself to the devil.

This is his story…

Please allow me to introduce myself
I’m a man of wealth and taste
I’ve been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man’s soul and faith
I was round when Jesus Christ
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Pilate
Washed his hands and sealed his fate

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name
But what’s puzzling you
Is the nature of my game

I stuck around St. Petersburg
When I saw it was a time for a change
Killed the czar and his ministers
Anastasia screamed in vain

I rode a tank
Held a generals rank
When the blitzkrieg raged
And the bodies stank

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name, oh yeah
Ah, what’s puzzling you
Is the nature of my game, oh yeah

I watched with glee
While your kings and queens
Fought for ten decades
For the gods they made

I shouted out,
Who killed the Kennedy’s?
When after all
It was you and me

Let me please introduce myself
I’m a man of wealth and taste
And I laid traps for troubadours
Who get killed before they reached Bombay

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah
But what’s puzzling you
Is the nature of my game

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name
But what’s confusing you
Is just the nature of my game

Just as every cop is a criminal
And all the sinners saints
As heads is tails
Just call me Lucifer
cause I’m in need of some restraint

So if you meet me
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste

Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I’ll lay your soul to waste

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name

But what’s puzzling you
Is the nature of my game

Two unassuming but very polar opposite gentlemen took their seats at an outdoor table at Big Dean’s sidewalk café in Santa Monica as the sun began to set below the horizon, signaling the end of yet another day in the city of angels. Big Dean’s, as the placemats noted, was named after its original owner, a man named… Stan.

The “Big” in “Big Dean’s” originated from its location, not far from the original Muscle Beach, on the Santa Monica shore. In testament to this, the walls were adorned with photos both recent and antique (dating back to 1901) of weightlifters in various poses.

The pavement on the streets of Los Angeles shimmered with the unyielding heat as yet another 103-degree day came to an unofficial close. The roiling ball of flame in the sky never seemed so close as it did in mid-July and as it began to sink beneath the horizon and give way to a hazy, rippled orange and yellow sunset, the citizens in the city took it all in stride. This was just another typical day for them and despite the heat, the city residents were out in force, sun-worshippers that they were.

Even the threat of bizarre happenings, mass killings and strange apparitions could not keep the people of this city indoors. Even though headlines screamed from every newspaper about this ‘summer of sin’, the masses appeared relatively unafraid. Were they that desensitized to violence, slayings and bizarre happenings here? Possibly. It was L.A., after all.

Hiding his face from the direct sunlight behind the bright orange parasol that extended from the center of his table, one of the men was wearing a pair of blue denim jeans, white sneakers, a blue and white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and several of the top buttons undone. He sported close-cropped, flame-red hair and striking blue eyes, a lean but fit physique and a strong jaw on a clean-shaven face. His face bore a light scar under his left eye, but rather than detract from his looks, it actually added to the character of his features. He also kept a tan trenchcoat draped over his chair.

As several groups of women passed him on the street it was clear that he was catching their eye with his devilishly handsome features, eye-catching hair color and seeming indifference to them, scantily-clad as they were in the scorching heat. His indifference was no act. He’d been with more than his fair share of women, and he’d foregone their company for the time being. There were too many bad memories dredged up in their presence now.

His lifestyle had not always been so chaste… nor nearly so restrained, and many had paid the price for it.

The gentleman sitting across from him was clad only in sandals, a pair of khaki, knee-length shorts and a white polo shirt. He sported a long mane of light brown hair, which ended just past his shoulders.

A trimmed beard, mustache and blue eyes that were as equally striking as those of his companion framed his lean, almost too thin, aquiline features. Unlike his companion, he never shielded his face from the glaring sun. Its rays cast him in a rather peculiar orange hue that actually managed to give the air around his head the illusion of a halo.

The reaction of passersby to his presence was strikingly different from that of his red-haired cohort. While women smiled seductively at his companion, they literally beamed at him as if he were their best friend, long lost and only now returned to their lives. Even dogs on a leash often rubbed up against his leg while being walked, panting in the heat but managing to find some relief in his shadow.

“What will you have?” The red haired gentleman asked as he waved over a waitress.

“A Coke or a Pepsi, I guess. Whatever they have here.”

His companion sighed. “You don’t mind if I have a beer, do you?”

“Not at all.”

The red-haired man summoned the waitress and noticed her reaction to both men as typical of those they met elsewhere. She eyed him hungrily, but regarded the longhaired man in the khaki shorts with a smile that lit up her features, as if she was happier than she’d ever been and looking into the face of God.

She wasn’t that far off.

Slightly annoyed, he ordered a Coca-Cola with plenty of ice for his friend and a type of beer brewed by The Great Lakes Brewery in Toronto called “Devil’s Pale Ale: 666” for himself.

“We should get together like this more often,” The red haired man began. His companion eyed him with incredulity.

“I think we’re both far too busy to arrange regular get-togethers, don’t you?”

“You probably are. You always did value a good day’s work. Appearing on cliff sides, bloody bandages and on pieces of toast for the believers is busy work. I always valued a relaxed attitude to life.”

A stray cat ambled down the sidewalk, moving carefully as the sun-drenched street proved too hot for its tender paws. The red haired man watched, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief as the cat eyed his companion and leapt into his lap for a respite. As he expected, the cat snuggled up in his lap and began to purr loudly.

“You really should start a zoo with that kind of following. You’d make millions.”

The longhaired man smiled easily. “Don’t be so cynical. I thought you were trying to embrace a new life.”

“Yeah, I am, but I’m still the same rotten bastard underneath, especially in this vile heat.”

The cat in his companion’s lap stretched lazily and eyed him with a kind of appraising look. It then decidedly turned up its nose at him and returned to its snuggling with its longhaired savior.

“I’d think heat is something you’d be used to. So, what did you want to talk to me about? My time here is limited. I hate to be rude…”

“Oh, God forbid,” The red haired man barked as the waitress, a pretty and incredibly fit brunette with long hair, delivered their drinks to the table.

“Yes, something very much like that,” The longhaired man retorted quickly. “As I was saying, I hate to be rude, but I have a lot of things on my plate. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy our little meeting of the minds every now and then, but this is a busy time for me. Now, what can I do for you, Robert?”

The red haired man called Robert paused to take a long draw on his icy cold beer before continuing, partially because it was so refreshing on a simmering hot evening like this one, but also because it would irritate his companion slightly and remind him that he took commands from only one person… and it wasn’t him. He wiped his lips and smiled before getting down to business.

“Yummy… almost sacrelicious.”

His companion eyed him with a wry smile, saying nothing as Robert continued.

“I don’t have to tell you that something really weird is going on in this city. You already know.”

The longhaired man smiled again, but without any traces of cynicism or negative connotations. In fact, his smile belied a pureness and wholeness of spirit, a complete and total sense of Zen-like peace and tranquility that few in their entire lives would ever achieve. Robert envied it greatly.

“Of course I do, Robert. What of it?”

“I’m following some leads I came across earlier today…”

“How many bones did you break to ‘come across’ these leads, Robert?”

Robert stopped speaking and eyed his companion with a look of warning. “Is that an accusation I hear? What about casting stones and aspersions, huh? Let ye who is without sin cast the…”

Robert stopped speaking, realizing just whom he was addressing, and let the matter drop. He paused as he took another long draw on his drink, allowing him to recoup his lost dignity and gather his thoughts once more.

“As I was saying, there are some weird things going on in this city. Something big is happening and it’s not just the usual crazies in the heat, either. I can feel his hand at work here… and I shouldn’t be able to… not with this kind of intensity anyway.”

“So… talk to your father. It’s his influence you’re detecting and his followers at work.”

Robert sneered at his companion. “You know full well my father and I are not on amiable speaking terms… and that’s putting mildly. I was thinking you could talk to your father and get me some inside info.”

“About this? I don’t think so, my friend. He assigned you to take care of things just like this. This is your job, so you do it to the best of your ability. He wouldn’t have given you his trust if he didn’t think you had it in you to get the job done right.”

Robert swore under his breath. “You know, I could use a little more help from your side of the fence. I’m all alone out here, you know? I don’t have a regiment of angels at my back like you do. I’m one lone agent doing the work that you and your kind can’t do… or won’t do.”
The longhaired gentleman sat in silence, his features a mask of dispassionate, unmoved stone.

“We’re a lot more alike than you may care to think, so I’d imagine a little help wouldn’t be out of the question. We have a lot in common, you know? Whether you’d like to admit it or not.” Robert counted on his fingers as he continued.

“We both have famous fathers and were born of common mothers, for instance. We both walk the Earth with special abilities and a knowledge most men and women don’t have. We see both sides of reality,” He pointed to the masses on the sidewalks around them and in the café. “We see their reality… and the reality that awaits after their time here is done. We’re both doing what we can to make this world a better place. Am I so different from you?”

It was a question Robert had often asked himself on sleepless nights. Now that he’d switched sides… turned traitor to his own kind, was he all that different from the man sitting across from him? He liked to imagine that he wasn’t but something deep within him told him that yes, there was a vast gulf of dissimilarities between them. His companion was quick to assert that fact.

“The similarities are only on the surface, my friend. Our differences go far deeper, to our very core. You’ve chosen your life and your lifestyle as I have mine when I walked the Earth in mortal guise. We all pay for our various sins. I’d guess you’re paying for yours now. Despite all that, my father decided to take you in and give you a second chance, even though some in our inner circle have suggested you’re acting as a double agent, but that doesn’t make us brothers. We are very different, you and I. You perform a service here. You do what neither he nor I can do. The price you pay for your second chance is that you perform your duties more or less… alone. The rewards are yours for the taking if you succeed… and any possible failures are yours and yours alone.”

Stymied, Robert held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fine, that’s just fine.” He pointed at his companion and shot him a warning glance. “But don’t mistake my father’s sins for mine, either. I’ve done some hair-curling things in my time, but I’m a total underachiever compared to him and don’t you forget it.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that.”

Robert drained his glass and considered ordering another drink but then thought the better of it. There was much work to be done tonight and all of it dangerous. Unlike his companion, he could die while performing his assigned duties and where would that leave him?

He hadn’t been granted his absolution… not yet. He’d end up back in his father’s house for all eternity, and given his traitorous ways, he’d know a hell unlike any other. His father would never show him special preference just because they shared a lineage. Anyone who believed that didn’t know whom they were dealing with. If anything, his father would be even harder on Robert just because they shared a lineage.

“Okay, so I’m on my own. We’ve clearly established that. Whatever strange things are going on here this summer, and I’ve just barely scratched the tip of the iceberg, I have to find out about it and contain it on my own. It doesn’t hurt to ask for help every now and then, does it?”

Still cradling the cat in his arms, Robert’s drinking companion stood, having never touched his drink, and began to walk away, calling back to Robert over his shoulder. “No, it doesn’t, Robert. Asking for my father’s help was what got you second chance in the first place. But anything worth doing is worth doing right, my friend. Remember that. If you succeed in your mission, can you imagine how far that will go to balancing the books in your favor?”

Robert considered it for a moment. It was something that nagged at him during the darkest hours of the night. Could he ever truly ‘balance the books’? He’d done some horrific things in his young life, but that was before he’d known who he was and what his true ancestry meant. He was acting on instinct bred into him, or so he’d hoped. Was it already too late to turn his life around?

No.

His companion’s father, upon their first and only meeting, informed him that it was never too late, and that a man would not be judged by his ancestry or for his father’s sins, but for his own. If he truly wished to turn his life around and embrace a new cause, it could be done, for he possessed a skill-set unique to all mankind. It was something his companion’s father could put to use in their little cosmic tug of war. And so, Robert was given a chance at redemption… a slim chance, but it was better than nothing.

“Hey!” Robert called out to his friend as he retreated.

“Yes?” He called back over his shoulder.

“I wonder sometimes. What do you think those super-Christians would say if they saw us sitting together now? You know the kind, the ones on their holy crusades that aren’t much different from the their ancestors of centuries ago who went out to kill the infidels and burn them with fire?”

“Those people shed all that blood for their own egos and to squash their own petty fears. They only used our names as a pretext. Those people are with your father… not mine.”

Robert sat back in his chair and watched as his companion disappeared into the crowd, a sardonic smile on his face. “Yeah, my dad keeps some pretty disgusting company, all right.”

The sun disappeared finally behind the horizon and the streetlights began to blink on across the city, attracting scores of moths and night insects to flutter in their presence. Robert snickered as he opened his wallet and left a ten-dollar bill on the table for the waitress.

“As usual, I pay,” He muttered under his breath. “I don’t think he’s picked up a tab since he gave the Sermon on the Mount.”

Despite the intense heat, even at night, Robert donned his knee-length trenchcoat and, like his companion, disappeared into the gathering crowd. He made his way to a beat up, blue Chevette sporting a 1974 model year. He climbed inside and lit a noxious smelling Marlboro Red before turning the key. After some sputtering and false starts, the vehicle finally came to life and the stereo began to blare Guns N’ Roses’ ‘Paradise City’ from the small, tinny-sounding speakers.

Even though he lived in L.A., where status meant everything and the type of car one owned often determined their social place in the world, bikini clad, sun-kissed fitness buffs roller skated by and still eyed him enthusiastically. Women really did truly love the bad boys, he supposed.

Robert pulled out into the sparse traffic and made his way to his next destination. Some of the worst people on Earth awaited him there, as did the worst of his father’s kind. He knew it… he felt it in whatever passed for his soul these days. His connection to his own kind still remained. It would always be a part of him… tempting him to return to his old ways. It was his birthright even though he had forsaken it. It was the very real source of his power.

In another lifetime, he would be their ruler, their prince.

But now he would be their ruination… their complete and utter destruction.

He patted the hilt of the sword tucked beneath his trenchcoat. Guns were forbidden by the rules that bound him, but he needed a weapon to use against his father’s agents. The sword proved more than equal to the task on four separate occasions in the past three weeks and would no doubt serve him well again tonight. His next stop: South Central L.A., now referred to as simply ‘Southern Los Angeles’.

Robert The Devil was coming for them… and the power of hell was riding with him.

Even though South Central L.A. contains some of the oldest neighborhoods in Los Angeles featuring many spectacular examples of both Victorian and Craftsman architecture, it was still an area rife with danger, including gang violence and conflicts between African-Americans and Latinos, sadly often occurring in the open streets and in schools.

Despite the efforts of government to try and bring prosperity to the area, only the strongest survived in South Central. If one wasn’t aligned with The Crips, Bloods, 38th Street Gang, 18th Street Gang or one of a half dozen other factions, you did not walk the streets at night. Fear was the order of the day for the local citizenry.

Drive by shootings, drugs, prostitution, and worse were the order of the day, occurring on nearly every street corner. The drop out rate in schools in and around South Central was astronomically high, as was teenage pregnancy.

Despite all these facts, this was where Robert made his home, though he was not heading there at present. He parked his Chevette outside a large non-descript warehouse, not even bothering to lock the door as he exited and took to the sidewalk, his being the only white face in sight.

Rap music arrogantly blared from several open windows and even without truly taking notice, Robert realized that several pairs of eyes were following him, and yet no one said anything to him. He made his way around to the back of the warehouse, where a fenced in gateway protected the rear entrance, as well as a giant of a man… a black individual who didn’t even bother to hide the Heckler And Koch MP5 on a shoulder strap across his chest.

“Whatchoo want?” He barked.

“I’m here to see Luke.”

The guard, whom Robert estimated at six foot, four inches tall, eyed him with incredulity.

“Ain’t no Luke here.”

Robert smiled genially. “Yes there is, Tony. Don’t lie… not to me.”

The guard seemed to be taken aback at the mention of his name. “Whatchoo call me?”

“Your name is Tony. Your friend’s call you Low-Ball but your real name is Tony. Tony, I need you to take me to see Luke. You all call him Crazy Ace but his real name is Luke Carvelle. Take me to him… now.”

The man known on the streets as Lowball rested his hand on the grips of his H&K. “You givin’ me orders, white-bread? I’ve killed for less, mo-fucker!”

Robert appeared nonplussed. “Oh yes, I know you have, Tony. I know all about you. I know how, when you were twelve years old you killed your first bird. I know what you did afterwards, too. You jerked yourself raw afterwards thinking about it. Then you started killing other animals and jerking off thinking about that, too. Sometimes, you even had those animals in your bedroom, right?”

Low ball’s eyes grew wide with fear as he stared into Robert’s crystal blue eyes. His grip on the H&K relaxed.

“How the fuck?”

“How did I know that?” Robert interjected. “My father has you on a very special list, Lowball. He’s seen what you’ve done. He saw how killing animals wasn’t enough to get you off after a while. He saw what you did to all those women after that. Your first was when you were… fourteen, am I right? One wasn’t enough to make the urge go away, though. It went on and on. What you did to your mother when she caught you with your last girlfriend… well, let’s just say mom hasn’t been seen much lately, has she? For all your talk to your friends about what a stud you are, you haven’t been with a living, breathing woman in years.”

Lowball appeared to be close to hyperventilating as he fell to his knees and took Robert’s hand, kissing the back of it several times as tears began to roll down his cheeks. Robert knew all of this about the sinner known as Lowball. Due to his special nature, he had access to all of his father’s knowledge.

“I’ll do anything you want, man,” Lowball shuddered as he pressed his cheek against Robert’s hand.

“You know what I want. Take me to Luke.”

Immediately, Lowball leapt to his feet and wiped his tears away before turning and inserting a key in the stainless steel padlock that kept the gate closed. Robert knew that approaching the front of the warehouse would only result in him being reduced to shreds by gunfire emanating from hidden sniper alcoves across the front of the building. Even though it would take a lot of bullets to kill him, every one hurt him just as much as they hurt normal people, and he wanted to avoid that if at all possible.

Only the police approached that way, and even they didn’t come into South Central without serious backup… like a few tanks. Only customers came to the back entrance, a gated and locked door at the end of a narrow alley where police couldn’t approach in numbers without being forced into a bottleneck and slaughtered.

Robert followed Lowball through the gate and the door beyond, his breathing even and his heart rate steady. He was wary of only one being in this entire building, and it was not Crazy Ace or any of his low rent thugs.

As they entered the building and moved down a dark hallway together, Lowball leading the way with Robert following calmly behind, he noticed several darkened rooms off the hallway, each with an alcove no bigger than those you’d find for dogs at the local SPCA. They were mostly kept in darkness but he could smell the human feces inside and hear the moans of broken souls, kept against their will.

He ignored it… for now.

At the end of the hall they took a left and passed through another door into the main floor of the warehouse, a vast nightclub and gathering area for members of the local gang. They filmed X-rated movies here, as evidenced by the large mattresses on the floor surrounded by stage lights. Low slung couches lined the walls as gang members dressed in their various colors sat and drank hard liquor or snorted cocaine.

The room was littered with women, mostly nude except for their dog collars and leashes. Most were performing some sort of sexual act, usually of a rough or violent nature, on one or more gang members. Each of the men eyed Robert warily but as he met their gaze with his own, they all backed down. Something deep within them told them that this man belonged with their kind.

Finally, they reached their destination, an office door at the far end of the warehouse. Thick clouds of marijuana smoke plumed from within. Robert was reminded of old Cheech And Chong movies he’d once seen.

Lowball knocked on the door and opened it, waving Robert inside. He stepped in and waved the smoke from his face, choking on its pungent fumes. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he finally made out the form of the one called ‘Crazy Ace’, who was looking to both Robert and Lowball with disbelief.

Crazy Ace was a man of violence and aggression. Even if one closed their eyes and ignored the hulking chest and biceps covered only by an open leather vest, the sprawling tattoos across his arms and chest, the patch covering his right eye and the Ruger Redhawk revolver in a holster hanging below his left armpit, all one truly needed to do was listen to his rough, gravelly voice, made so by smoking too much, and the disdain for everyone he laid eyes on in his tone. The man literally had an aura of hatred and detestation surrounding him.

“How now, brown cow?” Robert said with a lively smirk. Needless to say, it was not how this man was used to being addressed.

The gang leader sat in his leather-backed chair with a joint hanging from his lips. It was possibly the largest, fattest joint Robert had ever seen. A phenomenally large breasted black woman sat on one knee. An athletic looking doe-eyed blonde sat on the other. Both were nude from the waist up and both nearly fell to the floor as Crazy Ace leapt to his feet at the intrusion, stabbing his finger at Robert.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Sit down and don’t trouble yourself, Luke. I only want to talk to you.”

“Bitches, leave!” Crazy Ace shouted as the two women turned tail and fairly ran for the main area. Crazy Ace then turned his attention to Lowball.

“Did you let this fool in here?” He asked, his accent thick, probably Jamaican.

“Yeah, I did.” Lowball looked sheepishly to the dirty floor. “You gotta listen to this guy, man. You gotta…”

Crazy Ace was not a man who was used to being told what to do. “Are you telling me what to do, Lowball? Do I got wax in my ears or are you really telling me what to do? Last guy that did that don’t have his balls no more!”

Robert turned to address Lowball. “You may go.”

Lowball exited the room in a flash, clearly glad to be away from both men. Crazy Ace, on the other hand, was furious.

“Get the fuck out of my place, white boy, ‘fore I blow a hole in your brain pan.”

“You’ve been practicing Voodoo for a long time, haven’t you, Luke? I hear you managed to conjure yourself up a new right hand man, a bodyguard, if you will. Word is you’ve grown a little paranoid, probably from all the drugs you do, and you won’t travel anywhere outside this warehouse without him by your side.” Robert said nonchalantly as he took the seat on the other side of the desk.

“I hear you need it, too. You’ve been keeping plenty of girls as slaves. I passed their little pens I came in. They give dogs better cages at animal shelters. Didn’t you think that would come back to haunt you?”

Crazy Ace suddenly eyed Robert suspiciously. “You ain’t law, man.”

Robert chuckled. “I’m about the furthest thing from law you’re going to find, Luke.”

“How the fuck you know my real name, man?” Crazy Ace asked.

“Just like Lowball, I know all about you, Luke. I know you were born Lemarr Myton but you changed your name to Luke Carvelle when you arrived in America. You changed it again to Crazy Ace when you joined this gang, The Diablo’s… or The Christ Punchers, or whatever the hell it is you call yourselves to try and sound tough.”

Crazy Ace looked on in awe as Robert continued his synopsis of Lemarr Myton’s life.

“You were poor and black in L.A. You lived in a deprived area and you had three brothers and two sisters. Your father tried to find work but couldn’t find enough to pay the bills. He started drinking and for some strange reason… he only beat you when he drank.”

“You watched through black and blue eyes as your mother left the home to sell herself on the streets so that you could eat… leaving you in his tender, loving care. Finally, you left home at a very early age, knowing nothing but violence, until you found this little fraternity here and, knowing violence as well as you did, rose through the ranks quickly. Soon, you were the leader of Los Angeles chapter of The San Pedro Tigers.”

Crazy Ace listened to the tale as if it were the story of someone else being retold. He listened with a kind of fascination, for he hadn’t told anyone his story since he left home years ago.

“And now, Tony, you’ve expanded your enterprise, from gun running to drugs…” He paused here for dramatic emphasis. “To slavery.”

“So what you want, man?” Crazy Ace asked, having forgotten the unwanted and unwarranted intrusion into his private sanctum. “You want some bitches? Girls? Boys? I got it all, man. I can set you up if you need it. How many you want?”

Robert shook his head. “No, Tony. That’s not what I want.”

Crazy Ace shook his head as if realization had dawned on him. “You gonna try and blackmail me?”

“No, Luke. I want three things from you. The first is to meet your bodyguard, the one you conjured up with your voodoo. You will hand him over to me. Secondly, I want to know who’s setting you up with the money to buy these girls from overseas. Drugs are a prosperous business, but even you don’t have the kind of money to buy slaves from Asia and beyond without assistance. I know someone higher up the food chain is funding you. Thirdly, well, I’ll tell you about that when our business is complete.”

Crazy Ace eyed Robert with disbelief. Silence reined for several moments as each man faced the other, neither relenting in his gaze. It was clear to Robert that Crazy Ace was trying to divine the true nature behind his strange visitor.

Who was this red haired man? There was something at once familiar and also intimidating about him. It was as if he recognized his visitor’s voice because Robert had been whispering in his ear his entire life. And yet, it was clear that Robert wanted him to give up his lucrative new line of income.

“Let me think about it,” Crazy Ace replied as he pretended to be in deep thought.

A mere heartbeat later, the gang leader drew his Ruger Redhawk, a large game-hunting weapon chambered in .44 Magnum rounds with a 7.5 inch barrel. Though there was something strange and definitely familiar about the trenchcoat clad visitor to his office, there was something else whispering in his ear, an even higher power perhaps, shouting as if from a distant mountaintop, as subtle as an itch on the back of your neck and yet as clear as a midday sun in LA.

KILL HIM!

“I think… no.” Crazy Ace pulled the trigger and the bullet shot through the air, driving Robert backward as his chair flipped over and he collapsed in a clumsy heap. No one came to check on Crazy Ace. He often fired off rounds in his office, sometimes at the wall, sometimes at his women, especially when he was high.

Relaxed once more, Crazy Ace opened the drawer on his desk and produced a silver tray and a clear plastic bag of cocaine. He emptied the bag on the tray and, foregoing the use of a razorblade to make neat lines, buried his face in the mound of drugs he’d made and inhaled deeply. He began to wonder if the drug was tainted as he watched the body of the dead interloper begin to stir.

Slowly, Robert gathered himself and slowly rose to his feet. He turned slowly, dramatically, to see Luke Carvelle staring wide eyed at him, his mouth agape in horror, and rightfully so.

He had just shot this man in the head, and yet here he was, standing up under his own power, the gaping wound in his forehead mending itself together as the spent bullet dropped to the floor impotently.

His features stern and his chin set, Robert leaned over the desk, his palms flat as his nose came within an inch of his assailant’s. Crazy Ace found that he could not move a muscle as his body betrayed him and he wet his pants. Robert’s face was akin to a roiling thundercloud as he opened his mouth to speak, and when he spoke, he shouted.

“OW!”

Luke found that he no longer possessed the power of speech as Robert’s tirade began.

“Do you think that doesn’t hurt? If I get enough of those I can be killed, you know! No, not that you’d know that, you little piss-ant! You spent one bullet into my brainpan thinking that would be enough! Well let me tell you, Luke, that ain’t enough, you lazy fuck! Are you too high to wonder why there wasn’t much blood sprayed on the back wall? One bullet just gives me a smashing headache and puts me in a really, really shitty mood!”

Robert reached out and grabbed Crazy Ace by the throat, squeezing tightly as he whispered in a threatening tone.

“Call your little bodyguard in here… now.”

“Jason… get in here…” Luke whispered.

From a hidden, recessed door behind Luke’s desk, another individual entered the fray. To all outward appearances he seemed to be a man in his mid-twenties. He was Caucasian, with blue eyes and perfectly straight and even teeth. His frame was composed of solid muscle, betraying the figure of a man in perfect physical condition. He was dressed in standard San Pedro Tiger colors: a leather vest and the typical accouterments of the rest of the mob. Robert, who was much leaner and shorter than the newcomer, released Crazy Ace and motioned for the bodyguard to step forward. He did so as Robert circled him and gave him an appraising stare.

“I bet you don’t come out of that secret room much, do you, ‘Jason’? A pearly white face like yours in this neighborhood… now that would stick out just as much as mine does. That’s how I came to know about you. People notice these things. ”

The one known as Jason didn’t respond. Robert pointed towards the hidden alcove. He could distinguish unlit candles, spatters of blood and several texts on the bare wooden floor.

“Is that where you practice your voodoo, Luke?”

Crazy Ace, still unable to speak, merely nodded, his mouth still agape. Robert stood toe to toe with the one called Jason and matched his level gaze.

“Your name isn’t Jason,” Robert whispered. “I can see what you are. I know your name.”

The one called Jason inclined his head in deference to Robert. “You know me, yes. I am a servant of your father’s.”

“Then you should be in his domain, don’t you think?”

“I go where I’m summoned.”

“You don’t belong on this plane of existence. Are you going to go back to hell on your own… or do I have to exorcise you?”

Jason appeared to be confused. He stammered when he spoke. “My Prince, I am bound to obey your father. You… have been branded a traitor. It is written into my very being to want to obey you, but I can’t.”

Robert nodded, looking disappointed. “Then I guess exorcism it is.”

He reached beneath his trenchcoat with his right hand and when it reappeared, he was holding the handle of a sword, and as he drew it into the light, the one called Jason recoiled in terror.

Those in the know called it the ‘Flame-Bladed’ sword, a double-edged cutting blade that had been forged with undulating or wave-shaped edges. It was coined from the ancient German term ‘Flammenschwert’.

The blade was impossibly long, far longer than it should be and still remain hidden underneath the knee-length trenchcoat Robert wore. The blade was nearly 47 inches long, with an exceptionally long grip and hilt. As it was, the two-handed weapon was incredibly intimidating. It was even more so as the blade burst into flame upon contact with the open air.

“You know this sword, don’t you, ‘Jason’?”

Jason nodded. “The flaming sword that guarded the entrance to the Garden Of Eden!”

Robert nodded. “Exactly. Its owner has loaned it to me for the duration. It should be more than enough to send you back home.”

“I won’t go without a fight!” The being known as Jason opened his palm and the air around it began to shimmer. The smell of sulfur permeated the air as a heavy, double-edged battleaxe faded into view in the demon’s hand as he closed its grip around it.

Robert wielded his sword like a seasoned combat veteran, hoping to seize the moment before the battleaxe completely materialized. His blade swung around in a huge, inescapable arc, but he was mere seconds too late.

Jason roared with rage as his true self was revealed when the flames of the Sword Of Heaven grew too close for comfort. Born of the pits of Hell, this Goblin looked nothing like his earthly disguise.

He sported the oversized head of a rabid pig with leeches and insects fluttering in and out of its mouth. His upper body was that of a well-muscled man and his lower body was that of a four-legged animal, most closely resembling that of a horse.

The strange demon from another plane just barely managed to block Robert’s sword and emitted a high-pitched squeal, as the flames grew too close for comfort.

“What’s the matter, Jason? Flames shouldn’t bother you.”

Jason roared in defiance and, pushing the blade of his battleaxe against Robert’s shoved him backward several steps. Unfortunately for the demon, the quarters they fought in were far too close for his tremendous form to move in easily, now that he had reverted to his natural shape, and Robert’s blade seemed to be everywhere at once. The Goblin, inexperienced in the ways of swordplay, was easily parried and as the flaming sword sliced the air in a tremendous overhead arc, the Goblin was cleaved in two from his head to his torso.

The Goblin, not bound by the laws of human mortality, still managed to writhe in a macabre fashion and emit a blood-curdling wail of agony from both sides of its face as the flaming blade was embedded in his very body.

“Demon of my father… I cast thee out,” Robert hissed as the demon continued to moan and scream in torturous agony. No mere sword could inflict this type of wound on a demon. It was the cleansing flame of Heaven that caused it such anguish.

And then, as quickly as it began, the battle was over. The Goblin’s body crumbled to dust and fell to the floor, banished back to the realm of its creation by the flame of Heaven. The victor in the battle removed a hankie from his pocket and wiped sweat from his brow.

Robert was lucky this time. Goblins weren’t known for their fighting prowess. He knew there were far more powerful cloven hooves walking the Earth that he would eventually have to deal with… and soon.

He turned his attention back to Crazy Ace, whom he found underneath his desk, curled up in the fetal position and whimpering like a baby. He returned the sword to the folds of his trench coat, where it disappeared completely from sight, and reached out to grab the babbling gang leader by the collar of his vest. He yanked Luke Carvelle out into the light and held him roughly, their faces once more inches apart as their stares met.

“I’ll only ask this once,” He said, his voice unerringly calm. “Who is bankrolling your slavery operation?”
“I…” Crazy Ace stammered. “I still can’t tell you.”

Robert nodded. This was a tough nut to crack. He had no doubt that Crazy Ace would love to tell him the name of his bankroller, but someone still held a powerful hold over him. Who could it possibly be? He decided that his victim required more convincing.

“Fine. Why don’t we do this the hard way then?” Robert hissed as the air around them began to shimmer much like the air around the Goblin’s hand when the battleaxe appeared, like the hot asphalt outside. Once more, the smell of sulfur began to choke them and they appeared to be caught in a whirlwind as their surroundings began to change. It was as if the building they were in was being torn to shreds by a wild force 5 hurricane.

Crazy Ace closed his eyes in terror but as he realized that he was not dead from the force of the supposed hurricane, forced them open mere moments later to see that he was no longer in his office. He was on his knees in front of Robert on an underground island of sorts, surrounded by lava flows and stalagmites. The ground beneath him was composed of nothing but loose shale and jagged rocks. He gagged on the smell of choking sulfur and oppressive heat.

“Do you recognize this place, Luke?”

“Yes!!” Carvelle shouted.

“This is my personal corner of Hell. This is my kingdom. It is my birthright. Not even my father can take it away from me. I think I need to leave you here for a while to think and reminisce. Maybe you can tell me who bankrolled your operation after a day down here.”

“All right! All right! I’ll tell you! His name is… Adrian Condon! I have no idea who he really is but that’s the name he gave me! He’s not from the hood, man! He’s from out of town!”

Robert released his grip on Crazy Ace. ‘Out of town’ indeed. Adrian, meaning ‘dark one’, and Condon, ‘meaning ‘dark haired wise man’, it was the calling card of an entity like the one he’d just banished back to his father’s realm, only far more powerful and with far more gall. Someone was assisting humans in conjuring up more and more powerful citizens of Hell to walk the Earth. The last time Demons walked the Earth in this vast quantity was back in the dark ages and the time of inquisitions.

“Where did you meet this ‘Condon’ person?”

“At a club downtown… The Scratching Post!”

And just like that, Crazy Ace blinked twice and was back in his office in South Central L.A. There was no hurricane. Everything was just as it should be.

“You’re out of the slaving business, Luke. Try and use that money of yours to make this neighborhood a better place. Don’t make me call on you again.”

Now that he had what he came for, Robert turned on his heel as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and made his way back through the warehouse. As he expected, most of the gang members were waiting for him outside with their weapons drawn. Despite their bravado and their guns, none were brave enough to enter the office from which the unholy screams emanated. He stood in front of them all and met their gaze levelly.

“Move aside.”
At his command, the entire gathering parted before him, clearing a wide path. Whether it was the look in his eyes or the unearthly sounds of battle that had emanated from within the office, they all thought the better of challenging this individual and chose discretion over valor.

Robert retraced his steps back to the area where the slaves were kept. The one called Tony was waiting there for him.

“Do you wish to change your ways?” He asked.

Tony, also known as Lowball, nodded wordlessly and wide eyed.

“Then your time is now.” Robert produced a card. “Get them all to this address and wait for me there. I own the building. From there we can go about reuniting these people with their loved ones and you can take your first step down the road to a better life.”

The one called Tony shuddered. “But I’ve done… horrible things.”

Robert entered the room where the slaves were being kept and turned on the light. Like animals, the slaves retreated from the light cast by the bare light bulb in the wall. He dropped to one knee before them, mostly girls and took the petite hand of a tiny, underfed fourteen year old and kissed the back of it lightly and lovingly. He smiled reassuringly at her and she smiled back.

“So have I, but I’ve learned that it’s never too late to start over again,” He said, addressing Tony. He then turned his attention to the young girl and spoke to them in a far softer, more heartening tone than he’d ever thought he could muster.

“You’re safe now.”

Nearly an hour later, Robert was pulling his Chevette up to the curb in front of the building he owned in South Central L.A. The place was an anomaly in all of the crime-ridden and fear filled area.

Of all South Central, this was the only block where no one dealt drugs and no one whored. The citizens who lived on this block, and in this building in particular, lived a crime-free life, though still a poor one, but they’d been taught that money doesn’t necessarily guarantee happiness. After living so long in an environment where drive by shootings, gang violence and prostitution were the main employers, living on a block where these things didn’t exist was the closest thing to Heaven they could imagine.

The beaten Chevette chugged to a halt and Robert frowned as he eyed a suspicious looking stranger in his late teens conversing in hushed tones with a youngster, barely ten years old. He didn’t recognize either of them but it didn’t matter. Immediately, he charged from the car and rushed over to them. It was then that he eyed the tiny plastic bag of white powder changing hands.

Robert reached out and swatted the young buyer in the back of the head, sending him fleeing as he reached out and grabbed the drug dealer by the hair.

“Don’t tell me they didn’t warn you about dealing drugs on my block, young man!”

“Let me go, mo-fudder!” The drug dealer shouted as he flailed about for the gun he kept in his pocket.

“Don’t bother with the gun, ass-wipe. They warned you, didn’t they? They told you not to deal drugs on my block! I own this fucking block, you little shit! When I first came here they tried to stop me! They shot me and they stabbed me but I kept coming at them and I made them cry like bitches for their mommas! Do you think I can’t do that to you, too? Do you think you’re a tougher man than they were? I can tell just by looking at you that you’re not half the man they were.”

The dealer’s hand finally appeared with the gun and he tried to take aim, but Robert reached out and snapped the young man’s wrist instantly. Given his background and breeding, he was far stronger than a normal human male. The dealer cried out in agony as the bone snapped and the gun fell to the ground.

“You don’t even know how to use that thing, do you? You’d probably have shot yourself with it! I just did you a fucking favor! Say ‘thank you’!”

The drug dealer, a mere boy, actually began to cry. Robert was actually starting to feel a little sorry for him.

“The stories they tell about me and this block aren’t fables, boy!” He shouted. “They’re true. They tried to stop me, and those who did ended up in a place far worse than the grave. Now you run along and remember… there are no drugs and no guns on my block!”

With that, he released his grip on the young man, who fled, wailing like a child, into the humid night air. That was when a voice called to him from behind. He recognized it instantly: a silken tongue that could seduce any man or woman it chose, heavy-laden with sarcasm and disdain for… everything.

“You are such a drama queen. Do you really think that protecting one city block in a town so filled with sin will do anyone any good?”

Robert gritted his teeth. Family reunions always made him cringe.

“Hello… father.”