The Devil and Angel Em

ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18.

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It seemed like a good idea at the time, it really did. But then, bad ideas often do.

In his thirty-three years on this planet, she was the sexiest thing Job Silverstein had ever seen.

The first thing to catch his eye was the blood red dress, sequins sparkling like stars in the dim light of Sharkey’s Tavern.

Then of course there was the body beneath it; like Merle Travis sang, “So round, so firm, so fully packed.”

Her breasts seemed to defy both gravity and the stretchable limits of the fabric barely restraining them. Her slim, tapered waist and wide, full hips were an almost perfect dichotomy.

The dress was having just as much trouble keeping her ass contained beneath it as it was her tits. Every step she took towards the bar threatened to release her swaying bum.

Job had been banging away at the ancient pinball machine when she’d sauntered in, and barely noticed as the silver ball rolled past the flippers, his focus instead on the voluptuous newcomer as she took a seat at the bar.

Despite the usual Friday night crowd, Lenny the bartender was attentive and quick to fetch her a drink.

It was late, about quarter to midnight. Job had been at Sharkey’s since shortly after he’d gotten laid off from his shitty auto parts stockroom job, despite having put in a solid three years, the longest he’d ever worked anywhere.

He’d been alternating between playing pinball, shooting pool, and indulging in the George Thorogood “One Bourbon, One Scotch & One Beer” approach to drinking his troubles away.

So it was with liquid courage that he made his way over, taking the surprisingly open stool beside her.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

The stranger turned to regard him. Her skin tone and facial features suggested a Middle Eastern heritage. Her eyes were almost as jet black as her long, flowing hair.

Her ruby red lips twisted in a half smile, revealing just a hint of brilliant white teeth. “You blew it.”

“Um, what?”

Her smile became a wicked, full blown grin that still didn’t feel any friendlier. “You blew the line. You were supposed to ask ‘Did it hurt?’ then wait for me to… oh, nevermind.”

Her eyes never left him as she brought her reddish-orange cocktail to her lips, her long, talon-like fingernails clinking softly on the frosted glass as she sipped.

Job’s face turned as red as her dress. “Yeah, I… I suppose I did. Guess I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell with that line anyway, did I?”

To his delight, she laughed. “Oh, I dunno. You’d be surprised.”

Feeling he’d recovered from his blunder somewhat, Job decided to press his luck. “Well, hey, let me make it up to you by buying you a drink. What ya having?”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “El Diablo. But I just ordered this one, silly boy.”

“That’s okay,” Job shrugged, still trying to remain confident despite his two rookie mistakes so far, “I’ll just keep you company ’til you’re ready for the next round.”

“You’re assuming I’m staying that long?”

“Well, sure; I mean, who comes into a bar this late on a Friday night for just one drink, right?”

“Maybe someone who just came here to meet someone,” she smirked.

Again, his face flushed. “Ah. So you’re here for a date.”

“I didn’t say that, now did I?”

Job sighed. “Look, I’m really confused. You said you’re here to meet someone. But you haven’t told me to piss off yet, either. If I’m wasting my time, just say so. But I’m really not in the mood for games.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” she snickered, “not with the week you’re having.”

Job jolted upright. “What do you mean?”

The beautiful stranger again sipped her drink while regarding him. Her eyes were piercing, as if she were looking at his soul. “Girlfriend dumped you for her old boyfriend, lost your job, rent is due in two weeks and you’ve barely got enough in the bank to last until your first unemployment check, if you’re even eligible for it. And yet here you are, drinking yourself into oblivion and dropping cheesy pickup lines on a woman obviously way out of your league. So yeah, I’d say that’s a pretty shitty week.”

“How… how do you know all that?”

Again she offered her twisted grin. “Oh, I know all sorts of things about you, Job.”

Despite the rather high alcohol content currently running through it, his blood went icy cold.

“Who… who are you?”

Her laughter was both melodious and terrifying. “I go by so, so many names. But for tonight, I suppose you can call me… Cozbi.”

Job could feel his anger beginning to boil over. “Did Lauren put you up to this? You tell that cheating bitch she can fuck right off with her silly games!”

“I don’t have time for this.” Raising her free hand above her head, Cozbi snapped her fingers. The bar went deadly silent as everyone instantly froze in place.

But it was more than that. Job gawked in fascinated horror at Lenny, standing behind the bar, immobile, the bourbon he’d been pouring now suspended midair between bottle and tumbler.

The second hand on the vintage Kit-Cat Klock above the bar had stopped moving, as had its swishing tail. The normally shifting eyes were now locked in place, looking right at him.

“What…the…hell???”

Cozbi laughed. “What the Hell indeed. Look, I’m gonna get right to the point. I’m here to make a deal for your soul, and I only have until the stroke of midnight to do it. So let’s stop wasting time with stupid questions like ‘Who are you?’ and ‘How did you do that?’ and get right down to negotiations.”

“I’m drunk,” Job whispered hoarsely, “I’m blacked out drunk and hallucinating. I’ll wake up in a few hours with a bad hangover and…”

Cozbi slapped him across the face. “Does that feel like a hallucination? Stop being an idiot.”

Reaching out, she cupped his face with both hands. Her black as night fingernails felt like cold steel against his cheeks. “Look into my eyes. Look closely. I need you to see.”

Job looked. Her dark eyes dilated, the whites of them disappearing entirely, leaving the sockets black and utterly lifeless. Behind them, far off in the distance, flames danced in a flickering glow.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped.

“He’s got nothing to do with this.” Cozbi’s eyes returned to normal, or at least what passed as normal for her, and she released her grip on his face. “Now, are we done with Twenty Questions?”

“Wh… why me?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Cozbi pounded the bar angrily. “Why NOT you? You’ve been meandering aimlessly through life since you graduated high school. Could have gone to college, done something with yourself, but instead just drifted from one dead end job to the next. You married the first woman that would fuck you at 21, only for her to divorce you two years later, and you’ve been unlucky in love ever since. You lay awake almost every night worrying you’ll die alone, unloved, and forgotten. I can change all that. For a price.”

“But… but I don’t even believe in God!”

“Which makes you the perfect candidate,” Cozbi responded. “If you don’t believe in God or the Devil, Heaven or Hell, why not make a deal with me, right?”

“I…. I need another drink.”

Cozbi rolled her eyes, exasperated. With graceful ease, she reached over the bar and retrieved the half filled tumbler of bourbon Lenny had been pouring. Job stared wide eyed at the long strand of dark liquid that still hung suspended from the tip of the bottle until he felt the glass pushed into his hand. He downed it wordlessly in one gulp.

“Better?” Cozbi arched her meticulously sculpted brow.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I need a minute.”

“Tick tock,” Cozbi frowned. “Look, I can’t keep this little parlor trick up all night, against the rules, and I’ve got till the stroke of midnight to seal this deal, so let’s get to it. What do you want? Money? Power? Fame? Name your price.”

Job couldn’t help but laugh. This was preposterous. Not that he no longer believed her; he’d seen the truth of who she was in her eyes.

Yet the idea of selling his soul seemed ludicrous. He’d been an atheist all his life, but he knew enough about Christian dogma to understand the consequences of such a deal were it true.

“So wait, seriously, are you suggesting I sell my soul to you to get rich, live a luxurious life, find love and happiness, only to spend eternity burning in eternal damnation? Not exactly a bargain.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Cozbi explained. “I know my reputation, but Hell doesn’t have to be a BAD place. Not if you agree to work with me.”

“Work WITH you? Doing what, exactly?”

“Taking Heaven back from God, of course.”

Job shook his head. “Look, I don’t know all that much about religion, but I know enough to know you can’t win that fight.”

“Says who?” Cozbi sneered. “Some ancient book of myths? You think God wrote that? That book was written by stone age sheep herders who didn’t understand where the sun went at night! They didn’t know a fucking thing! And neither do any of you barely evolved primates!”

“Well, actually, no, I never believed God wrote…. So, wait, if Hell exists, that means Heaven does too, right? So why sell my soul to you? Even if you’re right and I die alone and unloved, at least I go to heaven and am happy for eternity, right?”

“Not necessarily,” shrugged Cozbi. “You could just wind up in Limbo.”

“Limbo?”

Cozbi sighed, glancing up at the clock, which had slowly begun ticking again. “Limbo. The place in between. Neither Heaven nor Hell.”

“And what happens there?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yes. Literally, nothing.”

“So, I’m just, like, DEAD dead.”

“Not exactly. You’re still conscious, aware, but surrounded by absolute nothingness. In a way, it’s a worse punishment than Hell. At least in Hell you feel SOMETHING.”

“But why would God send me there if I’m not an evil person?”

“Because you’re not exactly a GOOD person either, Job. What exactly have you done in this world for anyone but yourself?”

Job had no answer.

“Look,” Cozbi sounded almost sympathetic, “this isn’t as terrible a deal as you think. All that fire and brimstone stuff? That’s only for the worst of humanity, the absolute monsters; rapists, murderers, corrupt politicians.