Chapter 9 Part 2 – Call for Obstruction

So far, a recently laid off Barry shows up for a job interview and blacks out. When he wakes up he finds he’s signed a contract to drive a van for OTG Courier Service. He tries to get out of the contract but finds he has no choice but to work for his new boss, Margery, who has total control over his bodily functions. During Barry’s first delivery to Trinidad, he has a panic attack when large white birds with human faces pummel the van, but he’s soon rescued by a murder of thrushes. At the Trinidad warehouse, Barry is again intent on getting out of his contract, only Margery tells him he’s sold his human life into servitude to Satan on Earth. The shock has Barry downing gulps of whiskey in the break room while Margery further explains his predicament.

“Where were we?”

“You’re a demon more than three thousand years old and I’m a slave to Satan, who prefers we call him The CEO of Hell. Oh yeah, and it’s really not that bad a deal.”

“Careful, smart-ass. I can make your life miserable, if that’s what you prefer.”

Because your not already making me miserable, I think, forgetting she can read my mind. I swallow hard and grin.

“This job is really no different than any other job. Eventually, when you accept who you serve, you can have so much more.”

“Like living three thousand years with emphysema?”

“When you signed the contract,” Margery raises her volume, “you signed over your human life to The CEO. What you get in return is immortal life, a decent salary and just about any other nasty little thing your heart desires.”

“What if the nasty thing my heart desires is to get out of the contract?”

“Enough.” Margery points her cigarette my direction then twists it like she’s rubbing it in my face. The tip sizzles and glows brighter even though she hasn’t taken a drag. Ash falls to the table and black smoke that smells like sulfur floats my direction. I wave my hand but it won’t dissipate. It wraps around my neck, penetrating my skin and strangling at my throat. Inside my mouth a burning pain travels up my tongue and along my jaw. I rub at my neck and face, not knowing what else to do to stop my mouth from fusing together. When I feel for my lips, they’re gone.

Across the table, Margery has doubled in size and her wrinkles are smoothing, replaced by muscles as burly as the Incredible Hulk. It clicks why Margery wears disco pants and an oversized sweatshirt. I pray she keeps her shirt on.

I try to flee as her skin tone changes to a snake-like dark crimson, but realize I’m paralyzed now. As my anxiety builds and breathing quickens, snot streams from my nose. I watch in horror while she grows to, I’m guessing, seven feet tall. Her hair transforms to real fames, flickering upward, and when he shakes her head, black horns pop out and sparks spray around the room.

Margery grabs the whiskey bottle, chugs down half a pint, then slams it down on the table. It shatters, sending shards of glass and liquid across the table and into my face. She wipes her mouth with the back of her scaly hand, leans onto the splinters and grins. “I’m through being nice!” Her voice gets underneath my skin like a million fingernails across a chalk board. Objects around the room vibrate and all at once my bladder empties. Margery howls with laughter when she sees I’ve pissed my pants. Like spray air freshener, a liquid stream of rotting halitosis streams from her mouth and fills the room.

My stomach turns and I bob my head like a chicken while I fight not to vomit in my obstructed mouth.

Margery deflates like a balloon back to a wrinkled old lady, her laughter shifting from a deep baritone back to a hacking cackle. “See, honey, I told you I could make your life much worse. I won’t have to tell you to shut up again, now will I?”

I’m still unable to speak, but realize whatever spell she put on me is wearing off, because I can shake my head in agreement.

Margery wiggles her fingers and pulls another cigarette out of nowhere, then lounges in her chair, her feet up on the table. “Barry, were you listening when I told you no one’s been able to sell their soul since World War II?”

My lips return but are dry, and one side of my tongue is still stuck to my left cheek. I can only manage to confirm by saying, “Mwa.”

Whatever spell she put on me is still wearing off. When he try to speak, my lips are dry and one side of my tongue is still stuck to my left cheek. I can only manage to confirm by saying, “Mwa.”

“Humans haven’t been able to sell their souls because Hell filled up around the end of the war.”

I pause while I try to comprehend what she’s telling me, and at the same time, wriggle back into motion. “Filled up?” I can finally lisp.

“You wouldn’t believe the number of souls collected during World War I and II. We were busy as hell back then, so to speak.” Margery pauses to laugh at her own joke.

I force a laugh through a lopsided grin to humor her.

“When you humans sold your souls or the souls of your unborn children, we promised to get you out of combat, end the war, help win the war, or just about anything you wanted. We even promised a few leaders they’d win, and I think you know who I’m talking about.

“Almost no one read the fine print in the contract though, which is where we really stuck it to ‘em. It got us out of delivering what everyone wanted. Imagine selling your soul and finding out you’re not getting what you were promised.”

Imagine signing your life over to demonic slavery and not remembering it, I think.

“Unfortunately we ran into problems when the Division for the Acquisitions of Souls underestimated the number of humans willing to sign on the dotted line. When we added their souls together with those of the truly evil, collected by the Intake Office for Sinners, the numbers were daunting. Needless to said, when the people started dying and the souls flooded in, there was a rush and a panic to find places to put them all. Hell had to build a damned refugee camp.

“Both of the offices tried to hide the dilemma from The CEO, but when he saw the souls lined up outside The Gates of Hell, there was hell to pay, literally.”

“How could Hell fill so quickly?” I ask with a look of confusion. “Isn’t it Heaven that would go over capacity?”

“Don’t be naive, Honey. You humans can’t resist temptation. That’s what lands you in Hell.”

“What about forgiveness?”

Margery takes her feet off the table, leans forward and laughs out smoke. “Good one, but that only works when you humans believe you’re worthy of forgiveness, and most don’t.”

“But religion—”

“Don’t even try to argue religion. Who do you think had a part in manifesting religion on Earth? In fact, Satan kept his mouth shut while God created laws that work to his advantage. When God gave Moses those Ten Commandments, The CEO knew you humans would be even more likely to break them.”

I give up, realizing I’m having a theological debate with a demon, and there’s no way I can possibly win, especially when she turns the conversation to me.

“Honey, look at your own vices.”

I jump in my seat. “I’d rather not.”

“There’s nothing to hide, Barry. I saw your dirty little secrets when you called me, looking for work. Why do you think you were hired so quickly?”

“Hey, nothing I’ve done lately is against the law.”

“Not human-created laws, but do you really think that defense would hold up in the heavenly courts?”

“I thought we were talking about Hell.”

“Don’t you want to understand how you’re bound to your contract?”

Oscar limps into the room and distracts Margery when he says, “Why do you have to torture the new guys in the break room?”

“Get what you want and get out,” Margery says.

“All I’m saying is we have a bathroom.” Oscar pulls a soda from the refrigerator, pops it open and takes a gulp.

Margery throws her cigarette at Oscar and it burst into flames as it hit his arm. Liquid and bubbles sprayed from Oscar’s nose. He jerks the can away from his face and bends forward to avoid dribbling on his clothes. “All right. I’m going, but before I leave, aren’t you forgetting about something.”

Margery looks at her watch and frowns. “Crap. I’ve got a meeting down in Hell in five minutes. And you, honey, need to get back on the road to Denver.”

While I’m glad our conversation is coming to an end, I’m in no a hurry to drive back to Denver. I have to ask, “What about those white things?”

“You’ll be fine,” she says. “The vans are empty on the drive back. They only care about preventing the deliveries from reaching this warehouse.”

“What are those things?” I ask.

“White warriors and you have a lot more to fear from them besides attacks on the vans.”

“What could be worse than trying to kill me?”

Margery jumps from her chair and hurries to the doorway. “Oscar!”

In the distance, there’s a faint, “What now? You told me to leave.”

“Is Barry’s van ready?”

“Almost.”

Margery turns back toward me and I’m surprised she looks nervous. “Listen, honey, I don’t have time for small talk. Shower down the hall to your right. You’ll find extra coveralls like Oscar’s in the lockers. And don’t be late for work tomorrow!” Margery disappears around the corner.

I’m left alone, feeling more in the dark, but damn relieved I can finally clean myself up and go home.

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