Somewhere I hear angels singing. I hoped they’re reinforcements. My cover is blown and the eternal bad guys are moving in with murder on their limited minds. I don’t have a prayer, which is funny when you think about it, because prayers come across my desk all the time, and it’s my job to answer them.
But I’m getting ahead of my story. Let me bring you up to speed. First off, I’m one of the Heavenly Host. My job is Celestial Omniscient Patrol. That’s right. I’m a cop. Mortal Realm Disturbance is my department. There is always something popping up down there that needs investigating. That’s where I come in. Just call me Gabe; everyone does.
I’m working the eternal day watch when a call comes in from Upstairs. And I do mean Upstairs. Some of the Fallen One’s minions are up to no good, as usual, but this time it’s serious. Deadly serious if true. Seems like some demons may have located the End of Time switch.
I grab my Holy White Light revolver and float down to earth to check it out. I disguise myself as a homeless person, since no one ever notices them. I stumble and weave, beg for spare change and babble incoherently. Naturally I’m completely ignored, shunned actually, by everyone. That lets me reach the alley in question without suspicion.
A real homeless guy, Dante he calls himself, who reeks of cheap wine and sweat, announces loudly that this alley is his. Fine. He can have it. Confidentially, Dante asks me if I know what the color red feels like, because he does. And then he describes images to me which are beyond mortal comprehension, so I take a chance. It’s the only lead I’ve got. I ask him, did this color red make him feel like he was being squeezed out of existence. Exactly, he replied, shocked at my perfect understanding. Bingo.
I convince Dante to show me where he was when these visions came to him. Crumbling brick wall, broken delivery door light, splintered loading platform. That’s the kind of place the Almighty would put it; He works in mystery ways after all. Then all hell breaks loose.
Literally. Five big bad demons smoke up through the platform between me and, I’m guessing, the End of the Time switch. No time for pretense now. I draw my Holy White Light revolver and dust two of them before they know what hit them. They dissolve like aspirins in battery acid. Not a pretty sight and one bad smell.
The other three demons blast 44-caliber trident hellfire at me, so I summon an Immaculate Shield for protection. We’re trading fire like it’s D-Day, which in a manner of speaking, it might be. More demons smoke up in the alley, surround me and pour on the firepower. My Immaculate Shield is wearing thin. I telepath for backup, but since we’re stretched pretty thin, odds are that I’m on my own.
Two more demons bite the dust. It’s a regular war now, and I’m losing. My revolver’s nearly empty and the Immaculate Shield is wavering like a drunk Catholic girl on Saturday night. Only one chance, so I take it. That’s when I hear angels singing somewhere.
Instead of using my last shot on the demons, I fire at the cracked delivery door light switch instead. Something like the worst black hole ever tries to open, but the Holy White Light shuts it down, sealing it tight. But not before it sucks many of the demons into it. The rest scatter to the four winds, all of them foul.
I did hear angels singing; another unit, the Choir Boys, answered my backup call. It’s pretty much just clean-up now and transporting the End of Time switch back Upstairs for a new identity in the Relocation Program. I write up the report for my chief. He tells me I did a good job. I say thanks and head for some off-duty sacramental wine at the Paradise Grill in Eden, a perfect place to unwind.
Rod Drake lives and writes in the neon capital of Las Vegas. While he has never been to Spain, he has been to Oklahoma. Rod has had stories published in Flashes of Speculation, Flashing in the Gutters, Fictional Musings, Flash Flooding, Flash Forward and AcmeShorts.
I like the voice. Very noir. cool story.