The Devil You Know

The Devil You Know By Jon-Paul Maki

The circumstances of his life didn’t allow for access to adequate medical care, so it was clear upon first sight that his nose had been broken several times. Now, as blood ran from his nostrils to join with the blood flowing from his split lip and continue on past his chin, some of which dripped onto the dirty floor, the rest of which continued along his neck, under his shirt, and down his belly, it was also clear that his nose had been broken once more. He hadn’t started this fight, and it was apparent that he wasn’t going to finish it either. Ronald wasn’t a good person. In fact, he was about as far from that description as one could get. Murder, rape, arson, kidnapping: all of them could be found on his résumé, and he was very good at them. Ronald had grown up in the Devil’s Down. In a world where the average life expectancy is approximately two minutes after arriving, at thirty-four, Ronald was positively ancient. he had fought hard to live that long, done anything and everything he had to in order to survive, and indeed, thrive, in a world of complete lawlessness, a world more savage than any jungle could ever aspire to be. His efforts had paid off. Ronald was effectively retired. he had earned his place here, becoming something of a fixture. he had proven himself.

Knowing just how dangerous he was, no one was inclined to give him any trouble. It was his intention to enjoy his “golden years” by living out his days doing whatever he wanted, going wherever he wanted, engaging in the aforementioned crimes on a purely recreational basis, and simply waiting for the day when some random bullet would end his life. The woman who was currently pounding his face into jelly didn’t know any of this, nor would she have cared one way or the other if she had. Ronald had no idea who she was, or why she was beating him senseless. Like everyone else, his eyes had been drawn to her when she walked through the doors of the bar. She was tall and lean but with considerable curves, as the skintight black and red outfit she was wearing helped attest. her full red lips were her most striking feature, though her iron-gray eyes ran a close second, mostly because the left eye was almost totally obscured by the thick lock of jet-black hair hanging in front of it, though the rest of her hair was close-cropped. While he hadn’t seen much beauty in his life, she was clearly the most beautiful thing Ronald had ever seen. There was something sharp about her, with her angular features, that reminded Ronald, suddenly, of his first knife, the only gift his father had ever given him. If nothing else, the fact that she was clean marked her as a resident of the heights, and it surprised Ronald that she had even made it this far without being killed. Or worse.

The thought of being the one responsible for doing something worse to her actually brought a smile to Ronald’s face. Still, judging by the way she stood at the threshold scanning the room with a slow, dangerous gaze, Ronald guessed that she could take care of herself. She continued her appraisal of her surroundings, until finally, much to Ronald’s surprise, her eyes locked on him and narrowed ever so slightly. He sat up a little straighter in his stool as, with deliberate steps, she began to walk towards him. his eyes moved slowly downward, watching the play of the muscles in her long legs as she walked, and he noted that she walked with an almost inhuman grace on deadly-looking stiletto heels that would have caused a lesser woman to pitch forward clumsily. The suit she wore covered most of her body from the neck down, with the exception of her exposed abdomen, which, with its contoured smoothness, reminded him of a piece of sculpted marble. Before he knew it she was standing only centimeters away from him. he opened his mouth to speak, but the words were drowned in blood as he found himself flying backwards off his stool. The woman proceeded to rain blow after bone-crushing blow unto him, and as he struggled to retain consciousness he found that he couldn’t even manage to raise his hands in defense. She was just too fast. As the world went dark around the edges, he found himself thinking, “I don’t know who she is or what she has against me, but I think I’m in love.”

Turning from the bleeding and unconscious body on the floor in front of her, the woman surveyed the room once more. No one had made a move, and it was obvious that no one would. She hooked her left foot under the leg of Ronald’s overturned stool, and, with an almost imperceptible motion, kicked it back into an upright position. Sliding it to the bar, she stepped over Ronald, sat, and leaned forward. The bartender, an almost skeletally thin woman with short, greasy brown hair, chewed on her unlit cigar thoughtfully and appraised the dark-haired woman. The woman leaning on the bar gave her a hard look that made her step back a little. “Do you have a rag?” The bartender was taken aback by the woman’s voice. It was surprisingly soft and feminine and seemed incongruous with her appearance and the stunning violence of her actions. There was a certain refinement in her voice, and an almost musical quality. But there was also an edge to it that matched the steel-hard resolve in her eyes. “W-what?” “A rag,” she said again, holding up her gloved hands and wiggling her fingers. “Something to wipe the blood off?” “Oh. Uh. Yeah. I guess…umm. here.” The woman reached over to grab the dirty scrap of cloth from the bartender’s outstretched hand. She frowned almost imperceptibly as she examined it. “I’m sorry,” the bartender said in a quiet voice.

The woman looked up at her. “Sorry?” “Uh, yeah. That it’s not clean. It, we, I mean, it’s hard to keep things clean around here.” The woman seemed to consider her words, never taking her eyes off the bartender, as she daintily dabbed at Ronald’s blood with the rag. “I understand,” she said, finally. “Speaking of which,” she added, turning her eyes toward Ronald’s still-unconscious form, “you might want to do something about that mess. It’s starting to smell. Though I imagine that it always does.” “Oh. Right.” The bartender cocked her head, and the two women who had been seated near the door got up and walked towards the bar. They gave the woman, who was now the only person sitting at the bar, a wide berth as they each grabbed an arm and hauled Ronald away to dump him out in the street. If she knew that there would be those who would take advantage of Ronald’s current condition to settle old scores she didn’t give any indication of caring. Indeed, she didn’t even turn to watch as he was dragged away. “Now then,” she said, setting the rag on the bar, “how about a drink?” “Sure,” the bartender said, getting over some of her initial nervousness. “What would you like?” “Do you have any lime juice?” She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. All we really have is booze, nothing to mix it with besides water. hell, we’re lucky we even have booze. Most of what we got is homemade.” “Don’t you have a distributor?”

She nodded. “Yeah, but she gets ‘jacked all the time and we end up having to buy all of our supplies back from the Devil. It’s kind of a bitch, you know? We pay the distributor, she gets ‘jacked, then we gotta pay the Devil, just to get half the stuff we already paid for. Price of doin’ business in the Devil’s Down, I guess.” The woman seemed thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose that it is.” “Anyway, it’s not so bad. The Devil, he comes in sometimes. It’s known that this place is under his direct protection, so this place stays pretty quiet.” She looked at the pool of Ronald’s blood on the floor and added, “Most nights, anyway.” “The Devil comes in here?” She nodded. “Yeah. Brings his own booze and mixes. Sometimes he leaves ‘em behind. Hasn’t been in for a while, though. He brought some lime juice, once. Got stolen, though.” “I see.” “Anyway, what can I get you?” “Well,” the woman said, straightening up on her stool, “I really had my heart set on a Vodka Gimlet. Do you know how to make one?” The bartender nodded. “Yeah, but like I said, no lime juice. Got some real vodka, though. Want some on the rocks, maybe?” The woman shook her head. “No.” She held her left hand out at arms length. There was a slight whooshing sound and a brief flash of light. When the light faded she was holding a bottle of lime juice. “Whoa! How’d you do that?” “Magic,” the woman said, without expression.

“Really?” The woman shrugged. “No, not really. But it’s as good an explanation as any.” She handed the bottle to the bartender. The bartender took it and turned to grab a glass. “One Vodka Gimlet coming up. Oh, wait, I don’t have any-“ Before she could finish the sentence, she heard the whooshing sound again. “Powdered sugar?” “Yeah,” the bartender said, taking the package from her. As she mixed the drink, she felt bold enough to indulge her curiosity. “So what did you have against Ronald?” The woman’s brow furrowed slightly. “Who?” “Ronald. The guy, you…the guy who was sitting there.” “Oh. What makes you think I had anything against him?” The bartender shrugged as she turned to hand the woman her drink. “Well, you did kind of mess him up. What did he do to you?” “Nothing. Never saw him before in my life.” The bartender scratched at the jagged scar that ran down her left cheek. “Well then why did you...?” “Maybe I just wanted his seat.” With that, the bartender understood what had happened. This woman had wanted to ensure that she wouldn’t be bothered. She had taken down Ronald as a means of demonstrating that she wasn’t someone to be messed with.

It had been a successful gambit. No one in the room dared even look at her directly, let alone approach her. “How’s the drink?” “Not bad. Thanks. What do I owe you?” The bartender shrugged. “Let me keep the lime juice and sugar, and all your drinks are on the house.” “Deal.” The bartender considered asking the woman her name, wondered what it would be like to peel her skintight outfit from her body, feel the softness of her skin, taste the sweetness of those red lips. It would be novelty enough simply to be with someone from the Heights, someone clean, but to be with a woman of such staggering beauty, who was an enigmatic mixture of savagery and sophistication, would be the ultimate conquest. As if sensing these thoughts, the woman said, matter-of-factly, “I’m here for business, not pleasure.” “Oh. I, well, I wasn’t-“ “Yes, you were,” the woman said, her face remaining the expressionless mask it had been since the moment she walked in. “Okay, yeah. I mean, you can’t really blame me. You’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. But I suppose someone like you couldn’t ever be interested in someone like me.” “No,” she said simply, without malice. “I bet you could have anyone you want.”

The woman’s brow furrowed slightly. “Not really,” she said, with an air of finality that made it clear she had no interest in continuing this conversation. Reluctantly, the bartender turned away, using the now blood-soaked rag to wipe up the bar. She looked up when the door slid open, and watched her few remaining customers and the two women stationed at the door get up and frantically head for the exit in the rear. It seemed to be a night for imposing women to make spectacular entrances. This woman, however, was no stranger to this place, and had no need to engage in a sudden explosion of brutality in order to establish her presence. She was shorter than the woman at the bar by several centimeters, but she was of a larger build, with muscles that rippled under her equally skintight clothing. She wore a leotard that was cut high on her narrow hips, fishnet stockings, thigh high leather boots, and a leather mask that followed the contours of her face perfectly. Her eyes, like her lips, were blood red. Sharp metal spikes protruded from her temples, and each finger of her leather gloves was adorned with metal nails that cast a deadly gleam. A young girl, who looked to be no more than fourteen, clad in tattered purple rags over a skintight black bodysuit, held onto the larger woman’s left arm with both of hers. Her stance seemed to indicate fear, but her face showed no indication of anything other than contentment as she held it nuzzled against the larger woman’s shoulder, though her large brown eyes made it clear that she was ready for anything.

The larger woman was holding a sack in her right hand, which she turned and presented to the girl hanging on her arm. The girl reluctantly released her grip and took the sack, kissing the larger woman’s gloved hand as she did so. With careful steps that made no sound, the girl walked to the bartender, who was standing rigid behind the bar, and, in a quiet voice said, “From Mistress Lilith, for our Master’s pleasure,” and proffered the sack to her. She then padded back to the table, where the larger woman had taken a seat, and climbed onto her lap, resting her head lightly against her breast. The bartender reached into the sack and retrieved a dusty bottle of single malt scotch and a large crystal tumbler. She proceeded to open the bottle with a certain reverence and poured three fingers’ worth of the ancient liquid into the tumbler. Once more the door slid open. Four naked women, heads shaved bald, entered bearing a litter on which an ornate throne rested. With an expression of supreme boredom on his face, the Devil sat upon the throne, his left hand idly holding the leashes that attached to the collars about the necks of the naked women who bore Him aloft. The attendants set the litter down beside the table at which the muscular woman and her young companion were seated, and, in unison, knelt on the floor. The bartender placed the crystal tumbler on a tray, and, swallowing hard, carried it to the Devil, dropping to one knee to present it to him.

The Devil, clad in robes of red silk, seemed to take no notice, and finally, Lilith, the woman in the mask, who was softly stroking the hair of the girl in her lap, let out a soft “ahem,” at which point the bartender set the tray on the table and returned to her position behind the bar. The dark-haired woman at the bar seemed to have taken no notice of any of this as she casually sipped her Gimlet. Behind her, the man known as the Devil, tugged on one of the leashes in his hand, causing the woman nearest the table to reach over for the tumbler and hand it to him. He took a small sip before setting the tumbler to rest on the outstretched palms of the kneeling woman who had handed it to him. Despite his rather elaborate and lavish accoutrements, the Devil was, in many regards, an unremarkable-looking man. His features indicated no particular ethnic background, seeming to be an almost generic mixture of them all. His head was shaved as bald as those of his naked attendants, and his face was completely hairless, lacking even eyebrows. While he was in surprisingly good shape considering his age, he hardly seemed capable of being the man who had served as the Down’s namesake and Lord and Master for more than fifty years. He stared at the woman sitting at the bar, the bored expression on his face betraying the slightest hint of impatience and annoyance. Seemingly oblivious to this, the woman idly toyed with her glass. After several minutes she finally drained the last of her drink.

Taking this as a sign that she would finally turn to acknowledge him, the Devil sat up a little straighter in his throne and the bored look returned to his face, only to be immediately replaced by a scowl and a rush of blood to his cheeks as the woman ordered another. Seeing this, Lilith growled quietly, causing the girl in her lap to stroke her mask in a placating manner. The bartender began to sweat as she mixed another Gimlet. Who was this woman? As the bartender turned to hand the woman her drink, Lilith said, in a commanding tone, “She’ll take her drink here.” Nodding, the bartender rushed over to the table and set the glass down, bowing slightly to the Devil before exiting the room. With a slight sigh, the woman turned from the bar, rose from her stool, and walked slowly toward the table, grabbed her drink, and began making her way back to the bar. At this, Lilith jumped up from her seat, nearly dumping the girl in her lap onto the floor. The girl, however, managed to stand with surprising speed and grace. Lilith rushed over to the woman and grabbed her by the arm, intending to spin her back around. The woman, however, spun on her own accord and knocked Lilith to the floor with an open-palmed blow to the chest.

“Don’t touch,” the woman said to Lilith in a quiet voice, before narrowly avoiding a kick silently launched at her, with extraordinary force and precision, by the small, brown-haired girl. The girl seemed torn between making another attempt at retribution and attending to Lilith, who was flat on her back and gasping for air. Finally the girl decided, and calling out “Mistress!” turned to help Lilith to her feet. “You’ll pay for that, bitch,” Lilith said, between gasps. The woman said nothing, keeping her eyes on the girl, who returned her gaze. Something seemed to pass between the two of them, but neither could have put a name to it. “Nice moves, kid,” the woman said, finally. The girl said nothing, taking a position behind Lilith, who, still catching her breath, assumed a fighting stance. “Enough,” the Devil said, clapping his hands. Lilith turned toward him defiantly, but whatever objections she was prepared to raise died in her throat. “Sit,” he said to her, then added, “All of you.” Throwing a scowl in the woman’s direction, Lilith returned to her seat, and the girl eagerly returned to her lap and began kissing her leather-covered cheek. The woman seemed prepared to return to the bar, but instead walked over to the table and sat. She turned her chair so that she was facing the Devil and took a drink. In the brief scuffle she hadn’t spilled a drop.

“So,” the Devil said, with his thin, nasal voice, “you must be Fontaine.” The woman said nothing as she scrutinized him, her face still devoid of expression. “You are,” he continued, “even more beautiful than Jennifer led me to believe.” “And you,” Fontaine said, “are even more gaudy and pathetic than I’d heard.” Lilith stiffened, and the Devil’s face reddened slightly, but then a slight chuckle escaped his lips. “And even more impertinent than she said.” Fontaine shrugged. “I call it like I see it.” “Oh? And just what is it that you think you see?” She shrugged again. “Not much. Someone who’s used to getting what he wants, whether he deserves it or not.” “Ah,” the Devil said, “but do I not deserve it all? Am I not master of all I survey?” “Sure,” Fontaine said, “provided you don’t look up.” The Devil laughed. “Very good, my dear. Very good indeed. Still, as my namesake is known for having said, better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.” Fontaine said nothing in response. Continuing, the Devil said, “The point, my dear, is that, whatever you may think of it, this,” and, still holding the leashes, extended his hands in a broad movement that managed to indicate the entirety of the Down, “is my world. And in my world, as formidable as you may be in your own, you are nothing.” “Less than nothing,” Lilith added.

“Quite so,” the Devil agreed. “For all your beauty, impertinence, and your disrespect for the ways of my world, you are just another humble supplicant who has descended into the depths to ask the Devil for a boon.” Fontaine remained silent and expressionless. “So I ask you, are you prepared to pay my price? Is what you seek worth the cost of your immortal soul?” Fontaine’s brow furrowed. “You take your own reputation too seriously. I don’t have the patience for the melodrama. This isn’t Faust; it’s a business deal. Do you have what I want or not?” Without saying anything, the Devil reached into his robes and produced a small package and reached for his tumbler of scotch, setting the package on the naked woman’s palms in its place. Fontaine took the narrow metal box from her hands, opened it, and studied its contents for a moment. Again, her brow furrowed slightly, but no other expression found its way to her face. Finally, she closed the box, and said, “Fine,” before sliding the box into a previously unseen pocket in her left sleeve, which now bulged out in the shape of the box. “Then we have a deal?” She nodded. “Very good. Now if I may indulge my curiosity, what makes the contents of that box so special to you? Why were you willing to go to such lengths to acquire it?”

“That wasn’t part of the deal. You guaranteed me that you’d deliver, and you did. Now we’re done.” The Devil sighed. “If that’s how you want it.” “It is.” “Then it would seem that, for the time being at least, our business is concluded.” Fontaine said nothing as she finished her drink. The Devil chuckled slightly as she did so. “What’s so funny?” Smiling, the Devil said, “You are my dear. Like everyone who bargains with me, you made a costly error in judgment.” “A deadly error,” Lilith said. Fontaine furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?” “When we made our bargain, you neglected to negotiate safe passage for yourself back to the heights. “ Lilith laughed. It was a blood-chilling sound that made the girl in her lap burrow her head into the larger woman’s chest. “So,” the Devil said, “it seems that we need to make an additional bargain, wouldn’t you say? Though I can’t imagine what you have left to bargain with.” “You’ll never make it out of here on you own, unarmed. And we made sure you were unarmed,” Lilith said, sneering at Fontaine. “That outfit looks good on you, honey, but there’s nowhere to hide any useful weapons in it.” The furrow faded from Fontaine’s brow, and something akin to a smile played across her lips.

Without taking her eyes off of the Devil, Fontaine exploded into action, kicking the table and upturning it, forcing the girl in Lilith’s lap to dive to safety with her mistress in tow. As she rose to her feet, there was a flash of light and a whooshing of air, and a gun appeared in Fontaine’s hand, the barrel of which was leveled directly at the Devil’s head. In a flat tone she said, “How about your life? Can I bargain with that?” Fear and surprise flashed across the Devil’s face, but he managed to force them away. “How did-“ “Teleportation units in my gloves,” she said. “The range is limited, as is the payload, but they come in handy, wouldn’t you agree?” “Teleportation? But they’ve never managed to make it work.” “Not on a large scale. And of course, the prototypes I stole never managed to make it to market, but as you can see, for my purposes teleportation works just fine. Stand up.” The Devil glanced quickly at Lilith and motioned for her to stay where she was, before slowly rising from his throne. “Drop the leashes.” He did as he was told, though the naked girls didn’t move. “You four,” Fontaine said to the naked attendants. “Get up.” “Do it,” the Devil said, when they looked at him uncertainly with their vacant eyes.

Fontaine stepped back and said, “Now undress Him.” They did as they were told, averting their eyes all the while. As they did this, Fontaine quickly moved the gun toward Lilith and the girl. She pulled the trigger and there was a sound of rushing air as they fell to the floor. “You killed them,” the Devil said flatly. “No. This is a Pacifier. Two kinds of ammo: standard fragmentation bullets and scramblers.” “Scramblers?” “Small darts that release an electrical charge on contact with their target. Scrambles the nervous system. They’ll be fine in a half an hour.” The Devil, now just as naked as his attendants, tried to retain some amount of dignity as he said, “Jennifer didn’t tell me you were so…resourceful.” “You,” Fontaine said, indicating one of the naked attendants, “take off your collar.” The naked woman compiled. “Now put it on Him. And you,” she said to another, “take off yours and use your leash to tie his hands behind his back.” After this was done, she turned to the one who had affixed her collar to the Devil. “Give me his leash.” She gave the room a quick once over, pausing to examine the Devil’s silk robe. “Bring that here,” she said to one of the others. As the attendant complied, Fontaine said, “Hold this,” and handed her the leash. With the gun still aimed squarely at the Devil, she quickly donned his robe, took back the leash, and had the attendant tie the belt. “There,” she said. “Now we’re ready to travel.”

She tugged on the leash and motioned for the Devil to walk out the front door. Not knowing what else to do, the four naked women followed at a distance. “You won’t get away with this,” the Devil said, as they stepped out into the cool evening air. “We’ll see,” Fontaine said simply. As they walked along on the rough earth, which was unpaved but where no grass would grow due to the heavy foot traffic and the copious amounts of bodily fluids and other semi-toxic chemicals that had been spilled there over the years, the assembled crowds of killers, rapists, drug-addicts, and the other fine citizens of the Devil’s Down parted to allow them passage. The Devil cursed Fontaine under his breath as he heard the whispers, gasps, and, though he tried to ignore them, the chuckles and guffaws that the sight of his naked shame produced. Mixed in with the crowd were many of his personal bodyguards and soldiers, but they dared not make a move on Fontaine, and they were, quite frankly, in too much of a state of shock at the sight of their master so cowed and humiliated to even consider it. After several minutes Fontaine and the Devil made their way to the dilapidated and much-vandalized ground-level entrance to the Columbia Tower, the only building in the entire Manhattan Urban Center whose AG lift still worked on the lowest levels. As they stood at the entrance to the lift, the Devil said, “There. You’ve made it. All you have to do is get on the lift and go. There’s no need to take me with you any further.”

“I don’t know about that,” Fontaine said. “I think I’d like to have as much insurance as possible. Now move.” “Please,” the Devil said, his voice cracking and betraying is age, “I can’t. I can’t go back into the light. I can’t go to the Heights.” Fontaine studied Him as he pleaded with her. Tears were beginning to stream down his face and his lip was quivering. She felt no pity for him, but neither did she take any pleasure in seeing the most feared man in the world reduced to this. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not taking you all the way back up. Someday you may have to return to the Heights to pay for whatever drove you to the Down, but not today. Now move.” They stepped into the lift and Fontaine said, “Third Level.” With a lurching motion, the AG field activated and spiraling waves of electromagnetic force that nullified the pull of gravity sent the platform they were standing on quickly upward. The Devil had inwardly breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Fontaine say “Third Level.” It was still far too close for comfort, but the Third Level fell one City Level below the Terminator, the line of demarcation that served as the imaginary division between the Heights and the Down. Third Level was a “No Woman’s Land” between the lawlessness of the Devil’s Down and the military presence that kept the Down from expanding upward.

Once they reached the Third Level Fontaine ushered the Devil out of the lift and down a long, dark corridor, at the end of which they were greeted by three armed Asian women. “Fontaine. You’re expected,” said the tallest of the three, a woman wearing a black silk dress with an intricately embroidered dragon pattern that was slit up to the thighs on either side. All three women stepped aside, and Fontaine and the Devil stepped through the door. Inside they were greeted by seven more heavily-armed women, all standing around a woman who was seated in a chair that was considerably less ornate than the Devil’s throne had been. The woman sat cross-legged, wearing a metallic gold bikini, high heels, and a thin, sheer robe, which was open to expose her rather ample form. She was a beautiful, well-proportioned woman with long, dark blonde hair with highlights in the front. Her thin, pink lips were curled in a sensual smile, and her blue eyes sparkled as Fontaine approached. “Jennifer!” The Devil surged forward, only to be stopped short by a light tug on the leash. He turned and glared at Fontaine. “Release me at once, bitch!” “Hello, Fontaine,” Jennifer said, with a low, throaty voice. “Jennifer.” The Devil pulled against the leash. “Jennifer! This, this woman has humiliated me, treated me like a dog. Tell her to release me at once! I want to know what you’re going to do about this.”

Reluctantly, Jennifer turned her eyes away from Fontaine and regarded the Devil. She suppressed a chuckle as she took in the sight of the Devil naked before her. “Greetings, Dark Prince,” she said. Her tone was level, but sardonic. “It seems that you’ve gotten yourself into quite a fix.” “Watch your tone! Release me!” The Devil was trying to muster all the dignity he could, which was difficult enough under such circumstances, but the difficulty was compounded even further by the high-pitched desperation in his voice. “Fontaine,” Jennifer said, turning her eyes away from the Devil, “don’t you think the leash is a bit much? And why is he naked, for heaven’s sake?” Inwardly, she smiled at her ironic choice of words. Fontaine shrugged. “I didn’t want him trying to run away, and I had to make sure he didn’t have any weapons on him.” “I see. Well, you’re safely out of the Down now. Not even his most loyal lieutenants would venture this close to the Terminator. Let go of the leash, and let him have his robe.” Fontaine dropped the leash. “I like the robe. I think I’ll keep it.” “Fontaine…” “I said I’m keeping it.” Jennifer sighed. “Very well.” She stood and removed her own robe. “Nadia,” she said, turning toward one of the armed women to her left, “untie the Prince of Darkness and give him this.” She handed Nadia her robe. “Unacceptable! I will not be humiliated further. You will give me my robe now!”

“No,” Fontaine said simply. “Jennifer!” Shrugging, Jennifer said, “I’m afraid her mind is made up, my friend. Something is better than nothing.” She indicated the robe in Nadia’s hand. The Devil’s entire body turned crimson as he said, “Fine,” in an icy tone. After Nadia untied Him he snatched the robe from her hand, threw it on hastily, turned to Jennifer, and said, “Now I demand to know what you’re going to do.” Jennifer inclined her head slightly. “Do?” “Yes, dammit! What are you going to do about this woman?” Jennifer shrugged. “Nothing.” “Nothing? Nothing?” “That’s what I said.” The Devil glared at her, then turned and headed to the door. “Fine. I warn you, though, you will regret allowing me to suffer these indignities!” He shot Fontaine an angry look as he brushed past her, then stopped short when he heard the unmistakable click of guns being cocked and leveled on him. Jennifer called out to him. “Leaving so soon, O Father of Lies?” “What,” he said, through gritted teeth as he turned to face Jennifer, “is the meaning of this?” “Well,” Jennifer said with a smile, “it’s just been so long since you and I have had a chance to really talk.” Slowly, the Devil began to understand the nature of his situation. He turned to Fontaine. “This was a set-up! You had this planned all along!”

Fontaine shrugged. “It seems,” she said, “that when it comes to making ‘unholy pacts,’ you’re not the only devil in town.” Jennifer smiled, “And as they say, ‘better the Devil you know.’ Isn’t that right, Fontaine?” In response, Fontaine simply said, “I’ll be leaving now.” Jennifer thrust her lip out in a mock pout. “So soon? Well, if you have to go, I guess you have to go. It was simply wonderful to see you again Fontaine. I just wish that every so often you would come see me for something other than business.” With that, she blew Fontaine a kiss, then turned to the Devil and said, “Now then, here we are, and circumstances have provided us with a unique opportunity to discuss the unfortunate diversions that my alcohol distributors run into on their routes in your territory. I was also thinking that it might be a good time to discuss the possibility of expanding my operations in the Down…” The next evening, Fontaine, still wearing the Devil’s red silk robe, though she now wore it without the benefit of her customary bodysuit underneath, opting simply to accessorize it with a pair of matching red sling back heels, stood on the balcony of her sister’s apartment. She tapped on the glass door lightly, attracting her sister’s attention. Excusing herself from her guests, Kelly, a short blonde who was as different from her sister as day is from night, stepped out onto the balcony. “Fontaine! You made it. But how did you get out…never mind, it probably involved scaling the walls with your bare hands and would give me gray hair thinking

about it. Honestly, why can’t you just use the front door?” Kelly sighed and shook her head. “Sorry. I’m just glad you’re here. Why don’t you come in?” Fontaine shook her head. “I can’t stay.” “You mean you won’t stay. Just come in for a minute. Mom is here.” “I know.” Fontaine looked past her sister and into the apartment. Their mother Genevieve, a woman in her forties who was every bit as beautiful as her two daughters was busy “holding court” with a small group of admirers who were hanging on her every word. It was the same wherever she went. People flocked to Genevieve and were always taken in by her grace and charm. “She’d love to see you, Fontaine.” Fontaine shook her head. “I’m not here to see her. I’m here to say ‘happy birthday’ and give you this.” She held out a slim metal package adorned with a simple red ribbon tied around it and topped with a bow. “A present? You didn’t steal it, did you?’ “Just open it.” “Okay, okay.” Kelly slid the ribbon off and opened the case. “Oh, Fontaine…” She put her hand over her mouth as she fought back tears. “You like?” Momentarily forgetting the unspoken rules of interaction that existed between her and her sister, Kelly threw her arms around Fontaine. To her surprise, Fontaine lightly returned the embrace. “Put it on,” Fontaine said, after withdrawing.

Kelly pulled the present out of the box. It was a small silver charm bracelet. The “charms” dangling from it were thin strands of fiber-optic cable looped into various shapes, inside of which holographic images of Kelly and Fontaine as children formed and re-formed, moving from charm to charm in a random sequence. “Fontaine, it’s beautiful. It’s just like the one you gave me when we were kids, the one I lost when I-“ “Yeah. Just like that one. I know what happened, Kelly. I know what you tried to do for me.” “Fontaine…” Shaking her head, Fontaine said, “It’s okay, Kelly.” The tears were now streaming down Kelly’s face. Fontaine had stepped back and was leaning against the balcony’s railing. “But Fontaine,” Kelly said, wiping away the tears, “they haven’t made these things for like ten years, and they never made that many to begin with. If you didn’t steal it, how did you get it? I mean, you’d practically have to sell your soul to get your hands on one.” Fontaine affected the closest thing to a smile that she could manage and said, “No, it was hardly anything that drastic.” Realizing that her sister would never tell her how she’d acquired the gift, Kelly said, “You’re sure you won’t come in?” Fontaine shook her head. “Okay. By the way, I love that outfit. Is that silk?” She nodded.

“Where’d you get it?” “It was a gift from someone I know.” “Anyone I know?” She shook her head. “Okay. Well, I should get back to my party. Are you sure…never mind.” She walked toward the door, then paused and turned to look at her sister. “See you Wednesday?” Fontaine nodded. “Of course.” “I love you, Fontaine.” In response, Fontaine simply said, “Yes,” and with that, she threw herself backwards over the railing.