“Worth a try at least.”
“Divine Affairs would never allow it.”
“Yeah. Too bad. But what they don’t know can’t hurt us.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Why bother talking to the mortal when you can go right to the source? Does Morpheus still owe you that favor?”
“Why?”
“Maybe it’s time you cashed it in.”
“What are you getting at?” asked Quick.
Lucky smiled.
“Oh no. He’d never go along with it,” said Quick.
“Can’t hurt to talk to him, can it? And you forget”-Lucky winked-“I can be very persuasive.”
“Should we tell them?” asked Quick, nodding toward the house.
“No reason to get their hopes up just yet.”
“You realize this is a long shot,” said Quick.
“You’re forgetting something, buddy.”
Lucky winked as the gods shot off into the sky.
“Long shots are my specialty.”
18
It was Worthington ’s job to keep Gorgoz happy. A steady diet of beer and snack cakes, a big-screen television with a complete cable package, a massage chair, a small river of blood. These were usually all it took. And as long as Gorgoz was happy, Worthington ’s world was fine.
Gauging Gorgoz’s happiness was difficult based on the god’s behavior. He never left the basement and he rarely smiled. And when he spoke, his voice was rough and dour. Even his laugh, the few times Worthington had heard it, was a joyless scraping thing. Worthington was forced to rely on other signs and portents.
Six of his stocks had taken a big hit. And over a dozen people had lost fingers to faulty paper clips coming out of his Korean factories. And one of his real estate developments had burned to the ground, killing just over a hundred people. The deaths and mutilations meant nothing to him outside of requiring some out-of-court settlements. The incidents would barely register as a hiccup on his financial reports. But left unchecked, these omens could herald his undoing.
Worthington grabbed a six-pack of Old Milwaukee and a bag of pretzels and headed to the basement sanctuary of his crabby god. The bright flicker of Leave It to Beaver illuminated his darkened lair. He didn’t take his eyes off the television as Worthington descended the stairs. Worthington kept his head bowed as he approached with his offerings.
“O glorious master, who dwells in eternal darkness, from death you arose and death shall be your gift to this world. This humble servant-”
Gorgoz snatched the beer and pretzels. He stuck a can in his toothy jaws and sheared the top off of it, chugging it down. Despite the size of his mouth, he managed to spill most of the beverage down his shirt and bathrobe.
“Are they dead?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not, Master.”
Gorgoz growled.
“Am I not a generous benefactor, Worthington?”
“Yes, Master.”
“And haven’t I provided you with the wealth and power you pathetic mortals covet so?”
“Yes, Master.”
“And all I ask is complete obedience. Yet now you disobey me.”
“I didn’t disobey.”
“You have failed me.”
“No, Master. It wasn’t I, but other disciples who-”
“I don’t need excuses for a botched job. As most favored among my disciples, their failures are your failures as far as I’m concerned.”
Gorgoz slit the bag with the long claw on his index finger. He grabbed a handful of pretzels and tossed them into his mouth. His oddly shaped mouth and teeth spewed crumbs and sticky drool as he decreed, “Bring the offending incompetent before me so that I might devour him for his ineptitude.”
“I’m afraid he’s already dead.”
Gorgoz’s bulbous eyes narrowed. “Disappointing. Was it a painful death?”
“Most assuredly, Master,” Worthington quickly replied, though he didn’t know the details. His position of First Disciple among Gorgoz’s followers allowed him control over a network of unscrupulous individuals willing to do whatever it took to gain power. Even engage in illegal worship of forsaken gods. Yet even he wasn’t certain how far his reach extended because the followers of Gorgoz were a secretive lot. He made it a point to know only as much as he needed to know.
He had direct communication with only a handful of others in the temple. And they, in turn, had the same. Decrees among Gorgoz’s disciples were like living things, sent out into the world to complete themselves as disciples competed for his favor. It wasn’t the most efficient system in the world and it could lead to backstabbing and infighting within the temple, but these were necessary evils when you were following a god of chaos.
“Seems like it might just be easier to get up and kill these mortals myself.” Gorgoz smiled sinisterly. “Might be good for me to get out of this place, roll up my sleeves, and do some personal smiting. Been too long, really. I really should stay in practice.”
Worthington didn’t like the sound of that. He liked Gorgoz lounging in the basement. The dark god was too chaotic for him to be allowed to run around unchecked. All sorts of problems could arise then.
Worthington fell to his knees and prostrated himself before Gorgoz. “I beg your forgiveness. Give me another chance. Allow me to slay these foolish mortals and prove my devotion. I am unworthy to bask in your horrid aura. How may I-”
“Quiet.” The god nodded to the television. “I can’t hear Wally and the Beaver with all your ass-kissing.”
Worthington stood and took a seat. Gorgoz chuckled as Wally called Beaver “a goof,” then muted the sound.
“If I could go back in time, I’d give that Barbara Billingsley a good bang,” said Gorgoz. “And rip off Hugh Beaumont’s head. Preachy son of a bitch.”
He leaned forward and for a second, it appeared as if he might actually rise from his recliner. But, of course, he didn’t. Worthington wondered if gods could get bedsores. Gorgoz’s greenish-blackish-reddish-grayish skin, what Worthington could see of it, was already moist and oozing and his ass was probably much the same.
“I am displeased and demand a tribute of blood from all my followers as appeasement.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Quiet. I’m not finished.”
“Yes, Master.”
The god snorted. “Each of my disciples must steal a thousand dollars and then burn it in my name.”
He tapped his long black nails together.
“Also, they must eat a raw gopher.”
“A gopher?”
“Yes, a gopher!” growled Gorgoz. “The whole thing!”
“Even the bones?”
“Did I stutter?”
“It’s just, well, you do realize that we mortals don’t have the correct teeth or jaws to eat a gopher? It might be a little difficult.”
“Of course it will be difficult,” grumbled Gorgoz. “That’s why it’s penance. If it was easy, it wouldn’t be penance, would it?”
“But-”
He sighed. “You can put the bones in a blender or something if you have to.”
“Blenders can’t break down bones.”
“What about a rock tumbler?” suggested Gorgoz. “Something like that.”
“That might work,” agreed Worthington, “but it still seems impractical.”
Gorgoz shook his head. “Fine, fine. You don’t have to eat the bones. But everything else! So I decree!”
“Even the fur?”
“Everything!”
“As you command, glorious-”
“Will you shut up? I’m not done.”
“You aren’t? Forgive me for saying so, Master, but isn’t this unusually harsh? Even by your rigid standards.”
The basement quaked with Gorgoz’s displeasure.
“What is it about these two specific people that has attracted your wrath?” asked Worthington. “If I may be so bold as to ask. How have they offended you? Does this have something to do with the raccoon god?”
“You presume too much.”
“I only wish to serve you better.”
“Your lot is to do as I say. Blind devotion is all that is required to serve me.”