She went to the bathroom in search of a razor.
Billy Winston had no such dilemma about shaving. He did his legs and underarms as a matter of course every time he showered. The idea of conforming to a diet soft-drink ideal of the perfect woman didn’t bother him in the least. On the contrary, Billy felt compromised by the fact that he had to maintain his appearance as a six-foot-three-inch tall man with a protruding Adam’s apple in order to keep his job as night auditor at the Rooms-R-Us Motel. In his heart, Billy was a buxom blond vixen named Roxanne.
But Roxanne had to stay in the closet until Billy finished doing the motel’s books, until midnight, when the rest of the staff left the motel and Billy was alone on the desk. Only then could Roxanne dance through the night on her silicon chip slippers, stroking the libidos of lonely men and breaking hearts. When the iron tongue of midnight told twelve, the sex fairy would find her on-line lovers. Until then, she was Billy Winston, and Billy Winston was getting ready to go to work.
He slipped the red silk panties and garter belt over his long, thin legs, then slowly worked the black, seamed stockings up, teasing himself in the full-length mirror at the end of the bed. He smiled coyly at himself as he clipped the garters into place. Then he put on his jeans and flannel shirt and laced up his tennis shoes. Over his shirt pocket he pinned his name badge: Billy Winston, Night Auditor.
It was a sad irony, Billy thought, that the thing he loved most, being Roxanne, depended on the thing he liked least, his job. Each evening he awoke feeling a mix of excitement and dread. Oh, well, a joint would get him through the first three hours of his shift, and Roxanne would get him through the last five.
He dreamed of the day when he could afford his own computer and become Roxanne anytime he wanted. He would quit his job and make his living like The Breeze: fast and loose. Just a few more months behind the desk and he would have the money he needed.
Catch was a demon of the twenty-seventh order. In the hierarchy of hell this put him far below the archdemons like Mammon, master of avarice, but far above the blue-collar demons like Arrrgg, who was responsible for leeching the styrofoam taste into take-out coffee.
Catch had been created as a servant and a destroyer and endowed with a simplemindedness that suited those roles. His distinction in hell was that he had spent more time on Earth than any other demon, where, in the company of men, he had learned to be devious and ambitious.
His ambition took the form of looking for a master who would allow him to indulge himself in destruction and terror. Of all the masters that Catch had served since Solomon, Travis had been the worst. Travis had an irritating streak of righteousness that grated on Catch’s nerves. In the past, Catch had been called up by devious men who limited the demon’s destruction only to keep his presence secret from other men. Most of the time this was accomplished by the death of all witnesses. Catch always made sure that there were witnesses.
With Travis, Catch’s need for destruction was controlled and allowed to build inside him until Travis was forced to unleash him. Always it was someone Travis had chosen. Always it was in private. And it was never enough for Catch’s appetite.
Serving under Travis, his mind always seemed foggy and the fire inside him confined to a smolder. Only when Travis directed him toward a victim did he feel crispness in his thoughts and a blazing in his nature. The times were too few. The demon longed again for a master with enemies, but his thoughts were never clear enough to devise a plan to find one. Travis’s will was overpowering.
But today the demon had felt a release. It had started when Travis met the woman in the cafe. When they went to the old man’s house, he felt a power surge through him unlike anything he had felt in years. Again, when Travis called the girl, the power had increased.
He began to remember what he was: a creature who had brought kings and popes to power and in turn had usurped others. Satan himself, sitting on his throne in the great city of Pandemonium, had spoken to a multitude of hellish hosts, “In our exile, we must be beholden unto Jehovah for two things: one, that we exist, and two, that Catch has no ambition.” The fallen angels laughed with Catch at the joke, for that was a time before Catch had walked among men. Men had been a bad influence on Catch.
He would have a new master; one who could be corrupted by his power. He had seen her that afternoon in the saloon and sensed her hunger for control over others. Together they would rule the world. The key was near; he felt it. If Travis found it, Catch would be sent back to hell. He had to find it first and get it into the hands of the witch. After all, it was better to rule on Earth than to serve in hell.
14
DINNER
Travis parked the Chevy on the street in front of Jenny’s house. He turned off the engine and turned to Catch.
“You stay here, you understand. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Don’t play the radio and don’t beep the horn. Just wait.”
“I promise. I’ll be good.” The demon attempted an innocent grin and failed.
“Keep an eye on that.” Travis pointed to an aluminum suitcase on the backseat.
“Enjoy your date. The car will be fine.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Catch grinned.
“Why are you being so nice?”
“It’s good to see you getting out.”
“You’re lying.”
“Travis, I’m crushed.”
“That would be nice,” Travis said. “Now, don’t eat anybody.”
“I just ate last night. I don’t even feel hungry. I’ll just sit here and meditate.”
Travis reached into the inside pocket of his sport coat and pulled out a comic book. “I got this for you.” He held it out to the demon. “You can look at it while you wait.”
The demon fumbled the comic book away from Travis and spread it out on the seat. “Cookie Monster! My favorite! Thanks, Travis.”
“See you later.”
Travis got out of the car and slammed the door. Catch watched him walk across the yard. “I already looked at this one, asshole,” he hissed to himself. “When I get a new master, I will tear your arms off and eat them while you watch.”
Travis looked back over his shoulder. Catch waved him on with his best effort at a smile.
The doorbell rang precisely at seven. Jenny’s reactions went like this: don’t answer it, change clothes, answer it and feign sickness, clean the house, redecorate, schedule plastic surgery, change hair color, take a handful of Valium, appeal to the Goddess for divine intervention, stand here and explore the possibilities of paralyzing panic.
She opened the door and smiled. “Hi.”
Travis stood there in jeans and a gray herringbone tweed jacket. He was transfixed.
“Travis?” Jenny said.
“You’re beautiful,” he said finally.
They stood in the doorway, Jenny blushing, Travis staring. Jenny had decided to stick with the black dress. Evidently it had been the right choice. A full minute passed without a word between them.
“Would you like to come in?”
“No.”
“Okay.” She shut the door in his face. Well, that hadn’t been so bad. Now she could put on some sweatpants, load the refrigerator onto a tray, and settle down for a night in front of the television.
There was a timid knock on the door. Jenny opened it again. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous,” she said.