A Demon versus an Angel. Adult. A demon battles an angel. (standard:action, 10517 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 25 2020	Views/Reads: 1417/956	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Ozymedius, a gentle demon from hell, meets an evil angel from heaven. Together, they destroy a Mafia gold mine using slave labor.

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frightened. Believe me, and I know, there is nothing to be afraid of." 

One of the angels came over and whispered in Saint Peter's ear, making
Mary jealous -- she would have liked to nibble on it, herself. 

Saint Peter nodded and told her to, "Please step onto the orange dot. It
will take you to Him, and praise the Lord." 

She stepped onto a large orange-colored circle that had appeared beside
her. Mary was still too nervous to do anything but nod at the beautiful 
Saint before she was briskly whisked across the huge room and toward a 
bright-orange door. On the way, Mary could see envy in the eyes of the 
angels and residents she passed. 

The dot, bearing her with it, whisked through the door and stopped on
the other side. Mary could see what looked like another clerk angel 
sitting at a normal wooden desk, paperwork piled at one edge with a 
computer at the other side. The male angel looked to be in his sixties 
-- in Earth years -- wore horn-rimmed glasses, and was partially bald. 

As she, somewhat gingerly, walked toward the desk, a comfortable chair
rose from the floor -- obviously for her. The man nodded and returned 
to his paperwork. Mary took the hint, and sat down to wait. 

That chair was a life-saver, Mary thought, feeling tension evaporate in
a calm atmosphere while watching the man work. She almost fell asleep 
-- and residents there rarely slept. Her idle thoughts were of becoming 
intimate with Saint Peter, almost forgetting the coming interview with 
the One True God. It never occurred to Mary that the chair itself was 
easing her tension, or that God didn't wish to converse with tense or 
fearful residents. 

"Why, hello, Mary," the man spoke, jerking her to attention. "I'm glad
to meet you, and do have a solution to your rather unique problem." 

"You do? Oh, thank you. Thank you, Sir." 

"Yes, I have a solution to every problem that has ever occurred, is
occurring, or ever will." His grin appeared heavenly, very much like 
her first taste of chocolate, her first feel of sunlight and her wonder 
at petting a cute little bunny rabbit, all rolled up into one. 

"Please, Sir," she begged, unable to take her eyes off his face, even
thoughts of sexual escapades forgotten for the moment, "please tell 
me." 

"In due time, precious Mary. In due time. But first, you'll have to
acquire a bit of background, and not a little specialized training." He 
sat back in a swivel chair to place bare feet on the edge of the desk 
before continuing. 

"See, here in heaven, we don't get much word of what's going on in hell.
When Satan was assigned to watch over the place, he was given complete 
control. We would love to know what he's doing there and if he has any 
evil plans to, for instance, invade heaven. 

"Because of the nature of the place, we can't ask any heavenly residents
to go there as spies. It's against the rules to punish our residents 
after they've worked so hard to get here. 

"However, we have recent reports of a real demon being let loose on
Earth. Although he has not yet done any hellish acts, in fact even 
seems to be benign, we are curious as to his mission. In previous 
centuries, nothing like that has happened. 

"Certainly, there have been a few visitations, like with Daniel Webster.
Also where humans have summoned them to Earth. But previous demons have 
been simply grabbing willing souls and returning to subsurface fires 
with them. They've never stayed on the surface for extended visits. 

"It would be to our advantage to know what this demon, named Ozymedias,
is up to down there." He shook his head, taking time to put a Cuban 
cigar in his mouth, light it with one flaming finger, and then 
continuing. 

"Your mission, if you accept the task, will be to find out what that
demon is doing on Earth. I realize that to gain his confidence you'll 
need to become as evil as this Ozymedias, himself. To that end, you'll 
have to steel yourself and take extensive evil classes. Do you think 
you can do it, Mary? It would help us out a lot?" 

"I can only do my best, Sir." 

"Well, then, we'll start your classes immediately. And remember, you can
quit at any time. After all, you are a permanent resident of heaven, no 
matter what transpires down on Earth. 

"Also, of course, you can take the opportunity to satisfy your present
sexual urges, and with no repercussions since you'll have heavenly 
dispensation." 

"Thank you, Sir. Although, I admit, I really looked forward to talking
to the Lord God, himself." 

"And who do you think I am, my child? Chopped liver?" 

"You.... You.... You're God ... Himself?" 

"In Person, my child. Now you'd better get cracking. You have a lot of
evil to learn. 

*** 

Ozymedias had never gotten along well with other demons. He never really
cared for his job as a Forker. A Forker was expected to poke at poor 
souls while they already writhed in agony in the firepits of hell. Not 
being a willing worker, Ozy had often been reprimanded by his 
supervisor. When he thought no one was looking, he would simply touch 
his charges gently on the shoulder. Once, he was even caught giving one 
a drink of water. For that action, Ozy was demoted to Fire Stoker. 

Now, Fire Stoking wasn't a bad occupation in that section of modern
hell. All he had to do was watch dials and occasionally adjust a fuel 
lever. Ozy even lost that job because he would turn down the fires of 
hell when no one was looking. He simply didn't have any evil in his 
nature. 

When an irate superior caught him, Ozymedias was again demoted, that
time to Fork Sharpener. After a series of dull forks were found, he was 
finally reported to Master Satan. 

*** 

Anxiously shaking, Ozymedias found himself escorted by two giant demonic
aides. They passed through a series of huge asbestos-covered doors and 
into a vast open chamber. The room the three entered was decorated with 
blood-red drapery. Open fire-pits blazed in fiery splendor, spreading 
the bitter scent of brimstone throughout the space. A large throne sat 
in a far corner. The two aides half-dragged the quaking demon across a 
crimson carpet toward dark shadows at the far end of the room. 

As they passed it, Ozymedias saw a huge lifelike figure sitting on the
throne. However, the trio walked around the hot-seat and entered a 
small door in the opposite wall. They emerged into a medium-sized 
air-conditioned living room where a human-sized Satan sat on a 
comfortable lounge chair. 

Master Satan was watching a television episode of the “Simpsons”. 

Waiting until a commercial break, then catching the attention of the
Devil, the two escorts turned and left the room. 

Ozymedias could only stand shaking in fear as the Supreme Satan looked
him over. Satan had an amused expression on his face as he told Ozy to, 
“Have a seat, young demon. I'll be with you in a few minutes.” Satan 
instructed him to, “Watch the show.” 

They sat in silence until “Little House on the Prairie” finished. Satan
then turned off the set with a gesture and turned to his young charge. 

“What's this I hear about you not liking to cause pain?” Satan asked in
a gentle voice. “How can I run an efficient hell without torture and 
pain?” 

“I can't help it, Sir,” Ozy replied in a near whisper. “I ... well, I
can't get in the mood to torture them. The poor souls look so sad down 
in that pit.” Ozy himself sat almost in tears -- which wasn't a good 
mood for a demon to be in. 

Satan slowly stood, walked behind Ozy and placed a taloned hand on his
shoulder, claws digging in slightly. 

“We can't use that attitude here. I asked you,” unexpectedly, he raised
his voice, thundering, "how can I run hell without torture?" 

Ozy had trouble controlling his bowels. Thoughts scrambled, he could
only answer, “I don -- don't k -- know, s -- sir. I -- I would like to 
help, but I can't make myself do it. Can you, can you maybe, find me 
another job? Maybe away from the souls?” 

Standing behind Ozymedias, Satan smiled to himself. That was the type of
answer he wanted. Since most demons loved their work, Satan had been 
looking for one like Ozy for a long time. He wished to try something on 
Earth -- an evil experiment. 

Returning to his seat, Satan stared at the quaking demon for a few
minutes, as Ozymedias became more and more fearful. 

“I'm sending you to Earth on a mission,” Satan told him. “I want you to
live like a human, in human form. In a few hundred of their years 
you'll see why they deserve this place. 

“I'm certain you'll be a willing subject when you return.” He finished
with, “I'll let you keep your demonic powers. You can even e-mail 
deserving souls directly here to me, personally.” 

Dubious, Ozy thanked his leader and was dismissed. He knew of Satan's
deviousness and wasn't certain about his assignment. He might have 
missed something. Satan gestured again, and the two huge guardians 
returned. 

They guided Ozy through a section of hell that he wasn't familiar with.
It was filled with huge computers and communications equipment. Ozy was 
taught how to change his appearance to that of a human. He was then 
given human clothing -- in an air-conditioned room, of course, so that 
it didn't burn up -- and taken to an elevator. It took a long time to 
get to the surface but finally he was deposited, unceremoniously, onto 
the streets of Chicago. 

That had been years before and Ozymedias had traveled widely since then,
finding opportunity to both help a lot of people and to send his master 
many evil souls. Because of his nature, he enjoyed the former, his 
demonic origin causing him not to mind the latter. His hellish powers 
cloaked Ozy's true form -- that of an eight-foot fanged demon -- into 
any form he preferred. 

*** 

Now near the end of his fourth year on the surface, Ozymedias happened
to be in the guise of a toothless old man in San Francisco. He was 
having a good time harvesting evil souls from abusive pimps. The 
newspapers held headlines like the one he was currently reading in a 
cheap hotel room. It read: -- -- -- -- -- TWO MORE PIMPS FOUND DEAD. 
Someone in our town is killing them like crazy. Police seem to have no 
leads and, according to some sources, aren't trying very hard to find 
the perpetrator. Only really hard-cases with long criminal records seem 
to be targeted by the unknown killer or killers. 

This reporter has examined public and police sources and found that all
the victims, besides being pimps, have long strings of 
assault-and-battery or attempted murder charges in their records. 
Other, less violent, managers of sexual favors are apparently being 
left alone. I have to ask, should this killer be called a vigilante for 
doing us and the business ladies a public service? Or will he graduate 
into being a typical serial killer? -- -- -- -- -- Ozymedias laughed. 
In his mind he was helping poor souls. He aided the girls, the police, 
and Master Satan by sending evil souls to hell where they belonged. 

At the moment, Ozymedias sat at the window of a cheap hotel room he had
rented. Ozy figured, correctly, that it would be much harder for the 
police to find him if he didn't walk around in the daytime while 
looking like a nubile young female runaway, which was how he'd been 
trolling for pimps. 

Outside his window, although the sun was still up, he could see a couple
of business girls standing on nearby corners. There were more men 
around than usual. Most of them were wearing suits and ties and sitting 
in cheap three-year-old automobiles -- distinctive radio aerials 
reaching for the sky. 

He wasn't worried, since the police profile was for a young or
middle-aged man, not a tiny old guy like him. 

Ozy finished a glass of eighty-proof medicinal gin and stood to go
downstairs and out onto the street to hunt. Locking his door, he walked 
down an uncarpeted hallway to a stairwell, and then down to the lobby. 

"And how are you doing today, Mr. Beezle?" 

Ozy looked over and nodded to the even more ancient-looking old lady
behind the desk. Ozy looked to be in his eighties, her appearing to be 
twenty years older. 

"Quite well, thank you, Mrs. Jimbo," Ozy answered with a warm smile. He
idly thought of what the old alcoholic agnostic would think if she knew 
she had a real demon in residence. Maybe she'd take up religion? 

Limping heavily, head down against the wind, Ozy walked outside and
crossed the street between two undercover police cars. 

"Hello, Sugar. You're at work early today?" He grinned at a six-foot-two
male hooker dressed as a fairy princess, complete with cheap plastic 
crown. 

"Hi, Mr. Beezle, how they hanging?" she replied. "Damn, I wish that fuzz
would leave. A lady can't get any business with them sitting there." 

Ozy looked around as though he hadn't noticed before. 

"Sorry, Sugar. It's one of life's little hazards," he said,
commiserating. 

"Ain't it true, honey. I been here three hours and ain't made shit nor
Shinola. And then, I expect that after their shift changes all those 
cop hookers will show up. Then we'll have po-lice trying to pick up 
other po-lice." She looked around. "Don't suppose you can get it up, 
can you? I'll give you a real good deal?" 

"Sorry, Sweets. I'm past that stage. I keep a string in my pants, one
end tied to my weenie and the other to the eye of the zipper. The only 
way I can find that soft little worm when I want to pee is to pull the 
string." 

They both laughed, causing three car doors to open slightly, the men
inside ready to pounce. 

"Why don't you move to another corner? This is a big city." 

"They have the whole damned place sewed up, searching for that killer."
Sugar looked forlorn. "At this rateI don't know how I can even pay my 
rent. Two out of every three customers turns out to be a cop. Sometimes 
I think I should say 'okay' to one of them, if only to get a hot meal 
and rest my sore feet." 

"Don't worry, Sugar. Tell you what, girl," he pondered. "Wait till after
I leave, then look in your purse. I have an idea you'll find something 
in there." 

After Ozy moved on, Sugar faced the wall and opened a large crimson
purse. She was astounded to find five $100 bills inside. Now how the 
hell did he do that? she thought. Didn't that beat all? She had never 
figured that old man to be a pickpocket. Her rent money assured, Sugar 
made up her mind to pay him back when the whole thing had blown over. 

When Sugar left the corner, a parade of undercover police vehicles
followed her home. Once she went inside, the drivers got out and 
conferred as to what to do next. There was no sense staking out an 
empty corner. 

"I have an idea," Sergeant Jamison, of the San Francisco Police
Department, suggested, "let's get a cup of coffee and a donut while we 
decide." 

Ozymedias found a nice bench in a quiet park nearby and sat waiting for
the sun to go down. It didn't take long. Then he walked over to one 
corner of the park, toward a bar he'd heard was frequented by pimps. 

Before he arrived, the demon stepped behind a couple of trees to morph
into a cute young blond girl of around sixteen. One with a little 
yellow bow in her hair and a green dress slit up the side. As he walked 
along, passersby would see the flash of red panties. 

Not looking old enough to buy a drink, Ozy simply stood across the
street from the bar, waiting. 

It didn't take long for a pimp-mobile, a bright yellow Cadillac
convertible, to stop in front of the bar. Three men emerged, all 
dressed in expensive and flashy clothing. As two of them started for 
the door, the third looked over and saw Ozy. He stopped the other two. 
Ozy could see some sort of argument going on, the three of them waving 
arms. Waiting for a car to go by, the third man walked over. 

"Why, hello there, beautiful. You wouldn't be waiting for someone, now
would you?" 

"I dunno, just a bus." 

"Well, baby, you see my bus over there? Maybe I can give you a ride,
save you some money?" 

"Mama said not to talk to strangers." 

"Do I look like a stranger? Nothin' strange 'bout Leroy. No, ma'am,
nothin' strange at all." 

"You're strange to me. I never met you before." 

"What you mean is you've never been introduced, right? Now, my name's
Leroy. Would it make any difference if someone you know came up and 
said . . . wait a minute. What's your name, anyway?" 

"Janice." 

"Well, if someone you knew came up and said, 'Janice, this is Leroy, a
real nice guy.' Would that make a difference? Would you know me any 
better than if I simply said, 'Janice, I'm Leroy, a real nice guy'?" 

"Well, I dunno. I still don't know you, Mr. Leroy." 

"Sure you do. I introduced us and you told me your name. You even called
me by name just now. You must know me." 

"Jeez, now you got me mixed up." 

"Tell ya what, Janice honey. Let's you and me go over there. I'll buy
you a drink of whatever you want, even lemonade or coke? And then, just 
maybe, you'll let me drive you where you're going?" 

"I'm only sixteen, Mr. Leroy. They won't let me in." 

"Don't you worry your pretty head, honey. I'll take care of that." 

With a gentle hand over a seemingly tiny shoulder, Leroy walked Ozy over
to the bar, aptly named "Sammy's Last Chance Saloon." 

Inside, all it took was a knowing nod to Sammy, behind the bar, and the
two joined Leroy's friends -- actually bodyguards hired because of the 
killings. They didn't seem too happy to see Ozy ... Janice. 

"Guys, this is Janice. We want some privacy, okay? Why don't you go to
the bar. Put your drinks on my tab." 

The two stood up and did as ordered, leaving Leroy and Ozy alone. 

The bar contained a half-dozen pimps and their hired help. Ozy saw he
had plenty to do. Plenty of evil souls to harvest. 

"And what can I get you, lovely lady?" Leroy asked. 

Ozy didn't reply. He simply stood, suddenly appearing as himself,
eight-feet of raw demon. Grabbing petrified customers, he thrust claws 
into one chest after another, pulling a shapeless glowing lump from 
each. His practiced eye chose the hopeless souls from those with good 
still in them. 

Truly-evil spirits were thrown to the ground to sink down to hell, while
those with incipient good were thrust back into living bodies to wait 
for an eventual fate. Six or eight soulless bodies sank to the floor. 
Ozy zipped from front to back door, not letting anyone out without 
being checked. 

He left Leroy for last. It took less than two minutes for Ozymedias's
practiced claws to do their work. A few patrons, allowed to live, 
managed to stagger outside, painful chests already swelling. They were 
not the kind to call the police, choosing to simply run like hell to 
put distance between themselves and the bar -- evading a monster from 
hell. 

Leroy tried to stand -- several times -- but Ozy pushed him back into
his seat each time as he eyed the man's soul. He found it dirty, but 
not all that filthy. Although a pimp, Leroy wasn't one of the mean 
ones. Ozy replaced the soul and sat down -- again a sweet young thing. 

"What about that ride you promised me, sweetie?" Janice asked
innocently. 

"Uh.... Uh, did you do that?" Leroy looked around at the bodies,
including his two bodyguards and Sammy the bartender. 

"Sure did, handsome. Shall we go? 

"Uh.... Yeah.... You're not goin' to kill me, are you? I don't wanna
die?" 

"Not if you take up some other trade, sweet stuff, like bricklaying or
accounting." 

Later, Leroy became a damned good lobbyist for the pharmaceutical
industry, it being much like pimping. 

*** 

Mary was given a new room in a small shack on the outskirts of heaven,
six clouds away from her previous one and far from other heavenly 
residents. God wanted no chance for others to find out he was training 
the new angel to be evil -- a contradiction of terms. 

With Mary in the guise of a young woman again, God saw to it that evil
humans from many criminal specialties were brought up to teach her 
their tricks. He knew which ones would soon die and picked those for 
the task. He grabbed them moments before their scheduled ending was due 
to come, knowing they would have no time to tell their peers of the 
experience. 

Mary was a willing pupil, especially since she could use her new-found
mandate to finally break that proverbial "cherry", happily laying every 
criminal that would stand still long enough to grab. That attitude 
helped in hurrying her training. Most of the tutors were old and 
retired, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible -- to end the 
sexual escapades and get back home. Little did they realize that they 
wouldn't be there long, fated to die within moments of returning. 

"Whee, Antonio, that was nice," Mary encouraged the Mafia Don, "now roll
me over and do it again." 

"Honey, I'm too tired. Six times in three hours is plenty." 

"Come on, baby. Roll me over in the clover, pick me up and do it again,"
she insisted, grabbing at the tired crime boss. 

"Can't. I simply can't. We still have that class on hidden explosives to
finish." 

A little later, also with Antonio, she tried another tactic, one God had
warned her about. It was a way to get into her partner's mind. While he 
was sleeping, Mary plugged herself into him, in a special way, sort of 
like using herself as a multimeter to make a complete electrical 
circuit. 

Antonio jerked awake, both of them stiffening as though with a bolt of
electrical energy, as their memories competed with each other for 
dominance, flowing back and forth as in a physical battle. 

"Yeeeeeeh!” he screamed. 

"Duh, duh, duh. Screeeech," came from her lips as the mental current
flowed back and forth. 

Eventually his memories flowed into Mary's more powerful brain, filling
it with his evil, changing and charging her with his evil nature. They 
were thoughts and feelings completely foreign to an angel. 

"Jeeesus, Christ," Mary muttered. "What the fucks happening to me?" 

Antonio relaxed, a smile on his face as though he'd gotten a load off
his mind. Later, he was surprised when, returning and dying of a 
gunshot within moments, he ended up in heaven. Absorbing enough of 
Mary's goodness had tipped the balance. 

Mary took classes on homemade bomb-making, and it's uses. She also
learned all the current confidence games. Criminal accounting was easy, 
since she'd been a bookkeeper in her former life. Firearms training was 
also simple for the woman – she'd always enjoyed the thought of blowing 
holes in things. Turn the new Mary loose in your average drug or 
grocery store and she'd build you a bomb in a half-hour. 

Finally, God judged her as ready. 

"Goddamn if I'm not tired as fucking hell. That fucking asshole karate
guy took one hell of a mother-fucking chunk out'a my fucking asshole," 
she mumbled to herself. Tired and sweaty, Mary lay on a cloud couch, 
arms and legs splayed out as a cool heavenly breeze dried sexual sweat 
from an overly-sated body. "Maybe next session we'll have time for a 
karate class." 

Mary, hearing something, looked over to see God standing near her. 

"Hi, Lord. How they hanging?" she greeted him, having the presence of
mind to at least close her legs. 

"Do you think you're ready, Mary? Are you evil enough?" 

"Dam ... I mean, yeah. I think so. Hey, there's a lot to this evil shit,
Lord. Too bad I didn't realize it when I was alive." 

"If you had, you wouldn't be here, Mary. Remember that." 

"Oh, yeah, you're fuc ... right. Yeah, I'm ready and rearing to go." 

"I think so too, child." God shook His head in wonder at what He had
wrought in turning a shy spinster lady into an evilly cursing monster. 
"Now, remember your task. It's not all supposed to be all fun," He 
reminded her. "You find this demon, Ozymedias, befriend him and find 
out all you can about his mission on Earth -- and how hell is being 
run. 

"You'll have immortality and invulnerability, that goes without saying.
I'll give you other simple powers, but you have to appear to be a 
normal Earth woman, so you shouldn't conjure up items, and have to eat 
and drink -- that sort of thing." 

"Oh, man -- I mean Lord -- how I love to drink, hee-hee-hee," she told
him, confidentially, giggling. "Nothing like a little drinkie now and 
then." 

"If you feel you're ready, get set -- go." God sent her back to Earth,
hoping he hadn't made one of his rare mistakes. 

*** 

Having Leroy drop him off near his hotel, Ozymedias returned to being an
old man and went back to his room to rest. Even a demon can tire after 
such a spat of exercise. He lounged in a badly-stuffed chair in the 
lonely room, watching people walk by outside. 

*** 

Mary found herself back on Earth, standing in the lobby of what must be
an old hotel. Old because of the massive furniture in the room as well 
as a worn colorless carpet on the floor. Someone had placed throw-rugs 
around the room but they were also tattered and shabby. Half a 
chandelier graced the high ceiling and a banged-up counter stood across 
the room from her. Behind the ornate divider, she saw a white mop of 
hair, the clerk being asleep in her chair. 

She walked over to the clerk. Spying a calendar on the counter, the
angel saw she had only been dead a dozen or so years and didn't expect 
a lot of change since then. 

"Hey, old woman," Mary lightly slapped the marble counter, "I need a
fucking room. Wake the fuck up." 

"Oh, sorry, resting my eyes." Mrs. Jimbo raised rheumy orbs to the
newcomer, jerking upright and causing a gin-bottle to wobble on a shelf 
below the counter. "Yes, ma'am, we have a room. You want a single or a 
double, by the hour, all night, or the week?" 

"I ain't no fuckin' hooker, lady. By the goddamn week." 

"All right," the old lady said, looked around for the register and
pulled it over. "Fifty bucks by the week, bathroom down the hall and no 
wild parties or pets." 

"What about two-legged petters?" Mary joked. 

"Don't have no rules about that, as long as they don't bark or bite." 

"Ha, ha, ha. We'll get along, old lady." Mary laughed, handing over
money for two-weeks in advance. 

She received a key for room number 214 and went over to a ratty couch to
wait for her target to come in or out. Since the Boss had sent her 
there, she knew that the demon, Ozymedias, must be around somewhere and 
that the Lord would point him out to her. And, of course, she'd studied 
what was known of the demon. If things went well, she wouldn't even 
need her room, Mary thought. She'd be using his. 

A little later, Mary saw someone coming down the stairwell from
upstairs. Why, it's a beautiful young man, she saw. Heart fluttering, 
she watched him approach on his way to the front door. I hope that's 
the demon, she thought, hope, hope, hope, hope. 

"Oh, help me, sir. Please help me," Mary rushed over to clutch him
around the neck. "Please," she almost whimpered. 

"Hey, lady. I only just finished helping another one'a you upstairs. I
ain't got no way to help you till I recharge my ... um, batteries." 

"We can try, can't we?" Mary asked, rubbing cheeks with him. "Even just
a little, a very, very little, would help?" 

The man, being a man, couldn't resist, following her up to her new room.
He was pleasantly surprised to see he did have it in him. And that she 
never asked for money. 

They came downstairs just as Ozymedias was going out. Mary, hands around
her companion, saw an aura around the head of the old man. 

"Beat it, you fucking asshole. Get your sorry butt away from me." She
shoved the handsome stranger away and ran over to the old man. 

"Oh, help me, sir. Please help me," Mary clutched him around the neck.
"Please," she almost whimpered -- again. 

"What's wrong?" Ozy asked. 

"Oh, sir, can you help me," Mary repeated, tears coming to her eyes. "My
man beat me again this morning. He said I didn't earn enough. I -- I 
had to leave. I couldn't stand it there anymore -- and with only the 
clothes on my back." 

"Poor girl. Where is this boyfriend?" Ozy asked, feeling the beginning
of anger. "I'd like to have a word with him." 

"I don't dare go back for my clothes, he'd kill me. I know he will," she
sobbed the words, arms tight around his neck and depositing tears on 
his cheek. "Can you, I know it's so sudden, but could you give me a 
place to stay tonight?" She looked into his eyes from a distance of 
three-inches. 

"Where is he? I can talk to him. Don't worry, young lady." 

"Upstairs. We rented a room here." She paused to sob and rub her eyes.
"But he's real big. He'd only beat you, too. Oh, what can I do?" 

"That's all right. Stop crying, child," Ozy reassured her. "I'm stronger
than I look." 

"Well, maybe. I really need those clothes to make money, on my own this
time. No more boyfriends for me," she assured him, emphatically. "Oh, I 
don't mean you, only other men." She sniffled, blowing her nose on his 
collar. "And my name's Mary, Mary Johnson.... From Idaho." 

"All right, Mary. Now lets go see your boyfriend. I can take care of
him. Don't worry your pretty head about that." 

Mary led Ozymedias back upstairs, to the room she'd just left -- number
214. Pretending to hesitate in fear, she opened the door and stuck her 
head inside. Looking around, Mary entered, Ozy following. The woman 
then looked into the closets. 

"He ... the bastard took off, with all our clothing. See, mister, not a
bit of fucking clothes in here. Not a coat or motherfucking dress, not 
even any of his. The son-of-a-bitch left me, alone and broke, in the 
big city. Oh, how I should have fucking stayed in Idaho." She fell on 
the bed, crying again. "Now, what the hell am I going to fucking do? 
How will I live, or even pay for this fucking room?" 

Ozy moved closer to pat her on the shoulder and reassure her of his help
-- getting a little too close. She pulled him to the bed on top of 
herself, hugging him around the neck with one hand, while she fumbled 
the other under his belt. 

*** 

Later, not needing her room, Mary did moved in with Ozy. 

"We'll find you a job, a good one," he promised her, asking, "What sort
of training do you have?" 

Having noted a newspaper on his dresser, she picked it up and,
sniffling, answered. 

"What I'd really like to do, is like this motherfucker here, and kick
the shit out of guys like that. The kind like my fucking boyfriend," 
Mary told him. "I've been in school plays, and can act. And my brave 
father was a fucking cop in Idaho. I always wanted to be a fucking 
cop." She wiped her eyes on his sleeve. "That's what I'd like to do, 
join this bastard and kill all those motherfuckers." 

"Uh, are you serious? I can loan you the money to get home, if you want?
This place is no good for a sweet girl like you." 

“Fucking right I'm serious. Gimme a gun and I'll kill all those
motherfuckers. You just see if I don't shoot the bastards." 

Ozy had a thought. Maybe he could use her? Sometimes two people would be
better than one. And, he had to admit to himself that it had been a 
long time since he'd had a close friend or partner. 

But then, he realized, she might be too sweet and innocent? Could she
really become accustomed to his true self? Well, he decided, only one 
way to find out. After all, if she tried to turn him in nobody would 
ever believe her. He had to be careful, though, how he broke the news 
-- and be ready to back off if she felt threatened or frightened. 

In any case, while he was mulling it over in his mind, he made the
mistake of putting his hand on her leg. Taking the implied hint, she 
reached up and pulled him down for another sexual romp. Although once 
gun-shy, Mary was now quick on the trigger. 

Lying on the bed afterward, her head on his arm, Ozy began. 

"Are you certain, Mary? I have to know? Please think first. Maybe I know
who's been doing that stuff." 

"Doing what?" 

"You know, with the pimps." 

She jumped to her knees, jamming her -- now not so pretty -- face down
at him. 

"Fucking 'A' I want to kill them bastards. You gimme a gun and watch,"
she almost shouted at him, spittle flying in her excitement. 

"Hey, take it easy," he told her, cringing and grabbing her shoulders.
"Take it easy. I'll explain." Ozymedias lay back, Mary collapsing on 
top of him. He thought it over, how she could help him. "Uh, what kind 
of gun would you want?" he finally asked. 

"I want a big one. I don't know much about them nasty things, you
realize, but maybe something like a ... jeez, maybe a .45 caliber 
German Heckler & Koch Universal Self-loading semi-automatic pistol with 
a Yamishi sound suppressor -- so it doesn't hurt my delicate ears, Ozy, 
honey." 

And she knows nothing about guns? Ozy thought. 

"Uh, we'll have to see, Mary. Maybe I can buy one? I have the money."
Ozy could conjure up a "gun," a "pistol," even a "semi-automatic 
pistol," but he had to know what the hell they looked like, and a 
Hecker Couch, .45cal thingamajig was beyond his conjuring powers. 
"We'll find one somewhere," he promised her. 

"Where's your friend, Ozy, honey? I want'a meet the bastard." 

"Actually, Mary, baby, it's me. I'm the guy killing them. I want to save
those women from being beaten and taken advantage of." 

"Come on, Ozy, get real. You're a nice man, but too fucking old for that
stuff." 

"Would you believe an, uh ... a demon?" 

"I dunno. I heard'a them fuckers before, but they're only imaginary.
Ain't no such fucking things." 

"Would you believe that I'm a demon?" 

"What the fuck you gibbering about. Ain't no fucking such thing. You
mean from fucking hell or something?" 

"Observe," Ozy told her, holding up one hand. 

As she watched, the hand slowly widened to a foot-wide, turned a sickly
greenish color, and grew six-inch clawed fingernails. Right in front of 
her face. 

Mary jerked back in sudden faked fear. Looking back at the old man, she
saw his face widen, eyes slant and change, with scales forming around a 
suddenly broadening nose. Ozy's mouth enlarged to reveal four-inch 
fangs. 

Mary grew dizzy, even though she had expected to see something like
that. Closing her eyes, she reached one hand out to feel his face, 
finding the sight was real. She could feel scales and fangs. Taking all 
her angelic control, she reached forward, puckering her mouth, and 
kissed him on the nose. 

"So fucking what?" she asked. "I had a fucking boyfriend once looked one
hell of a lot worse than that." 

"You don't mind?" Ozymedias the demon asked, truly concerned. "I thought
my true self would frighten you?" 

"Well, kinda ... but I can fucking get over it," Mary told him. "Can you
make yourself any son-of-a-bitch you want?" 

"Sure. You wanna see me as someone in particular?" he asked, in relief.
All his victims had been frightened. 

"How about, what the fuck, lets see ... a young Clint Eastwood. Can you
fucking do that?" 

Ozy changed his appearance to that of the movie star, much younger of
course. And, after that, they romped until late into the night. 

In bed with Ozy, Mary woke first and started thinking. Although she
dreaded it -- after her prior experience with Antonio -- she knew she 
had to eventually get into the demon's mind. It was the only sure way 
to get the information God wanted. Although, on the surface, he seemed 
to be a nice guy, he was a demon from hell and couldn't be believed. 

Nervously -- very nervously -- Mary plugged herself into the sleeping
demon. The first of the two contacts needed was easy, simply putting 
one arm around his neck and kissing him, her tongue in his mouth. 

"Uhhhhhhh." Ozy kissed back, half waking at the intimate contact. The
second stage was even more intimate. She shoved the index finger of her 
other hand up his butt. 

All hell broke loose as they both jerked stiff at the electrical energy
generated by angel and demon connecting in a full electrical and mental 
circuit. 

They jerked and bounced, as both their memories flowed and fought for
dominance. The sheets blackened and smoked, two bodies reddening from 
the heat. Luckily, they bounced off the bed, onto a bare hardwood floor 
before the bed could catch on fire. 

It was a battle of good versus evil. The good demon from hell against
the evil angel from heaven. 

The battle ebbed and flowed for what seemed an eternity, but was only
seconds in real-time. Eventually, of course, good won out. Possibly the 
only reason being that Ozy's good nature eventually connected with the 
hidden core of goodness in Mary's heart. 

They collapsed, sweat flowing in thick streams from both bodies, mixing
into a puddle on the smoking floor to put out glowing embers. Both 
combatants ended up with each other's memories. 

They lay for hours, neither one moving, as each fought to assimilate
those strange memories. Ozy found out all Mary knew about God and 
heaven, also of her mission. Mary knew the secrets of daily life in 
hell and of Ozymedias's mission on Earth. It was one -- excuse me -- 
hellish thing to suffer through. 

Although Ozy had made one short trip to heaven as a child, Mary had
never, in life or death, imagined what a soul in hell went through. It 
was, to say the least, an Earth-shaking experience for them both. 

"Jesus Christ. What the fuck did you do to me. What the mother-fucking
hell happened," Ozy managed to ask, using unaccustomed swearing. 

"Uh, uh, I'm sorry, Ozy. I should explain," Mary said, still panting, "I
didn't think it would be that bad. I really didn't." She sobbed, 
holding on to him, as though for dear life. 

"Mother-fuck, don't ever do that fucking thing again," Ozy told her.
"And you don't have to explain. I have your memories. How could God 
ever ask you to be so evil? He turned an angel into a demon, just to 
find out about me. Why? All He had to do was ask." 

"And, you poor soul, having to live like that, torturing and poking
people with pitchforks. It must have been horrible -- and for all those 
hundreds of years." She hugged him tighter, feeling the sweat drying on 
her still-hot body. "You poor guy." 

"God Damn," Ozy noticed, "look at all the fucking bad language I'm
using. I must have some of your fucking evil in me." 

"With all your good nature, honey, I think you can handle it. I don't
seem to have much left. You burnt it out of me." 

"Well, uh, on that subject, do you still want to help me in my work?" He
was having a hard time keeping from cursing. 

"Well ... I still have a lot of evil thoughts in me. Enough for this." 

She flipped her body around, clasped her legs around his neck, and got
to work. It wasn't until hours later that they went out for a real 
breakfast -- one that was actually gone once you ate it. 

*** 

"So you must remember that Don Alonso told you about their gold mine?"
Ozy asked her over a cup of coffee, plastic breakfast trays empty in 
front of them. They were sitting in a booth at Burger Barn. "The hidden 
gold mine manned by South American slave laborers?" 

"Vaguely," she admitted. "I was rather busy screwing him at the time and
not paying a lot of attention to that end of the bum." 

"Well, that's where we're going next. To knock that place off and free
the captured illegal workers. He smuggled them over with promises of 
high wages, then simply enslaved them in the mine, knowing the US 
government wouldn't try very hard to find missing illegals." 

"Sure. Don't cost him nothing. He was bragging about it being the price
of rice and beans to feed them. I remember something about having the 
women and children make dolls or something." 

"Yeah, real authentic Indian dolls for various native tribes to sell to
tourists. And the men are forced to labor fifteen-hours a day with 
picks and shovels -- all with no pay," Ozy reminded her. 

"Oh, goody! Sounds like fun. We kill the mobsters and free slaves, all
at one time. Let's go." Mary fairly bounced in her seat at the 
prospect. 

"Sounds like you fucking ... I mean, sounds like you kept a lot of that
evil." 

"Yeah, kinda, I guess so." She blushed then said, "Fuck it, let's go
kill 'um." 

Ozy shook his Clint Eastwood head. Hell, he figured, she liked the
actor's look, might as well keep it for awhile. 

They knew the approximate address, but not exactly. Mary rented a car
and the two cruised around the area, waiting for and following every 
large black four-doored auto they could find. Mary figured one of them 
would eventually be a mafia car going to the secret mine. 

The mine itself, and factory inside it, had been built in the sixties by
the US government. Fearing bombs from the Soviet Union, they 
constructed a large underground bomb-shelter for local officials to 
use. When it was almost finished, they had discovered a vein of hidden 
gold. 

Not wanting to waste the millions of dollars in construction, not to
mention starting in somewhere else, they simply poured concrete over 
the gold and continued building. Later, with the fall of the Soviet 
Union, only one worker remembered the shiny vein. He approached the 
mafia and they bought the old shelter for a few-thousand dollars, then 
started up the mine with slave labor. 

Eventually, after fifty or sixty false starts, the two followed a long
black limousine into a small open lot. The property above ground was 
comprised of one small shack and a dozen junk vehicles inside a 
new-looking steel fence. Someone had spent a lot of money to fence in 
all that junk. 

They watched two well-dressed men get out and look around before opening
a back door for a third. All three hurried inside the shack. 

"That must be the place," Ozy said, watching the door close. 

"Now what do we do?" 

"I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead," Ozy admitted. "We
can't go to the police or simply break in. Your old boyfriend, the Don, 
said they have the place mined with explosives. Before the police, or 
you and me, could release the slaves the mobsters would be gone and the 
place caved in. We can't save anyone that way." 

"Don't you have demonic powers? Use them," Mary suggested, studying the
place from the car window. 

"My powers are too violent. I could tear the place apart, but what good
would that do?" he asked. Although physically powerful, Ozy hadn't been 
the smartest demon in hell. 

"I have an idea," Mary said, sitting up and snapping her fingers. 

"Well? What is it?" 

"We simply ask to be let in." 

"You nuts? I thought angels were smart." 

"Smarter than stupid demons like you." 

"I ain't stupid." 

"You didn't think of the plan, I did. That makes me smart and you
stupid. Stupid demon." 

Ozymedias sighed, sitting back in his seat. 

"What plan?" he asked again. And I'm the fucking demon? he thought. 

"Oh, yeah. I didn't tell you, did I?" 

"No, you didn't." 

"What we do is, you turn into a very strong-looking Mexican while I
change myself to look like a beautiful Mexican woman. Then we knock on 
the door of the shack, see?" She beamed as she laid it out. "You ask 
for a job to, say, clean up the trash in the lot or something. Say 
you're out of work and your sister, me, hasn't eaten for days. I'll bet 
they give us jobs and take us inside." 

Mary sat back in the driver's seat. Then something else occurred to her.


"Hey, we gotta go back to town. I forgot to buy a pistol." 

"Too late now," Ozy told her, shaking his head. "We're already here,
ain't got no time to back out." 

"Well, make me one, then. Conjure one up. Any kind at all will do." 

"Sorry," he lied -- lies coming easy to a demon -- "I can't do pistols,
too complex." 

Actually, Ozy purposely hadn't mentioned it. He was only there to free
the enslaved workers and to send truly evil souls to Master Satan. His 
boss would be peeved if Ozy sent him even borderline souls. It would 
make Satan look bad to have to send them up to heaven and to admit he 
made a mistake. Ozy wasn't a lawman out to bust up organized crime or 
any of that crap. 

*** 

Alfredo J Numbnutio walked starkly-silent underground corridors. The
mobster idly nodded at various underlings, totally ignoring dozens of 
workers from six-years-old to sixty that lined benches and simple 
assembly lines. He kept a stern face, though, his trademark. 

Alfredo was the factory manager, responsible for mining operations and,
incidentally, doll production. 

The dolls served several purposes. First of all, they kept the rest of
the illegal families occupied while the menfolk labored in the 
goldmine. Also, the profits helped pay for the upkeep of the slaves and 
kept the men from trying to escape. Only married men were allowed close 
to the surface -- and they all knew of, and could see, explosive 
charges wired to ceilings. What man would try to escape, knowing he was 
killing his own family and friends? 

It was a perfect arrangement. Also, his men had the pick of the
prettiest women. His office and the mafia living quarters were at the 
far end of the complex -- near an escape tunnel. 

Yes, Alfredo thought as he walked down dismal aisles, slaves bowing
their heads and hurrying about their work as he passed, he had it 
fucking made. 

Reaching the thick armored doors of the mafia living quarters, he nodded
at an armed guard and, not slowing down, walked to the end of the 
corridor and into the open doorway of a luxurious office. 

The communications area stood against one wall. A mobster, sitting with
earphones on his head, monitored closed circuit cameras and a telephone 
exchange. Alfredo's assistant, Salamo Neopolito sat at a desk, 
engrossed in production figures. All seemed normal to the head mobster. 


"Morning, Alfredo," Salamo greeted his boss. "We're up .08% since last
week. Maybe we should buy more of those hydraulic drills?" 

"Sal, Sal. How many times must I remind you? When this vein gives out,
we have to go above ground and hustle again. Let's not have too damned 
much production, uh? You understand me, Sal? We have it made down here. 
Don't rock the fucking boat, uh?" 

"Sorry boss, I under--" 

"Boss. Boss. Trouble," Deano, the commo guy, broke in. "Two wetbacks
upstairs, knockin' on'a door'a the shack. Com'ear an see." 

Alfredo hurried over. Anything out of the ordinary worried him to no
end. The head mobster was a creature of habit. In the monitors, he saw 
two Mexicans, one absolutely beautiful to his staring eyes. The woman 
didn't look bad either, he thought, but look at the lovely muscles on 
that guy. Bet he could really swing that paddle against my sore ass? 
Alfredo shuddered at the thought. 

"What they saying," Alfredo demanded. 

"They sez' they wan'na job, boss," Deano told him. "Should I send some
boys ta' chas'um way?" 

"Na, let'um, I mean let them in. We can use a couple more workers. They
look like illegals to me, or at least no one will know they're here, 
anyways." 

"Okay, boss, you're the boss." 

"And send Frankie up to get them. Have him bring both down to my special
room." 

"The punishment room, he means," Salamo muttered, glad that he would be
spared "punishing" his boss himself -- at least for the day. Then, with 
the boss occupied, Salamo could get back to running the place in peace. 


*** 

Ozymedias kept pounding on the door, not knowing what else to do --
except maybe wait for the mobsters to come back up. In any case, while 
waiting he might as well pound. Finally, there was a grinding sound and 
the door opened slightly, revealing a man holding a pistol. 

"What'a ya' wan'?" 

"I was wondering, sir. We was passing by and saw you guys getting out of
your car. My sister suggested we try for a job. Maybe clean up the 
place a little?" Ozy kept his eyes down, in a subservient manner. 

"You gotta see'a boss, com'mon in." 

Frankie stepped back to let them enter, then took a couple of minutes
securing the thick metal door again, using several keyed locks and a 
padlock. Nodding, he started down the hallway, motioning then to 
follow. 

On the way, they passed what looked like a hundred other Mexicans. All
had eyes downcast, except for one that shook her head vehemently as 
they went by -- receiving a glare from the mobster in return. He led 
them to the far end of the corridor, maybe a city block from the 
entrance, knocking on a door when they got there. 

"I got's ‘em, boss," Frankie called through the door. 

"Okay, Frankie. Show them in and get back to work," Alfredo called from
inside. 

Frankie stepped back, motioning Ozy to open the door. After he saw them
step inside, Frankie shivered a moment before locking the door again. 

Ozy saw a large flabby man on his knees and wearing nothing but a skimpy
leather jockstrap. That and a small whip held in his teeth. The 
mobster's eyes looked like a sick puppy's -- as some would judge his 
fetish. 

"I've been a bad doggy, please don't punish me too harshly," Alfredo
whispered, cringing down near the floor. 

As Mary jerked the whip out of his mouth, Ozy could see a puddle forming
under the crime boss. 

"Oh, boy! Please let me, Ozy? Please?" Mary exclaimed, happily. "Pretty
please?" 

Ozy shrugged. 

The evil in the angel-in-training came to the fore as she whipped the
crime boss, unmercifully forcing him onto his back to get at both 
sides. Mary happily kicked him a few times, hearing him yip like the 
injured dog he both was and imagined himself to be. 

It didn't go entirely the way Alfredo wanted, though. Shoving his head
into Ozy's crotch only got him rejected and pushed back to the floor 
and, when he tried to play with himself, Mary kicked his hands away, 
using her foot on his genitals instead. 

"That's enough, mistress. That's enough, mistress. Please stop," Alfredo
pleaded. 

But Mary was on a roll, Ozy having to physically restrain her. Even
then, she kept on kicking at the man. 

"All right, you sick fuck." Ozy grabbed Alfredo by the neck, keeping him
from reaching for a concealed button on the wall. To do it, he had to 
let Mary go and she got in one more kick before subsiding. 

"Find out how to stop the explosives first, Ozy, honey," she reminded
him, panting loudly, the fire slowly dimming in her eyes. "Then we can 
really kick some butt." 

Ozy tried to get the information, even changing to his true form. All
that accomplished was louder pleas from Alfredo. 

"Oh, beat me, beat me, kind master. Please beat your slave." 

Which did no good at all. The man wanted to be beaten and tortured, even
by a demon from Hell. What can I do about that? Ozy wondered, beaten 
himself -- figuratively, of course. 

He stopped threatening the man, in order to look outside to make certain
they weren't going to be disturbed. The thick door was locked but Ozy 
easily broke the hinges to open it. He found the outside corridor empty 
but heard a crackling sizzling sound behind him. Ozy turned to see Mary 
kissing Alfredo, with her other hand out of sight behind him, 
presumably with a finger up his butt. 

"Oh, Christ," Ozy exclaimed, running over to jerk them apart. The
sizzling stopped, leaving a burnt smell in the small room. Alfredo was 
in a daze and Mary on her hands and knees, violently shaking her head, 
hair flying every-which-way as she vomited. 

"His office, Ozy honey, his office." She shuddered, trying to get to her
feet but unable to stand. She told him, "Two switches under his desk, 
but don't screw with the red one. That sets the explosives off on a 
timer. The yellow one -- pant. pant, wheeze -- emergency cutoff. Nobody 
can set them off elsewhere -- if you push the yellow one." Mary passed 
out completely, slumping to the floor in a pool of sweat. 

Still in demon form, Ozy knew he had to hurry before someone checked up
on Alfredo. He crashed through a door on the other side of the room, 
finding the boss's office. Growling at Salamo and Deano, he tossed the 
desk over, shoving in the yellow button just as Deano was reaching for 
a red one on the communications panel. 

Grabbing Deano and kicking Salamo away from his own desk, Ozy reached
into Deano to extract his soul. A moment's glance showed it to be too 
evil for redemption, so it hit the floor, sinking below on its way to 
hell. A few seconds later, Salamo's joined it on its travels, the two 
bodies hitting the ground at the same time. 

In moments Ozy, in his true form, was as a whirlwind, racing through the
complex, examining the souls of other mobsters. Frankie, on his way to 
check on Alfredo, was next, falling almost in mid-step as Ozy examined 
him in passing. 

As he decimated the gangsters, leaving only a few alive -- those still
able to be saved from hell -- the slaves saw their chance to revolt by 
killing the ones Ozy let live. Ozymedias had no way of knowing, but no 
mobsters made it out alive that day, all either killed by the demon or 
the freed slaves. 

When finished, he returned to the exercise room to find Mary sitting up
again, against the wall, a funny look on her face. 

"Where the fuck you fucking been, you bastard. I'll bet you didn't save
any of them sons-a-bitches for me, did you?" she demanded, back to 
being pure evil, having leached that trait back from Alfredo's mind. 

"Aw, ma'am, I'm really sorry, ma'am. I don't know what happened to me,
to want to hurt you," Alfredo said between sobs of remorse, himself 
changed by Mary's angelic memories. "Please accept my apologies." Mary 
absorbing most of his evil, he was sorry about his past life. 

"Shut the hell up, you cocksucker." Mary kicked at him. 

Alfredo jerked away to avoid her foot, maybe the first time he had
dodged a blow in his life. 

"Please, forgive me?" he pleaded again. 

Although he knew what the outcome would be, Ozy ignored Mary, to reach
in and examined Alfredo's soul. Of course, a lot of its evil had gone 
into Mary. The demon, somewhat reluctantly, put the soul back inside 
the now-gentler mobster. 

As Ozy turned back toward his partner, he heard a loud "Crack." 

Mary was still sitting against the wall, but smiling with a gun in her
hand. Ozy had no idea where she had gotten it, but a bullet-hole 
appeared in Alfredo's forehead. 

Well, Ozy thought, it wasn't his own doing. The soul could take its
chances on going to hell or heaven. 

Avoiding the chaos of the factory, the two pushed and shoved to get back
outside and to their car. While sitting in the front seat, they saw 
people pouring out of the shack and heading in all directions. The two 
relaxed, luxuriating in the comfort of the auto, smelling fresh air 
after the chill of the mine. 

Then, there came a voice from the back seat. 

"You finished now?" it asked. 

Ozy looked back, to see a small man, horn-rimmed glasses flashing in the
fading sunlight, a bald spot on the top of his head. Although he was 
smoking a Cuban cigar, the odor never reached the front seat. 

"Are you finished, Mary?" He repeated. 

"Uh, yeah, I guess so, Sir," she answered, looking at Ozymedias, tears
forming in her eyes. "I guess I am." 

"In that case, darling Mary, it's time for us to go home to heaven." 

"Does it have to be right now, Sir?" 

Behind cover of the seat-back, Mary clutched Ozy's hand tightly. Of
course, having her memories, he knew it was God in the back seat. And 
that there was nothing he could do to flout God's will. 

"Well ... I guess it can wait a few days." God smiled, and was gone. 

The End.


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